I popped into Tate Britain the other day to see what was new, and saw a lovely display of 'Camden Town Drawings'. Although the Camden Town Group of artists didn't exhibit drawings in their group shows, they took Walter Sickert's lead in using sketches as a way to capture reality and authenticity, and then scaling up these drawings directly onto the canvas, rather than arranging and rearranging the composition. I remember when I studied theatre design at Croydon College (where we were all well trained in scaling up drawings onto canvas) being told by my tutor that if I wished to acquire artworks that I should buy drawings (I believe the favourite of her own collection was a Burne Jones), as the spontaneity that they capture always stays dynamic and fresh compared to paintings.

There was quite a range of works in the display, in fact, the different stylistic approaches was cited as one of the reasons why the Camden Town Group didn't last for very long. It was wonderful to see Charles Ginner's 'From a Hampstead Window' rendered in ink and watercolour, a row of houses waiting to reveal what is going on behind the windows, and looking like an illustration from a delightful children's book; and there were some atmospheric theatre interiors with some dubious characters lurking in the dimly lit boxes. A lot of the artists visited the theatre, or 'urban entertainments' as the Tate describes them, and there were a selection of drawings doodled on the back of playbills and tickets.


The most dominant work in the exhibit was the painting 'Ennui' by Sickert, which was shown alongside preparatory sketches. I have documented before my fascination with Sickert, due to the theory that he was Jack the Ripper (or if not, then perhaps the culprit of the 'Camden Town murders'), so it was rather spooky to see the painting and notice its striking similarity to my own home.......

I just caught 'Postmodernism: Style and Subversion 1970-1990' at the V&A before it closed. It included an interesting mix of objects from Lagerfeld designed sequined Chanel jackets to Jeff Koons metallic statuary to the Sainsbury Wing of the National Gallery. There were some quirky ceramics and even some costumes from the film 'Blade Runner' (although such a clear interpretation of 1940s fashion doesn't seem that postmodern to me, but all the same,  its always exciting to see the design and construction of costumes). I particularly liked the architectural models and the description of the architecture and interior design of the time as being somewhere between 'Versailles and Las Vegas', but towards the end of the exhibition, it did seem that any building featuring a pastel coloured semi-circle or triangle could be considered 'postmodern'.

There were even more delightful architectural caprices upstairs in a temporary exhibition in the the Architecture Gallery. 'Albertopolis: the Development of South Kensington and the Exhibition Road Cultural Quarter' featured original designs for what could have been the V&A, and the other museums and educational institutions along Exhibition Road. There was a panorama of domes and columns, and more unexpected ideas, like a huge red brick water tower with a spiral staircase winding around the outside of it. One of my favourite objects was a drawing showing the spectacular interior of the Natural History Museum (always more exciting to me than any of the objects on display there). I loved the figures in the drawing, populating the museum with top hats and beribboned bonnets, and the solitary museum assistant sitting wistfully in his chair like his modern day counterparts. I also learnt the charming fact that the carved stonework apparently includes seventy-eight monkeys.

I spent a day in various museums and galleries with a friend of mine who was over from Paris for a few days. We met at the Wallace Collection, where I headed to the Porphyry Court to see the temporary exhibition of a small terracotta sculpture (a modello, aparently) by Canova. What delighted me most though was a new acquisition of a bronze bust of Napoleon III, looking dashing in his Prince President uniform with gold bullion epaulettes and order sash and with his famous waxed moustache. We ended up at Somerset House and visited 'Forgotten Spaces', an exhibit of entries for a competition asking architects and urban planners for new ideas for London's empty and disused areas. There were some ingenious solutions including gardens and cafes perched on the Thames. The models and designs were shown in Somerset House's very own forgotten spaces: in coal holes, storage rooms and passageways down in the basement. It was wonderfully atmospheric, with the distant shouts from the ice-skaters above. I had wandered these stony spaces before, whilst filming some Victorian melodrama (the film 'Sleepy Hollow' filmed at Somerset House too, for the New York scenes) and it was a real treat to be able to return to such an intriguing part of the building that is usually closed to the public. Back upstairs and inside we went to 'Making It Up As We Go Along, 20 Years of Dazed and Confused Magazine'. It was presented in the series of neoclassical rooms that used to house the Hermitage collection and where I had last visited to see an exhibition about the Empress Josephine, that had memorably included one of her evening dresses (white gauze - apparently she always wore white- embroidered with silver sequins and fastened down the centre back with huge hooks and eyes). I had expected a simple display of magazine covers and photoshoots, but the layouts were beautifully displayed along large mirrored 'L' shapes, propped against the wall, forming doorways or interlocking with each other on the parquet floor. I find 'Dazed and Confused' magazine a bit too cutting edge and confrontational for my taste, and didn't remember ever buying a copy until I studied a panorama of covers, presented small scale and illuminated by lightboxes that ran along the length of a corridor, and there I noticed an image of a model wearing a shredded multi-coloured dress and holding antlers at her head and with the coverline announcing: 'adventures in fashion'. I remembered buying that issue, with its dreamy cover and its feature on the Viktor and Rolf exhibition that was on at the Barbican at the time. It was surprisingly romantic and wistful, and a suitable reflection of the exhibitions own visual mix of super modernity and Georgian elegance.

I went to see Scottish/Northern Island Opera's small and quirky version of Offenbach's comedy 'Orpheus in the Underworld' at the Young Vic (the opera that introduced the music for the Can-Can). They had updated the production, which had originally made fun of Parisian Second Empire society, to celebrity obsessed modern times. It was an ingenious idea, that saw representations of heavenly Mount Olympus and the underworld designed as sleek bars, and Orpheus and Eurydice living in a 'Hello' magazine style paradise, complete with puff-press journalistic captions. The comparison was apt, as in the nineteenth century Napoleon III's Paris became synonymous with garish and vulgar ostentation. It was a time that saw the rise of the celebrity courtesan, and the flaunting of conspicuous consumption in the form of haute couture and the new department stores. I believe that even Louis Vuitton packed luggage for the Emperor and Empress. French style of the period (though inspired by eighteenth century decorative arts) became the most fashionable style for the social climbers and with their French fashions and their French chefs I suppose that it is no surprise that they were often referred to with French words such as arriviste, parvenu and nouveau riche.

