Balls to Black Friday!

I know, I know I've used this title before, but it still stands.  I'm studiously ignoring the consumer madness of Black Friday.  It's not even confined to one day anymore; it rumbles on until Christmas and beyond, with people scooping up yet more home decor and fast fashion, the latter doubtless coming to a charity shop near you in February, stocking fillers no one wants and electrical gadgets that will stay in their drawers, unloved and unused for the remainder of time.  

I qualify this by adding that I have purchased items in sales in the past, so I get the temptation.  However, I've also shopped second hand since my teenage years and it didn't take me long to learn that the thrill of a good quality second hand find (an item that may have commanded £££ new - not to mention discovering something that no one else will be wearing), is a) way more of a rush and b) a little more responsible.  

I rarely visit high street stores these days and when I do, I'm shocked at the mountains of mass produced discounted clothing that will very soon be added to the real clothes mountain in a Chilean desert.  Do you know that this is growing by 39,000 tonnes per year?  Our addiction to fast fashion is now visible from space. 

Image:  Skyfi

So, my wardrobe, or clothing rail, is pretty small.  I try to keep it that way to maintain balance and perspective.  I love clothes, but also have an ongoing internal dialogue about them.  Fashion is fun but also superficial.  

I dress for myself and mood and practicality very much dictate what I wear.  If I'm going on a 10 mile hike for example, I want to be comfortable.  I'm going to wear trousers thick enough to withstand the brambles I'll have to contend with, boots that won't rub my feet and are mud proof and a coat that is waterproof.  If they happen to look good together, it's a bonus, but if those practical outfits don't always express who I am at my core, I'm at peace with that.  There's always time to dress up.  In stark contrast, on another random Tuesday, I may well be found wearing a flowing kaftan or some crazy patterned vintage maxi skirt for a working day indoors when I don't see another soul outside of my family.  

I have friends who adore putting together an outfit and friends who are more about other forms of creative expression and couldn't care less what I'm wearing; they just want to hang out.  It's all about balance.  Everything we buy, whether or not it's thoughtfully produced, will, in all likelihood, one day end up in on a mountain in a desert in Chile - and I try to keep that in mind.  

So my recent second hand purchases are items that suit my style, are variously vintage and/or of great quality and will stay with me for the duration.

1.  Wrangler Leather Cowboy boots; timeless coolness.

2.  Monsoon Embroidered Tabard.  This livens up a pair of jeans and works well belted over a roll neck and maxi skirt.

3.  Breton Top

Classic black and white Breton with scalloped bib in the thickest cotton by Joanie.

3.  Vintage Welsh Wool Waistcoat...

...teamed here with vintage velvet.  Never mind Black Friday, it's vintage brown vibes here.

In other news, I've been listening to a lot of podcasts this year.  I'm late to the party, but there are some corkers.  I confess, they've slightly overtaken books for me this year.  I quite like drifting off to sleep at night with a familiar voice in my ear.  

Here are some recommendations:

1.  Miss Me?

Singer/actress Lily Allen and her childhood friend, Broadcaster Miquita Oliver, discuss an agreed topic.  It's an entertaining listen; funny, poignant, thought provoking and outrageous in equal measures and the two communicate in an honest, authentic way that only the oldest friends can.  I swear they forget that the world is listening.

2.  Uncanny

My friend Sarah and I were discussing this at length in the pub on Friday night.  It's all about people's paranormal experiences but is very balanced, with input from sceptics and a team of researchers on each and every case.  Trust me when I say that many of the stories are hair raising and quite often it's the sceptics' rational explanations that seem the most implausible.

3.  Where There's a Will There's a Wake.

London actress and comedian Kathy Burke invites a new celebrity guest each week to plan their perfect death from last supper to funeral arrangements and who gets what.  I recently listened to the Danny Dyer episode.  Danny Dyer is a foul mouthed cockney actor, who can also be incredibly funny.  He was very clear in his instructions which was to be buried "stark b*!!**k naked, but for a pair of pink cowboy boots."  

So here's a question for you.  What would you like to be buried in?

