If you build it they will come...

Opening this week: The new Acne shop on Dover Street.

I am beyond excited. So excited I went to have a look before it opened and spent about ten minutes peering through the window with my camera like some weirdo stalker. I will probably be disappointed, but I really, really hope not. Just this once, please, please, please...
Acne, 13 Dover Street, opens July 15th

The squirrel stalkers - a story in pictures

An adventure in Queen's Park on a hot sunny day starring other people's children and a crafty squirrel;

Suffice to say the squirrel got away scot free, while the boy in red got a rather nasty graze on his leg after falling off the tree...

A day in Deal

Yesterday we went for our annual office summer outing. Any excuse to not be stuck inside at your desk on a sunny day is always good, but this was particularly nice. We got on the new super-fast train from St.Pancras, changed at Ashfird and then got on the much slower local line through Kent which took us through Dover - half pretty seaside town, half repulsive industrial docks, and along the sea front to Deal.

I wouldn't want to live there, but Deal is just about everything you could ask for from a British seaside town. Picturesque houses, a pier with a fancy cafe, a relatively cheap but well curated vintage shop (the imaginatively named Vintage by the Sea), shops with amusing names and old fashioned signage, a decent restaurant for lunch, a kitsch ice cream parlour by the sea and a pebble beach. The rather glorious weather brought out the local school kids who were splashing about in the water in their school uniforms and rolling down the pebble slope to the sea. And some exceedingly large seagulls. I am not scared of seagulls, but these ones were twice as big as our cat and had a manic glint in their beady eyes. If they were in London they'd probably be carrying knives and hanging around in groups around the corner from a local shop in Plaistow. 

It's not a short trip to get there, but it's short enough for a nice day trip as long as there isn't a fire in the Thames Tunnel that means that the fast trains get suspended and you have to take the painfully slow route back into London... 

Nice surfwear - not an oxymoron after all

Those who have made my acquaintance will agree that it doesn't take long to work out that I'm not really into most forms of exercise. I lack the requisite self-discipline for running regularly, and I can't bear to part with £60 every month for the privilege of exercising in the tiny sweaty box that is our local Fitness First. Last time I tried Yoga I had to sit out for half the class because I almost fainted. Some forms of exercise are fun and satisfying when only partaken in on an occasional basis. Like horse riding, ice skating, long walks on Hampstead Heath with nice people, swimming in the sea in India when it gets too hot to even consider being anywhere but in the water. All of these are acceptable because they are rare treats.
I was even persuaded by one of my oldest friends to try surfing once on a girly holiday in Cornwall. I will grudgingly admit it was quite fun, but I was never going to be an instant convert. After all, surfing may have it's own unique style, but I'm not exactly a fan of Hawaiian prints unless they're on 1950's bombshell dresses. And let's not even talk about wet suits.
Plus I don't hugely enjoy being in a bikini in front of, well, anyone really. Although years of serious training have made me able to pretend otherwise. The lack of mirrors in places like Goa really helps too, as does the fact that most of the skinny girls are on drugs or intensely annoying yoga heads. Or both. Which allows me to feel superior about my various wobbly bits.
But just when I though we had established firm sartorial reasons for my resistance to a repeat of being dragged into another humiliating surf experience, some buggers have come along and created a range of truly lust-worthy surf wear...
Despite having a rather twee Simone de Beauvoir quote on their website and a slightly silly label name, Jillian Demling and Karen Mulligan know what they're doing with Pret-a-surf.
They should do really. Demling is a Vogue editor and Mulligan manages Annie Leibovitz's studio. According to an interview with them in Vanity Fair this month, they set out to design a range of bikinis, swimsuits and rash guards inspired by 50's and 60's style because they wanted to "look good while playing with the boys."
I still think rash guards are deeply unsexy, but a mondrianesque print is a definite improvement. The only downer here really is they've chosen some ridiculously skinny models for the pret-a-surf lookbook, when really what's needed is a grown-up woman with breasts and some toned thigh.

The always swoon-worthy Marion Cotillard does a much better job of the same bikini in her Mario Testino shoot for Vogue, but I could only find these tiny picture to show you.

Pret-a-surf appears to currently only be stocked in the US. Although they do appear to have an online shop that ships to pretty much everywhere, I don't buy swimwear without trying it on first. Especially when it costs more than £100 and I still can't afford to be buying anything really nice at the moment if it's not from the car boot sale. But I really do want that bikini an awful lot. Sigh.

Talking of car boot sales, last weekend was a particularly successful one on that front. he sun brought out some good sellers. I found a cute Luella black shirt for £4, with white polka dots, black rhinestone buttons and tiny bows and ruffles on the cuffs. It's a bit big for me but will look good tucked into something high waisted I hope, or just left open as a light alternative to a jacket this summer. Other treasures from my weekend haul include a black Moschino Couture pencil skirt and a rabbit fur and silk cardigan for £3 each at my local primary school's summer fete. Not bad.

Magpie meets The Queen

This may sound a little far fetched, but I did actually meet HRH last week. Ok, maybe meet is a bit of a strong term for it. But I was there, she was there, other Royals were there, hands were shaken, it was all very exciting.
It was the day of the England match, no not the ridiculously predictable one against Germany, but the one we actually won against Slovenia or Slovakia or someone like that. We had been let out of work early so that everyone could watch the match.
Of course, not really being a fan of football and generally finding the synthetic fibre-y-ness of football uniforms pretty awful, I was fairly uninterested. I'll watch men in crisp white tennis outfits on TV relatively happily, or even cricket, but football is really only exciting if you're actually there. Or drunk. Or if it's a hugely significant match and you're with all your friends. I was sober and in Southwark surrounded by office types who had all also been let out early and the idea of cramming into a smelly pub with them was quite horrible.
So I went for a stroll along the Southbank, up towards the Royal Festival Hall. It just so happens that around the same time I was wandering along, the Royals were preparing to arrive at said Festival Hall for Prince William's convocation into the Royal Society. So I joined the small handful of onlookers and paparazzi and the vast number of Festival Hall staff, security and police, to watch them arrive.
I even managed to take some pictures.

Let's start with Wills. Prince William really isn't hot. He has a very noticeable bald patch developing. I would need some serious gifts to go there. Maybe my own yacht would do it. But he is good at safe, boring suits. He gives them a bit of a James Bondish edge - very English, very plummy, a little bit dashing despite the bald spot. I don't know who this one is by, but I think a bit of Burberry and Dunhill would work for William. Kim Jones could work wonders on that man. Maybe after that I wouldn't need the yacht.

Princess Anne is definitely my favourite of the bunch. She's managed to have the same 70's Edwardian revival hairstyle for more than forty years now, which you have to respect. And she never has to go through the painful ritual of brushing out the backcombing. And look, she's rocking this summer's nudes! Plus those pearls. Those pearls are the only thing I actually want from the Royal family.

Now let's look at the matriarch. Frankly there is no excuse for this. I actually quite like the Queen, but this is just heinous, isn't it? There are hundreds of young, talented designers who could seriously benefit from her majesty's patronage but she chooses to go out in this. Who is this by? They should be ashamed of themselves. Ick.

Although she does have an awesome car...

This week has also been good for spotting royalty. Well, fashion royalty anyway. Sadly I didn't have my camera with me, but I was waiting for my dad at the Eurostar arrivals door in St Pancras when out walks none other than Giles Deacon. He was in a very snug fitting breton t and his trademark glasses and he was with a woman was carrying a very large pink Ungaro bag. What do you mean did you try and speak to him? What do you think I am, a journalist or something? Um...