Apparently when the architect Charles Garnier showed the Imperial couple his designs for the new opera house the Empress Eugenie balked at the design. Bemused at the mix of styles (baroque, neoclassical, byzantine, whatever) and asking what style it was supposed to be, Garnier replied simply that the style was Napoleon III.

While I was in Paris recently I visited for the first time the Musee de la Chasse et de la Nature. Rather than trace a history of hunting the museum contained a myriad of items used for or inspired by the hunt. There was a suite of rooms dedicated each to stags, dogs, birds and other animals, real and imaginary, and another suite of rooms featuring weapons. It was arranged delightfully with a mixture of historical and modern objects. The dog room was the most charming, with rococo portraits of favourite hunting dogs juxtaposed with Jeff Koon's ceramic 'Puppy'. The bird room saw a similar mix, with still life paintings of game birds hanging on the wall next to a kinetic sculpture made of feathers. The weapons were beautiful and intricate and arranged in cabinets and drawers, revealing the odd surprise, like an eighteenth century velvet hunting satchel. The drawers of items reminded me of the artist Mark Dion's work, so it seemed fitting that he had created an installation at the museum, recreating the cabin built for François and Jacqueline Sommer, the couple who had set up the museum, and used by them to observe wildlife. I'm sure I saw Madame Sommer's red tweed Chanel jacket hanging on a peg in that cabin. Some of the objects on display were temporary, added as interventions with the permanent collection, and this included one of my favourites: on a marble topped baroque table was a very provocative and macabre but very beautiful severed rabbit's head made of glass, sitting in a pool of ruby glass blood.

I went to Paris the other week and headed to the Palace of Versailles to see 'The 18th Century back in Fashion', an exhibition presented with the Musée Galliera and displayed in the rooms of the Trianon. I had never seen the Palace so busy and it was quite a push to see the exhibits, but well worth it. The first mannequin, lit by bare light bulbs strewn across the carpet, was wearing an ensemble by Alexander McQueen for Givenchy couture. I loved McQueen's collections for Givenchy, they were a glamorous and elegant contrast to his own label. The coat resembled a late 18th century man's 'cutaway' and was trimmed with metallic lace that looked like it had been spray-painted; the trousers had that typical 1990s McQueen cut, but overlaid with dove grey lace, with the scalloped edge of the pattern cleverly creating the waistband. A detail that subtly suggests that the garment is couture.  Throughout the exhibition original 18th century clothing was displayed next to the modern designer's work. There were designers and couturiers that I had expected: Dior, Lacroix, Westwood; and some surprises too: Margiela and Mugler. It was also lovely to have an opportunity to see a Boué Soeurs evening gown made of delicate lace with wired panniers and decorated with silk flowers.

Fortunately the information labels were in French and English, as my French is very limited. Some words I seem to have only learnt from reading Paris Vogue. I know that in the most distant corners of the gardens at Versailles that going through a gate marked 'interdit' is forbidden. Its a word I have remembered from the story that Hubert de Givenchy created a scent for Audrey Hepburn (I think it is the film 'Paris When it Sizzles' that actually has a credit 'Miss Hepburn's costumes and perfume by Givenchy). The perfume was was only for her, and therefore marked 'L'interdit': 'Forbidden'. When Givenchy eventually allowed the perfume to be available to the public it retained its original label of 'L'interdit'.

Later that evening, and back in Paris, I browsed the vintage couture at Didier Lidot in the arcades of the Palais Royale and saw even more Dior, Lacroix, Mugler and Givenchy! my favourite piece though, amongst all those riches, was a blouse from Yves Saint Laurent's 1976 Ballet Russe collection. It looked quite suburban and ready-to-wear and typically 1970s, beige and ethnic, but had luxurious embroidery by Lesage, a not so subtle suggestion of couture.

Perhaps it is because I had visited the Chanel 'Promenade' at Harrods, or perhaps due to the proximity of a building that resembles Kew Palace, where we both had worked, but I recently met a friend in the Tea Clipper pub in Knightsbridge. On my way home I passed a very quiet Brompton Road and was utterly charmed to see such attention to detail in that Chanel not only collaborated with Harrods on their window displays, but also had Chanel and Coco posters adorning all of the bus-stops outside of the store. I suppose it is not a surprise to see Chanel pay such attention to detail, I believe that they have a department that is solely concerned with the noise the make-up compacts make when they are closed (it should be the cosmetics equivalent of a Rolls-Royce door closing, apparently).

I was on the Rue Cambon in Paris once, during fashion week, and saw Lady Amanda Harlech, the muse to Karl Lagerfeld, rushing down the street wearing sky-high black patent stilettos and a gunmetal ruffled velvet Chanel couture dress. She paused for a moment to chat to some mysterious person seated inside of a limousine with blacked out windows. I got distracted looking at the window display of a jewellers, featuring risqué antique porcelain nudes, but then I couldn't help but pass by the limo and peak inside, to see that it was Anna Wintour.

Having had to work on an (almost) unprecedented Saturday, I jumped on a bus to meet a friend at Harrods and pay a visit to the 'Une Promenade', a collaboration between the department store and the fashion house Chanel resulting in a series of window displays, and enchanted forest of accessories and the promenade: a series of rooms dedicated to a number of iconic Chanel motifs. It began by walking through a curtain of pearls covering a mirrored doorway leading to a monochrome garden, with each of the rooms leading off of it. I loved the room inspired by the 2:55 quilted handbag. designed to make the visitor feel as if they were actually inside the bag, it had numerous television screens showing the manufacture of the famous accessory, with the most adorable segment involving the maker checking that a Chanel lipstick would fit into one of the inside pockets. Another room (decorated in white and grey, with mirrored panels replicating the mirrored staircase of Coco Chanel's salon) included examples of vintage and modern couture. There were some extraordinary pieces of work, including a cocktail dress of red sequins embellished with flowers of red and orange tulle so beautifully handled that their numerous layers appeared to be made of fur, feathers, silk and petals all at the same time. Other rooms were inspired by No. 5 (reputedly the number plate on all Chanel vans), Coco rag-dolls and Karl Lagerfeld's Library.