Last week, we also caught the opening night of Fontaines DC's UK Romance Tour in Wolverhampton.  If you're unfamiliar with the band, they are an Irish post punk band formed in Dublin in 2014.  Grian Chatten, the lead singer, is a poet and in my humble opinion, Shane MacGowan's natural successor.  He's a different character to Shane, but an amazing lyricist.  We feel lucky to have seen them at Wolverhampton Civic, a relatively intimate venue.  Their next tour, I suspect, will be an arena tour.

Here he is in action; a darkly poetic soul.

Talking of darkly poetic, I'll leave you with my latest photos from the garden.  I'll probably be loitering here for a while, given that our car is now a write off thanks to a disagreement with a service station pothole close to Manchester.  See you soon!

Fern fronds

Decaying leaves

Mahonia berries

Hurray for Hollywood

It's been a while since my last blog and yet somehow we are still in January!  Anyway, you'll be relieved to learn that life got a little more fun after my birthday.  Gareth's birthday is five days after mine and in stark contrast to mine, he had gorgeous clear, blue skies and wall to wall sunshine.  We enjoyed a lengthy hill walk followed by an Indian takeaway in the evening.

We also had a great night out with friends in a pub just around the corner from us. There's a great Thai restaurant occupying the rear half of the building (which we've frequented on more than one occasion), but we've somehow always overlooked the aptly named Woodman Pub.  That night it was bustling and we were greeted by a roaring fire.  We lost several hours inside there last Saturday night.  No pics I'm afraid...we were too busy catching up!

However, it's still January.  We're still in the depths of winter.  So what better time to do a little time travelling to Hollywood's Golden Age?

Not quite a Hollywood film set, but close - Portmeirion

I have in recent months created a little home studio (referenced in a previous blog).  Well let's call it my home-away-from-home studio.  I've also been raiding my personal belongings to created a mini set with plenty of props including (but not limited to) diamonds (not real sadly, but vintage costume), a bottle of Chanel No. 5, rotary dial telephone and boudoir chair.  

I purchased some fluffy mules off Vinted...

...and the day before, when it transpired that Ania, my dark haired, green-eyed model for the day, didn't have a suitable dress, I spied this beauty on the rails of my local charity shop.  Stupidly I photographed it before ironing it.  Needless to say, it was a total joy to press and it made a little more sense to me why it had found its way to a charity shop with labels still attached!

Still, it was worth it.  Lindy Bop specialise in repro 1950s dresses and this one fit the bill perfectly.  What are the chances of finding exactly what I was looking for - and in the model's size 16? 

I also picked up a fifties inspired black and white knit and neck scarf in the same shop.  Ania had the most beautiful robe on loan and her own clothes, including some pink/purple satin which evoked memories of Marilyn's Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend performance, so we were good to go.

Sonia of Sensual Passions, a vintage hair and make-up specialist I have worked with previously, had completely inhaled my mood board of images featuring Dita Von Teese and Elizabeth Taylor.  She created exquisite Hollywood waves and a stunning, luminous, lit-from-within old Hollywood makeup look.  

The big reveal!

I created a shot list in the days leading up to the shoot and tried to plan meticulously to maximise the use of our time.  Whilst I was grateful that Ania was happy to stay for as long as needed, most people tell me I work quickly.  I hate labouring over photos to the point that everyone loses the will to live and my subjects are dead behind the eyes.  I will try something, shoot in bursts and then move on.

A tantalising glimpse of the incredible robe and my boudoir chair.

A final check in the mirror.

And we're off!  

Here's Ania, chatting on the phone to the gossip columnist every star wants to keep on-side, Hedda Hopper.

I kept the studio shots brightly lit in the main, in order to showcase Sonia's handiwork and Ania's gorgeous green eyes.

Marilyn may have slept in it, but every movie star needs a little Chanel No. 5!

We channelled Elizabeth Taylor for the next shot.  

In researching the photographer responsible for this photo (Richard Avedon, 1956), I discovered that it was originally in colour and that Elizabeth was clothed.  The version I had seen was in black and white and cropped in a way to suggest that she was topless.  This is our version.  Elizabeth once said "Big girls need big diamonds" so it seemed fitting to feature the necklace in this one.