Later that evening we headed to Brompton Cross for dinner and passed by the Chanel boutique. The mannequins at Chanel always strike me as strangely old fashioned, and in their current display, involving the tweed and pearl clad models wittily posed inside photo-booths, they created a slightly creepy and voyeuristic effect that reminded me of the installation 'The Hoerengracht' by Ed and Nancy Kienholz that had been at the National Gallery, and replicated Amsterdam's red light district with shop fronts and alley-ways, where red lipped mannequins could be glimpsed though curtains, static and posed.

I found myself, between pub visits on a Friday evening, in the National Gallery. Unusually I quite fancied the early works in the Sainsbury Wing but then I realised that 'Devotion by Design: Italian Altarpieces before 1500' was on (and that it was free!). It was extraordinarily beautiful, and the most stunning exhibition design that I think I've seen at the National Gallery. The rooms were dark and mysterious, and rather quiet thanks to it being late on a Friday. A doorway incorporated into a structure, built to allow a view of the reverse of the altarpieces, mimicked the doorways of the gallery and created an unexpected enfilade and a vista of saints and virgins. The final room created an impression of a church, with music and an altar with a crucifix and candles (really allowed in the National Gallery? maybe that romantic flickering was electric). It was a surprise to see the works put in their original context, and the effect was all quite mesmerising....

The next day I was in Pimlico when a friend called, and happened to be in Westminster. We met in the grounds of Westminster Abbey and wandered up to Mayfair, where I was still in an ecclesiastical mood so we visited Farm Street Church, off of Mount Street. Its a resplendent place, and looked lovely with the sunlight piercing through the stained glass and colouring the already multicoloured marble. The silent contemplation proved almost overwhelming, and we came back to the twenty-first century with a pint, or two, in the Punch Bowl.

I went into the city yesterday to search for a building. I recently bought on eBay a print out of a book on architecture from the 1930s, depicting plans and elevations of what was the brand new, gleaming, Courtauld's fabric offices, showrooms and warehouse. I was thrilled to see that the building still survives, sandwiched between much more recent structures. It seemed smaller and less majestic than in my print and lacking the bright yellow that appears to have been used in the book as an accent colour within a limited colour palette. The yellow has become an unintentional theme on the 'Harrods' green of the wall in my hallway, picked out in other prints, paintings and mounts. I had intended to add a wash of blue ink over the bustled canary yellow skirt worn by Sarah Bernhardt in an 1880s Vanity Fair print, but now the colour looks perfectly at home.

I popped into the V&A on Friday evening to see 'So Noble a Confection: Producing and Consuming Chocolate, 1600 - 2000'. It was in the Sackler Centre, a part of the museum where I rarely wander, and it was an utterly delicious display. My favourite objects included a tiny silver chocolate pot with an unknown history. Perhaps an apprentice's practise piece or a child's toy? Another favourite was a 1980s ceramic Cadbury's money-box, shaped like a chunk of chocolate. It reminded me of a tub of Galaxy hot chocolate powder, with a plastic lid moulded to look like a chocolate bar, that used to be on display in the 20th Century Galleries. I remember it fondly, as it was the first time I can recall seeing something in a museum that I owned myself. Everything looked so pretty against the bright pea green of the gallery walls (was it pea or lime? greens are hard to define...... I really wanted Kawasaki green chairs in my kitchen but they still look lime, too much yellow I think).

The star of the show, for me, was Moschino's Chocolate covered handbag. I have no need for a handbag, but (along with Dior's newspaper print saddle bag) I cannot help but admire this example. I've seen them on eBay, selling for a bargain price, but I still have no need for it. I do have an advertisement for it though. Ripped out of a magazine and added to my files and files of cuttings.....

Wandering around 'Treasures from Heaven' at the British Museum, I found myself in a contemplative mood. There were some (literally) magical objects, precious and jewelled, housing a thorn from Christ's crown or a saint's shin-bone. The magic was somewhat tempered by the text, explaining the medieval industry in relics that saw saint's skeletons split up and sent or sold to many different churches around Europe. Some of the saints are now unidentifiable, without the flowers, clothing or objects that can be used to decipher their identity. The exhibition was inside the old reading room, with the lighting low and soft choral music. Having read E.M.Forster's 'The Longest Journey' I kept thinking of the repeating motif of circling the square, and how one of the characters (if I remember correctly) doodles circles inside squares whilst sitting in the circular reading room, suggesting some sort of infinity. It all made the exhibition quite dream-like and the reality of the busy Great Court came as a shock, like a bustling Holborn airport.

Later in the week I went to Leighton House Museum. I hadn't been for several years and I found it much more cheerful than when I went before. Leighton's studio particularly had a more romantic, evocative feel with its dressing of objects and sketches. I had never realised how few rooms the house comprised of, and as I admired the painted panels, aesthetic portraits and brightly coloured floorboards my companion remarked on how unfriendly the house seemed. I suppose it was just a stage setting for important guests (models used the back stairs into a little dressing area, thoughtfully fitted with a fireplace). It must have been strange to be a guest in the exotic fantasy of the hall, languid and mysterious. The blue on blue of the decoration suggestive of the Madonna blue in religious paintings.....or reliquaries.

I had planned a walk around town, but rain stopped play so I ducked into Tate Britain instead. Hearing the pounding rain on the glass roof, I spent a bit of time gazing at some of the Victorian paintings in greater detail. I had never noticed quite how many of the gentlemen in Friths 'The Derby Day' have what look like organza scarves tied around their top hats. I'm not sure why this was, perhaps it was a way to distinguish men in the crowd in their identical ensembles. The importance of the top hat was furthur demonstrated in Augustus Egg's 'Past and Present No.1', where the hat sits prominantly upside down on the table. I believe that it was considered ill-mannered to show the inside of your top hat, so perhaps this wronged husband was actually a bit of brute, if his hat placement habits are anything to go by.

Bizarrely the final room of 'Romantics' had vanished and had been replaced with an exhibition on the architect James Sterling. I am fascinated by architectural models, so it was a lovely surprise to find dozens of them. The favourite has to be a tiny replica of the Tate building itself (Stirling designed the Clore Gallery). There is something a bit surreal about seeing a miniature version of where you are.

After my recent encounter with the Sickerts at the Fine Art Society I was surprised to see such a dynamic work as his 'Miss Earhart's Arrival'. I would not have associated Sickert with the depiction of that energetic crowd or those powerful diagonal slashes of rain (just like the corresponding downpour that was happening outside). Altogether, the two mysteries suggested by the painting (the Sickert/Ripper theory mentioned previously and Miss Earhart's still unexplained disappearance) add up to make it a very intriguing image.

It seems that my week took on a turn-of-the-century decadence which began when I went to see 'Toulouse-Lautrec and Jane Avril' at the Courtauld Gallery. There were some amazing oil sketches, dashed out in bold colours with feint lines where dancing limbs had been seconds before, suggesting the blur of movement. Photographs of the Moulin Rouge and souvenir carte des visites of Mlle. Avril showed her to be much prettier than the Lautrec works, without the 'London strangeness' that a contemporary article had noted in her face. But as my companion argued, though the paintings and posters were not flattering, they have guaranteed her fame as a frenetic and celebrated personality.

The mood grew darker when I went to see the 'The Camden Town Group' at the Fine Art Society. Although my favourite pictures were the graphic doorways and streets by Charles Ginner, I found the paintings by Walter Sickert fascinating, due to the infamous rumours of him being Jack the Ripper. I Googled it that evening and had a very uneasy nights sleep despite practically all the articles dispelling the suggestion. It is too easy to find a sense of apprehensive melancholy in his paintings of dimly lit interiors and contemplate the painting's genesis.

Later that week, on my way to the Regents Canal, I passed a pub called The Crocker's Folly. Reputedly (now sadly boarded up) a great example of luxurious Victorian splendour: full of marble, polished wood, stained glass and gilding. It was built by a Mr Crocker (originally as the Crown Hotel), at huge expense, to be situated near a new underground station. When the station was eventually opened a mile away, Crocker allegedly went mad and threw himself out of one of the windows. Again, there are arguments for and against the stories. Perhaps the lure of Victorian melodrama is just too great.

I heard a story once about superstitious Christian Dior and how, when he was working for the designer Lucien Lelong, he met a friend in the street who offered him the chance to open his own couture house. Dior turned down the offer, and was asked again (in the same location), and again turned it down. However, a third encounter happened just after Dior had found in the same street a metal star that had come (I imagine, whizzing) off of the hub-cap of a passing car. Taking it as a good omen, Dior agreed to the offer and launched his own label.

Years before I knew of this story, I was walking home from school and found in the street a metal and enamel 'H'. Convinced it had come off of a passing Harrods van (a point I haven't tried to prove) I pocketed it as a unique and luxurious trinket. I still have it, and may one day use it as a good-luck charm......should I ever have the opportunity to open my own couture house.

I wandered into the Wallace Collection today, and instead of going strait upstairs to the rococo prettiness (as I usually do), I spent some time in the armour collection. There's a strange relationship between fashion and the armour of the time. The curved belly of a metal breastplate, shaped to deflect arrows, must have inspired the peascod belly of Elizabethan doublets, and the slashing of fabrics can be seen copied in the decoration engraved onto metal. What intrigued me most though was noticing how an armour piece on the shoulder, which I believe is called a 'gardbrace', had a striking resemblance to the ubiquitous fashion for wearing a cape on one shoulder......

After a few recent museum visits, this weekend, I decided to forgo cultural activities and divide my time between shopping, Starbucks and the pub. However, the plan hit a snag when the first thing I saw on arriving at Selfridges was 'Washed Up', an exhibition curated by Judith Clark as part of the 'Project Ocean' series of events. I had read 'The Value of Things': a book that parallels the histories of Selfridges and exhibits at the British Museum, so the idea of an installation at Selfridges isn't too much of a shock. The surprise was the extraordinary, magical beauty of 'Washed Up'. The visitor is invited to wander along weathered decking, poised over dead coral and driftwood. Inside mahogany museum cases (which look suspiciously like those removed from the V&A's old ceramics galleries) are a selection of garments relating to the sea, from late Victorian sea-side ensembles (with striped fabric pleated to eliminate the stripe and resemble a plain colour - a technique that seems to pop up on 1870s dresses again and again) to Philip Treacy's lobster hat encrusted with crystals. I loved how the bases of some of the cases were filled with sand, like the tide had gone out and left sandbanks where you used to be able to buy sunglasses, and in one case, housing an intricate black dress by John Rocha and suggesting an oil slick was a pool of glossy black, reminiscent of Richard Wilson's oil room at the Saatchi Gallery and exquisitely reflecting the dress and Oxford Street beyond.

Finally, after much re-scheduling with my companion (and a beer in the Pirelli garden), I made it to 'The Cult of Beauty' at the V&A. It was quite wonderful, with all the flourish, sensuality and darkness that you would expect from the Aesthetic Movement. There were almost too many objects to choose favourites: camp, comedy teapots; jewellery representing flowers of an almost pop-art colour and scale; floral sprigged satin tea dresses (it seems all aesthetic dresses have that small puff sleeve at the shoulder to allow greater movement) and sublime portraits, amongst them the quintessential tragic Victorian muse Lizzie Siddle, the young Ellen Terry and the dazzling Mrs Luke Ionides.