Posing is thirsty work!

For our next series of indoor portraits, I exploited the natural window light and also increased my camera ISO to let in even more light and to add a little grain for authenticity.  I also created my own backdrop, using some cute, cherry patterned vintage inspired wrapping paper.  Time for a lie down!

This one's my favourite...giving Hedy Lamarr a run for her money!

Finally, we headed outside for the final shots.  Ania's satin top was a match made in heaven for the last remaining pink camelia flowers.

Ania was also able to change into the sweater without being quite so precious over her hair.  

My inspiration for this look was the "sweater girl" fashion phenomenon of the 1940s and 1950s.  For those unfamiliar with the term, it was made popular in the aforementioned decades and was used to describe Hollywood actresses like Lana turner, Marilyn and Jayne Mansfield, who adopted the popular fashion of wearing figure hugging sweaters to emphasise their physical attributes.  

Marilyn, by Alfred Eisenstaedt

The sweater girl trend was not confined to Hollywood and was viewed with alarm by some.  In 1949 a Pittsburgh police superintendent, Harvey J. Scott, singled out the trend as a symptom of the moral decline of post war youth.

"Women walk the streets, their curves accentuated by their dresses.  But our real problem is with bobby soxers.  They are the sweater girls - just kids showing off their curves and apparently liking it.  What kind of mothers and wives are they going to be?"

Well, shush Harvey!  We've heard enough from you!

Isn't the sweater just perfect for Ania?  It worked beautifully with my high contrast Hollywood edits.

And that's a wrap!  I took around 100 images on this shoot, but I hope you enjoyed this insight to a fabulously fun shoot and my celebration of Hollywood and femininity!

CREDITS:  

Model:  Ania Cummins

Hair and Makeup:  Sensual Passions

A Walk on the Wild Side

After exploring the enchanting Badger Dingle last weekend, we found ourselves in the thick of it on Saturday night, having been the nominated taxi service to two teens heading to their first gig in Birmingham's industrial heartland Digbeth, now slowly but surely shaking off its dark and dangerous reputation.

I love this part of Birmingham.  Currently the high street is a building site whilst tram lines are laid, as plans for the West Midlands Metro extension continue at pace.  As easy on the eye as Birmingham's Bull Ring and surrounding area is, something of the character of the city is always stripped away when restaurant franchises and chain stores dominate.  As of now, Digbeth is walking that tightrope between darkly creative underbelly - still wearing its industrial heart on its sleeve - and relentless progress and gentrification.  I know for some, gentrification of the area can't come soon enough, but for now, I'm enjoying experiencing the palpable excitement that a simple walk around Digbeth offers.  

I've visited a few times in recent years, most memorably at the first (and to date, only) Peaky Blinders Festival in 2019.

In September of that year, I took my partner in crime and fellow Peaky obsessive Vix to this fully immersive festival where little set dressing was required.  Naturally we stopped for a pint of Guinness in one of the Victorian Irish pubs Digbeth is famed for.  In retrospect we should have opted for Thomas Shelby's favoured Irish whisky, but we needed to have our wits about us, as became clear upon entry.

Firstly I was ordered to leave behind my camera (something which outraged me at the time as there was nothing on the festival website to suggest cameras were not welcome when smart phones were!)  This necessitated a detour to the Bull Ring where we managed to find a safe for me to deposit the offending item.  

Smart phone camera on standby, our first experiences on entry were somewhat surreal.  I was taken to one side by a gypsy, who took a keen interest in my jewellery whilst trying to relieve me of cash in some kind of gambling game (memory fails me here).  

We were also soon approached by a BBC director, keen to get the two of us on camera to discuss all things Peaky.  I wonder whatever happened to that footage?  We also chatted (and shared chips) with celebrity Brummie chef, Glynn Purnell, although neither of us recognised him at the time.

There were showgirls and Burlesque performers...

We drank beer, watched bands (including Slaves and Anna Calvi)

...hung out with Thomas and Alfie Solomons...

...received series secrets ahead of transmission from writer and creator Stephen Knight, pictured here from behind (centre)...

...admired the architecture and graffiti art...

...observed illegal boxing...