Long ago when I studied set design at Croydon College, a man would occasionally visit selling old auction catalogues for a reduced price. We would buy them up by the dozen, and I would read them cover to cover and learn words like 'ormolu' and 'socle'. One catalogue of nineteenth century painting had 'Mrs Luke Ionides', and as it was a large reproduction accommodated by a gate-fold I knew it was important!

A couple of years ago I was given a large collection of Sotheby's catalogues, and was quiet shocked to see how artful and styled auction catalogues are these days. Quite inspired by the images of paintings seemingly printed at the perfect scale for set models (1:25), just for fun, I created a model for an imaginary production, where catalogue cuttings, beads and cardboard made up a rather aesthetic interior.

Wondering which museum to visit, it seemed that I had been to all my favourites recently, so I decided to venture further than my usual taste for fashion, decoration and frivolity. First port of call was the National Army Museum in Chelsea. I find it quite a sad museum to visit, the (very text heavy, but I suppose necessarily so) chronology includes some beautiful examples of dashing uniforms and heroic deeds (and the skeleton on Napoleon’s favourite horse, 'Marengo', minus the hooves: apparently used for inkwells), but by the time it reaches the First World War the sense of loss becomes more apparent. The final galleries on modern warfare are hard to look at, a space resembling a suburban living room complete with photographs of a dog and an Ikea-esque coffee table becomes unbearably mundane compared to current images of conflict.

From the mock-up trenches I headed to the Welcome Collection to take in 'Dirt: the filthy reality of everyday life', an intriguing exploration of several locations and time periods when dirt, its influence and attempts to deal with it, became part of the culture. My favourite gallery was the first, introducing the passion for cleanliness in Delft in the seventeenth century. In a corner of this exhibit, undramatically leaning on the wall, was a broom by Susan Collis. Seemingly accidentally left there, and on initial inspection splattered with paint, it was actually studded with jewels and semi-precious stones. I had seen Collis’ work at ‘Out of the Ordinary’ at the V&A and her objects were my favourite in that exhibition too. The use of diamonds, turquoise and mother of pearl to simulate paint and plastics is bewitching, the luxurious made ordinary.

On the journey home I happened to read about the ordinary made luxurious in the guise of early nineteenth century muslin gowns embroidered with straw. I imagine that it was popular for wedding dresses, with the symbolism of sheaves of wheat for fertility and good luck. As the bus passed by the Chanel boutique I thought of Coco Chanel and her apartment decorated with wheat sheaves, and Chanel brooches in the shape of wheat sheaves, gilded and studded with crystals: the epitome of the fashion, decoration and frivolity that I was trying to avoid,

It was lovely to see London en fête for the royal wedding, with flags and bunting criss-crossing the streets. Over the bank holiday weekend I visited the Museum of London, and saw at the bottom of one of the cases, sitting almost sullenly, a tea caddy in the shape of Carlton House. This (the real one rather than the caddy facsimile) was the home of George, Prince of Wales (later the Prince Regent) at the start of the nineteenth century and was fashionable and beautiful in a way that only he could contrive; full of gilded neoclassical furniture, Sèvres garnitures and elaborate carpets.

Although some of the furniture (and even some of the statues from the gardens, now residing at Kew) survived, the house did not. With the Prince's taste for novelty and fashion it was demolished in the 1820s and I believe the columns were reused for the front portico of the National Gallery.

I'm sure it used to be situated on the corner where Pall Mall meets Haymarket, and this is where a hotel was by the end of the nineteenth century called, usefully, the Carlton House Hotel, and it was here that the great chef, Escoffier (who invented 'Peche Melba', and the somewhat less famous 'Fraise Sarah') met Cesar Ritz, and together they established the Ritz Hotel in nearby Piccadilly: a location so swagged and gilded that I imagine the Prince Regent would have felt at home and I suppose a grand place to celebrate the bicentenary of his Regency this year.

I was watching ‘Gone With the Wind’ the other night, well highlights of it. There are so many legendary things I’ve heard and read about the costumes. I love her first outfit of white ruffles, its like Vivien Leigh turned up in her own 1930s blouse and they just added a nineteenth-century skirt. The green sprigs on the barbeque dress were an authentic period pattern but doubled in size so that they would read better on camera. In the original novel Scarlett wears several green dresses (at the barbeque and the iconic curtain dress for example) and should wear one to Ashley’s birthday party, but Walter Plunkett (the costume designer) asked (the author) Margaret Mitchell’s permission to change it to a deep burgundy so that there wouldn’t be so much green. Miss Leigh apparently asked for the tulle stole to try to look a little more demure, though she must have been in pain, I read that they tried to create a cleavage for her using sticky-tape.

Then there is the dress that she wears during the civil war, and which there were supposedly thirty-seven versions in various stages of disintegration (complete with thorns for pins and wooden buttons, based on actual civil war era examples).

It seems a bit of a let down towards the end of the film when time passes and those voluminous crinolines shrink down to the merest hint of a bustle. Those later dresses in the film seem very similar to Schiaparelli’s bustled evening gowns of the 1930s. Maybe Miss Leigh had brought in her own dresses again. Walter Plunkett’s mother certainly lent things. Apparently the large cameo brooch that Scarlett wears at her neck on her final costume belonged to Plunkett’s mother. I heard that it was lent to an exhibition, and never seen again. Gone with the wind you might say.

I went to see 'Life, Legend, Landscape: Victorian Drawings and Watercolours' at the Courtauld Gallery. A long title for an equally broad exhibition aiming to showcase work from Victoria's long reign and including preparatory sketches and finished works. As to be expected with the location and subject matter, there were some truly beautiful drawings. My favourite was undoubtedly a painting on silk by the Australian, Charles Conder. I first saw this artists work in Sydney, but his work does pop up occasionally over here, particularly as he also painted in Europe (including trips to the Moulin Rouge with Toulouse-Lautrec). His later work took on a dreamy tone, like a coloured Aubrey Beardsley, an effect heightened by painting on silk. Some of these were for fans and he even painted a train for a ball gown (in the Tate collection, I believe), which was never made up into a dress.

There was a male nude study by Edward Poynter, and later that afternoon I found myself visiting a friend in Poynter House on the Lilestone Estate off Edgware Road. The other buildings are named after Victorian artists too, such as Dicksee and Frith. I don't know if the artists had any connection to the area, but I did recently read that Frith had been offered a commission to paint a panorama of the department store Whiteleys (in nearby Bayswater) 'at 5pm', inside or outside. 5pm being the fashionable shopping time. He turned down the commission, and according to the book, regretted that decision.....

I went to Southgate today for the first time and was thrilled to see that the underground station there was one of those iconic circular Art-Deco ones. I had been a couple of times to see 'Underground Journeys: Charles Holden's Designs for London Transport' at the Victoria and Albert Museum so I was well versed in the visual language of London Underground. When I look at the tube map (or Simon Patterson's 'The Great Bear' which I have on my kitchen wall after being given it as a flat-warming present) I am baffled by how many of the stations I have used over the years, for work, socialising and just exploring. I have joined them up, from the furthest point I have been to on each line (reminding me of random drinks in the suburbs, scene-painting for the ballet, discount fabric shopping and avant-garde installations in warehouses), and can see my sphere of influence over London, or perhaps London's sphere of influence over me?

I thought I would make it to see the 'Imperial Chinese Robes' at the Victoria and Albert Museum today, but a long and lazy lunch in Ladurée put an end to that idea. I believe the inspiration for the colours of the courtier’s dresses in Sofia Coppola's film, 'Marie Antoinette' came from the sweet colours of Ladurée’s macaroons. I cannot think of any other style trends that were inspired by food; Medieval 'sugar-loaf' hats perhaps? Or Schiaparelli's lobster dress? I heard that the Ladurée macaroons are left for three days after baking to achieve the perfect combination of crisp outside and soft in the middle. Its a bit like the late nineteenth-century Bostonian ladies, who would keep their new bustled dresses from Worth for a couple of years before wearing them, so as not to look too fashionable! It seems that macaroons and fashion have more in common after all........








 

I visited Tate Britain, where I was very pleased to see that the central halls had once again been used to display sculpture. Grouped under the title ‘Single Form’ there was some stylish and seductive work from the 1930s and 40’s. The one that caught my eye was ‘Europa and the Bull’ by Carl Milles: firstly because, as it depicted Europa being carried away by Zeus in the form of a bull, it was the only sculpture to include two figures rather than a 'single form', but I was also surprised to see Europa reaching provocatively to touch the tip of the bull’s tongue. It certainly struck me as an audacious interpretation of the legend.

I saw a beautiful vintage evening dress the other day, clearly influenced by Christian Dior's H-line collection from 1954, which makes it reasonably easy to date accurately. Dior pushed the bust upwards, creating a stir amongst fashion journalists who thought he was flattening it out. Apparently the collection (particularly the bodice and neckline shapes) were inspired by Tudor clothing. Perhaps its just a coincidence that you can see similarities between Tudor menswear and such 1950s womenswear as little round velvet hats and those luxurious swing coats (although I also heard that swing coats were a 1950s necessity due to the post-war baby boom).

John Galliano was also inspired by Tudor dress for his 'Diorient Express' couture collection for Dior from 1998. Journalists were equally alarmed by that collection too, suggesting that Galliano's work was becoming too costume-like. I believe it nearly cost him his Dior contract, but those slashed leather doublet jackets, knee high boots and blanket coats were incredibly beautiful and (in a very un-couture-like way) wearable.

With a dreadful Guinness and port hangover I ventured to the Wellcome Collection to see 'High Society', an exhibition about intoxication in different cultures. I was particularly alarmed by a number of early twentieth century products containing the almost miracle ingredient of cocaine. Like all exhibitions at the Wellcome Collection it was a bit disjointed and unpredictable but that's always part of the charm of projects curated there. In the mix was a small and very beautiful sketch of Lizzie Siddal by Rosetti and bronzes cast from crack pipes that expressed the real bleakness of drug addiction. 

The next day, and feeling a lot more alert, I went to see 'Bridget Riley: Paintings and Related Work' at the National Gallery. I'm not a huge fan of her work but it had been a while since I'd been to the gallery's temporary exhibit. I did not expect, and was quite delighted, to see one whole wall of the temporary space painted with overlapping and interlocking black circles. It was quite mesmerising and induced a little dizziness. Perhaps the next thing to do should not have been a trip to the cinema to see 'Black Swan'. I found the swirling camera and horror-shocks even more dizzy-ing. So much so that I headed to the pub for a Guinness to calm down.

I met a girl in the pub the other night and her name was Alexandra. I tried to impress her by telling her all about Queen Alexandra and how (really when she was Princess of Wales) she was so,so fashionable that during the winter in which she suffered from rheumatism, society ladies were copying the 'Alexandra limp'!

I Found myself the other evening walking along Mozart Terrace in Belgravia. Mozart lived in one of the houses in 1794 and composed his first symphony there. The house is now adorned with a (brown) commemorative plaque and that small part of Ebury Street was renamed Mozart Terrace. There is also a statue of the young Wolfgang in Orange Square at the end of said Terrace. O.K. we get it! Mozart stayed there!

Finally had some days off after Christmas and new year and so took the opportunity to visit some exhibitions before they closed. I had already missed 'Cut It, Fold It' at the Museum of Childhood and I wasn't prepared to miss anything else! 

A few years ago I tried to cheer up rainy days by getting a Medusa-head-patterned purple brolly from Versace (with clear plastic, silver tipped handle) and a black and orange Indian paisley one from Gaultier (for summer rain). Both now seem far too brash to go out in public so I stick to a very classic Fortnum and Mason one, which I bought after searching every shop in town for the tightest, most narrow, thinnest umbrella I could find. Apparently it was the fashion circa 1880 for gentlemen to have umbrellas rolled extremely tightly, so much so that you didn't even unfurl it during a rainstorm for fear of unravelling all of your hard work!