...supported the Suffragette Movement

and generally had the most amazing day.  Little did we know that Covid would emerge at the end of that year.

So, back to Saturday night.  We started out in Digbeth, but its dimly lit streets, shady characters and broken glass seemed less inviting before the nightlife had really come alive...

...so we headed on foot into the centre of everything...

where no one had apparently heard of Covid.  The bars and restaurants were full to bursting with no masks in evidence.  By 7.30 pm (still some way off witching hour), people were dancing and singing in the streets.  Talk about the roaring twenties!

Whilst photographing this juggler (more on him shortly)... 

...a man handed me an artificial rose, immediately followed by a small laminated note asking for financial support for his family. I explained that I wasn't carrying any cash and he promptly took the rose from my fingers and moved on. 

Back to the juggler.  I'm not sure if it was part of his act or not, but every so often, he would drop one of his batons, which landed with a clatter near to his peacefully sleeping (and healthy looking dog).  This would immediately send the dog off into a spiralling rage and he would charge at the nearest pedestrian.  Clearly, whilst the baton had dropped, the penny hadn't for this poor sleep deprived canine, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the real culprit was his owner.

Birmingham's famous Bullring

Tramlines

The reflective beauty of the metal clad New Street Station

Heading back towards Digbeth, we spotted this establishment.  After the fiasco in the House of Commons this week with our PM being forced to (yet again) apologise for parties in number 10, this is definitely a sign of the times; a load of old waffle and a PM on shaky ground.

Digbeth was by this time, coming to life.  There was ground shaking music and packed pubs and beer gardens.  We were happy to observe Birmingham's wildlife from a safe distance.  Incidentally and disappointingly, the teens reported back that no checks were carried out relating to the required negative lateral flow tests or proof of vaccination status upon entry to the concert.  I can only guess that this is typical.

How cool was this guy's patchwork outfit?!

The final series of Peaky Blinders airs this month, ahead of a planned film to bring this chapter in the life of the Shelby family to a close.  I was lucky enough to put in a stint as Filming Assistant on season 6 last Spring before restrictions had been lifted.  Miraculously, for once, the press failed to get wind of the fact that filming was taking place at the Black Country Museum, so it was allowed to proceed uninhibited and I feel so lucky to have witnessed these iconic actors walking the cobbles and filming key scenes.  But no spoilers here.

After a bleak and stormy weekend, the sun appeared on Monday, along with a teaser of spring-like weather.  The balmy temperatures on Monday were perfectly timed and enabled me to try out my new wool jacket.  I say new, but of course, it's vintage.  I've been searching off an on for a Harris Tweed jacket after visiting the Hebrides several years ago, but they command eye watering prices and ebay and our local charity shops have failed to turn up trumps with anything close in my size.  Naturally, all it took was a passing comment on Vix's blog and hey presto! one turned up in a Walsall charity shop (those folks have taste).  Vix sent me the photos and my jaw hit the floor.  

It was the exact size and shade I was looking for; a 1970s beauty with football buttons, ticket pocket, elbow patches and sewn up pockets.  A perfectly preserved piece of  vintage loveliness, pictured here teamed with a Breton top, second hand Zara jeans, Clarks boots, Turtle Doves recycled cashmere wrist warmers and second hand leopard print, bead-trimmed Anokhi scarf.

Sun and fashion frivolity however, provided little distraction from the very sad news we received on Sunday evening, that our friend Sandra had passed away.  Whilst not unexpected, it came a little sooner than we had anticipated.  Sandra, although originally from Durham, had made a life with her husband and three children in her spiritual home, a remote and stunning corner of County Donegal.  Consequently, we saw each other once in a blue moon, but those occasions were always filled with laughter.  We were still regularly in touch, chatting on the phone or virtually - sometimes during one of her many hospital stays - until late December, when Sandra said she would raise a glass to me.  In these circumstances, the word "bravery" is often used.  Sandra really did face her illness with a boldness and bravery I can't even begin to imagine being able to muster.  She was clever, sassy and funny, one of my favourite people and I will miss her dreadfully.  

So tonight, on the evening of her wake, I will raise a glass of whisky - Irish of course - to Sandra.