Whilst at the V&A the other evening I realised that I had seen the Ceramics Galleries in daylight and at sunset but not at night. The V&A on dark winter evenings can be a revelation, where a lack of daylight allows spotlights to throw dramatic shadows around the rooms. It wasn't too revelatory though: sunset was much more spectacular. I did, however, enjoy the high vantage point from those long galleries, trying to spot a friends flat in distant Belgravia, and watching the ice-skaters opposite in the grounds of the Natural History Museum. They looked very much like the Avercamp painting that is currently reproduced (in glorious and slightly kitsch 3-D) in Fortnum and Mason's Christmas window display. 

I spent a lovely afternoon at the 'Diaghilev and the Ballets Russes' exhibition at the V&A. That exhibit went on and on forever! I lost my companion somewhere early on, as the rooms continued with lots of contextual displays. It's always nice to see some Fabergé and a thrill to see any Poiret dresses, but they weren't particularly necessary considering the real wealth of original objects from the Ballets Russes that were on show. I was surprised by how many costumes had survived: ballet costumes get infamously worn out and ruined during a run of performances. A friend of mine made ballet tutus for a while, and told me that dress rehearsals (of which I saw a few) were really an exercise in seeing how much stuff comes flying off the costume during the choreography. 

I paid a visit to 'Shadow Catchers: Camera-less Photography' at the V&A, in which the works could almost ink-blot like be interpreted in many ways. Although it felt like the least successful exhibition I'd seen in the temporary space (where the old shop was - oh so many hours spent in there.) the photographs (?) were an interesting exploration of old and new techniques that seemed to suggest a myriad of different things. An over-exposed daguerreotype of a butterfly reminded me of Damien Hirst's recent paintings at the Wallace Collection; photographic collages of ferns and skies were as dreamlike as an Edmund Dulac illustration and by the end it felt like I had looked at classical reliefs, cityscapes, celestial graphs and ordnance survey maps. After a scone in the Gamble room we went up to the Ceramics Galleries where the sun had begun to set. The incredible array of objects appeared even more spectacular as the golden light and Kensington skies reflected on the glass cases, vases and tea cups - throwing shadows of Ming and Meissen onto the walls.

I checked out the Harrods Christmas window displays, which were charmingly peopled with little fairies with twitching wings (no doubt, Cottingley style, convincing dozens of children that fairies really DO exist). They added a lightness to the exuberant visual overload that seems to be the right aesthetic for this time of year. Slightly more enticing to a grown-up imagination, there was a window dedicated to the perfume 'Chanel No.5'. I was quite mesmerised by the revolving, gilded number five and a silhouette of the perfume bottle (its shape apparently based on the plan of the Place Vendome in Paris). I fondly remember a Chanel lipstick advertisement from a few years ago: Its tag-line sensationally read,
"Treat your lips to the colour nature did not dare to give them"!

I was very intrigued by the Murakami intervention at the Château de Versailles. Apparently the idea behind it is that Versailles was always a centre for great artists and that is a tradition that should be brought into the twenty-first century. I admire the idea, but found the choice of artist meant that there were few surprises. It did bring a little light relief to the endless parade of damasks, crystal and gold. No doubt Marie-Antoinette would have responded well to the gaiety, novelty and colour.

I realised that the maquettes for the six new proposals for the Fourth Plinth commission were in the crypt of St Martin in the Fields so I went along to check them out. My personal favourite, at the moment, is 'Sikandar' by Hew Locke. I think it would be endlessly fascinating to see it in the rain and the breeze and the sunshine (I would have voted for it but the voting card, in the shape of the plinth's profile, was so stylish I took it home instead). I was intrigued by Brian Griffiths' 'Battenberg', particularly as it is one of my favourite cakes. My friend's mother once knitted me some slices of Battenberg, I think they would make sensational earmuffs.

Began the day with brunch at the Courtauld Gallery's cafe, then wandered around the rooms, so peaceful and quiet it feels like a secret gallery. The Degas ballet scenes remind me of a house in Streatham I once knew, where a Degas hung on the wall. Well, not an actual Degas but a print. Actually, not even a print, but a chocolate box lid, and behind it was a safe, built into the wall. I never found out what was in it.

So I was browsing the books at my local charity shop, and I spotted a National Trust book on the history of fashion. I thought to myself that, generally, anyone who has an interest in the history of fashion has more than one book on it, so I carried on browsing and low and behold there were more tucked away amongst the various novels and cook-books. Regrettably I had all of them.

The other day my work companion was having trouble putting on her gloves (admittedly it is August, but they were crocheted summer-weight ones) so I remarked that I once heard that in the 19th century they believed it should take an hour to put on a pair of gloves properly. I suppose ladies didn't have much else to do. Speaking of gloves....I also heard that when Cecil Beaton was photographing Vivien Leigh she complained that the gloves were were too small, to which he replied that actually her hands were too large, a comment that she allegedly never forgot.

I happened to find myself in the new Ceramics Galleries at the V&A, having quite forgotten that 'phase 2' had opened last month. The new section was quite breathtaking, row upon row of objects arranged by factory or country in glass cabinets filling an enfilade of rooms. Apparently a curator can get any object on request. I loved the groups of figures, gathered like a bizarre rococo rave and Catherine the Great's Sevres cameo service (apparently, just to make sure the 800 pieces would be perfect, they made 3000!). The overall effect was quite ravishing. A brief visit to the fashion galleries and the cast courts, followed by a beer in the Pirelli Garden and we were done....with just enough time to buy some Stephen Jones postcards.

The other day I finally visited Dennis Sever's House, on Folgate Street in Spitalfields. I didn't quite manage to become absorbed in the atmosphere, but I did like the lady of the house's bedroom, scattered with ropes of pearls, ribbons, billets-doux, and porcelain tea bowls. The house blends into it's terrace of identical houses, without giving away any of it's secrets until you venture inside. After all that period charm, we needed the glossy modernity of a museum so headed to the new galleries at the Museum of London. I was intrigued by Tom Hunter and James Mackinnon's 'The Ghetto', a two and three-dimensional model of a street in Hackney, but this time the terrace reveals its many secrets, some dark, some wistful and some beautifully ordinary.

Today I've been browsing online for information for my forthcoming trip to Paris. Thankfully Google's translating skills seem to have improved a great deal. I remember, a couple of years ago, reading about the Schiaparelli exhibition at the Musee de la Mode et du Textile, where the translation informed me that: "Schiaparelli ruled Paris fashion, with his great rival Coconut Chanel".

So I went to Tate Britain to check out Fiona Banner's Harrier and Jaguar, two war planes in the Duveen Galleries. They seemed so small! the most striking thing to me about these aircraft was that they usually contain a person, and one who has such horrendous responsibilities. They didn't feel powerful or protective. One of the planes is positioned upside-down and highly polished. It reminded me of the scene in the film 'The Aviator', where Leonardo DiCaprio (as Howard Hughes) runs his hands along a gleaming aircraft in his pursuit of engineering perfection, the scene then cutting to him running his hands along Cate Blanchett's body, clad in bias-cut satin.

Spent a Saturday morning at the new Galleries of Modern London at the Museum of London. I prefer to go on a weekend when the surrounding areas and Postman's Park are empty, even more so earlier in the day (fortunately, Starbucks near St Paul's Cathedral opens on weekends). The galleries are a triumph: as busy, noisy, beautiful, and dis-jointed as London itself.

I was once having afternoon tea at Sketch with a companion who had just started making collars and cuffs as a new way to accessorise. She was wearing a particularly sweet collar made of Liberty print cotton, with cross-stitched birds. Who should walk in for some tea but Isabella Blow (Wearing a black lace trilby and a cream McQueen suit with a trompe l'oeil black lace print).

Went to see the 'Victoria and Albert, Art and Love' exhibition at the Queen's Gallery at Buckingham Palace. Daylight was omitted and objects spotlit to create a sumptuous vista of ivory, ormolu, porcelain, marble and diamonds. 

Amongst these riches, personal favourites included a Minton dessert service, with a tiered stand of custard cups, enlivened by a bisque porcelain putti at the summit reaching down to help himself. There was also a bejewelled posy holder that was given by the Empress Eugenie to the Queen when she was on a state visit to France (apparently, The Empress was worried about the Parisians making fun of Queen Victoria's dress sense, and rightly so: Her majesty arrived off the train wearing a clashing dress and bonnet and carrying a bag on which one of her daughters had embroidered a poodle!)

On the way to Patisserie Valerie for lunch we passed the memorial to another Queen, Queen Alexandra, opposite St James Palace, which even on the sunniest days cannot shake off it's aura of melancholic gloom. 

On Friday I went to see Yinka Shonibare's ship in a bottle on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. Such a sensational piece of public art and my favourite 'fourth plinth' installation since Rachel Whiteread's inverted plinth in 2001. Its not particularly easy to see the ship or its sails, (and its proximity to the National Gallery reminds me of his more successful intervention there a couple of years ago), but its a charming addition to London, particularly over the summer, with the sun glinting off of the curve of the bottle. 

I also went to the V&A to see the Horace Walpole/Strawberry Hill exhibition, which was a bizarre assortment of decorative arts (Cardinal Wolsey's hat? seriously? I really thought it would have been silk rather than felt...). Its rather sad that none of these objects will be in the newly restored Strawberry Hill when it opens later this year. You almost have to memorise them and picture them in the original settings. Maybe it was sea-faring reference in Shonibare's work or the Huge Chinese porcelain goldfish bowl at the Walpole (that his cat had drowned in! You could hear the reactions every time somebody read the label), but I really craved fish and chips so we headed to a little pub in Belgravia, tucked away enough to not get the attention from the Chelsea flower show crowd.

Been watching the film 'Gigi', with sets and costumes by Cecil Beaton. I think it's his triumph, more ravishing by far than 'My Fair Lady' (you know 'My Fair Lady' is supposedly a play on the cockney pronunciation of ' Mayfair lady'!). Leslie Caron said that Beaton was the only designer to be on set all day, every day, but I also heard that he would randomly pull the extras at the Bois de Boulogne through the bushes to take photographic portraits of them. I so passionately recommended the film that a friend watched it with her husband, and they disliked it so much that she refers to it as the 'Gigi incident' and refuses to watch any films I recommend. I hope she watched it to the end to see Gigi's beautiful white dress with blackbirds on the shoulders. Apparently when Miss Caron saw the sketch for the costume she exclaimed how wonderful the birds were. Cecil Beaton replied that they were supposed to be bows, but if she wanted birds, she could have birds!

So the other night, in the pub, talk centred on sleep paralysis and my companion searched his i-phone for an image of Henry Fuseli's 'The Nightmare' which I was convinced was in the Tate collection and promised to pay it a visit the next day. 

OK, so it wasn't there, but there are a couple of Fuseli's so I won't lose that bet completely (I was once told that Fuseli was erotically obsessed with hair so I always check out the lady's coiffures in his work). The Tate's (Britain, of course) collection looked resplendent. I was particularly taken with a room painted a very dark grey and hung with John Singer Sargent portraits. Brightly spotlit, they were hung slightly lower than they used to be, revealing the artist's extraordinary use of bright flashes of red and blue in the most unlikely places, like the edges of fingers and ears. It was a real treat to see Sargent's unfinished 'Madame Gautreau' (the scandalous Madame X!). In just one fat brush-stroke he creates the rest of her dress. One brush-stroke that suggests the weight of the fabric, draped and clinging to the petticoats underneath. I've only seen the finished version once. It so nearly destroyed his career, but I came away noticing that the dress has a slight train. It gets lost in the shadows in reproductions.

 

Weekend was commenced with a drink at the Windsor Castle on Campden Hill Road in Kensington. Legend has it that you could see Windsor Castle from it's hilltop location. Not sure if I believe that, I would be surprised if you could see Trellick Tower from there these days......