Tweed Run London 2012 - Fortnum & Mason hampers, handmade tweed capes and Graham Coxon

Just over a week ago on May 6th I took part in the London Tweed Run.

For those not in the know, the Tweed Run is an annual event that involves gathering together a large group of vintage bike enthusiasts and people who enjoy a good opportunity to dress up and going on a 15 mile bike ride around some of the more central parts of London.

We gathered in front of the Albert Memorial for a group photograph before setting off and then discovered that the other half of the gorup were doing the same thing on the other side of the Albert Hall...

This was the fourth Tweed Run - there were two last year but one was sponsored by Ralph Lauren's Rugby brand and I'm not sure if it counts. I've wanted to part of it since seeing pictures of the first one and this year was lucky enough to be invited as a friend as her plus one.

At the moment though, I do not own a bike. A plan was hatched to borrow my mothers 1980s ladies road bike, which she has recently had retrofitted with an electic motor. It is not a thing of beauty, but it is reliable. For someone as unfit as I am the battery was also welcome back up plan for the ride home. The route was a closely guarded secret so we had no idea how far from home we would all end up.

For an event as style conscious as the Tweed Run, something had to be done about the bike. So we decorated it. Luckily the Jubillee celebrations are almost upon us and there is a proliferation of Union Jack paraphenalia in Poundland. We wrapped the bike frame in some blush coloured lace found in mum's attic and attached fake flowers to it using cable ties. Union Jack cushion covers were attached to the rack at the back, to which we also added my Fortnum & Mason hamper, which was filled with an anorak in case of rain, a blanket, a large can of hairspray and a few other useful bits and pieces.

The bike mid-decoration

The wire front basket, which contains the bike's battery in its hideous black vinyl bag, was disguised with more lace and flowers and then wrapped up with a big red organza bow, treading that very fine line between ebullient and bad taste.

The bike in action - picture via the Tweed Run Facebook page

Thankfully none of this fell off during the ride, which took us from Kensington through Hyde Park to Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly, Parliament and then to the Imperial War Museum for a very welcome tea break complete with games and a good old fashioned tombola.

Then through the back streets of Bermondsey and back over the river via Tower Bridge, past St Pauls and the bells rang out (a really special moment for most of us I think) and then up to Clerkenwell for whisky and gingers at the very friendly but slightly overwhelmed The Blacksmith and Toffeemaker pub.

 
Along the way we were joined by Graham Coxon, who carried a toy pig in his bicycle basket - as you do - and then presented the awards for best dressed man and woman (dapper dame) at the pub.

The line up for dapper dame

Graham Coxon presents the award to Pandora, a truly dseserving winner whose outfit was entirely homemade!

I was extremely proud to win the award for best dressed bike! I was presented with a beautiful brown leather saddle bag by the charming founder of Pashley Bikes. It's my favourite ever trophy (it helps that it smells like a tack room - one of my all time favourite scents).

Receiving my prize! Image via the Tweed Run Facebook page

But it's hard to decide what the best part of the day actually was (it certainly wasn't discovering I had forgotten my door key and having to ride up to Nottinghill to get the spare pair from the boy - my poor aching thighs were on the verge of revolt by that point).

As we cycled up the mall - a 400 strong flotilla of English eccentrics, vintage enthusiasts and bike nerds - I realised I'd never seen so many people in London look so happy. The tourists looked like Christmas had come early, and it did actually feel a little like that. Bus and taxi drivers suspended their default grumpiness and a few of them actually laughed, despite having to wait for us to pass. It probably helped that a lot of the men doffed their hats as the cycled past to say thank you.

I can honestly say that I haven't done something that joyful in a long time - and certainly never had so much fun on a bike. And I also used the run as a chance to raise some money for my charity of choice - Safe Haven Childrens Trust. You can still donate via my JustGiving page if you would like to help.

I didn't take many photos on the acual ride - I was too busy enjoying myself - but here's a few I snapped on the old iPhone at the initial gatheirng point just off Exhibition Road.

 

The chap on the left won the best dressed male category

I've been slightly reliving the whole experience over the past few days by reading everyone else's blogs (the one that sums it up best for me is by Jenni Yesterday) and catching up with all the Tweets from the day. I've put them all together using Storify, which has turned the whole thing into a Tweed Run live blog complete with pictures so you can get a bit of a sense of how it all unfolded if you're interested.There are also some rather jolly images on the Tweed Run Facebook page.

My outfit (on the left):

Tweed jacket by Armani (found at Kilburn car boot sale)
Waxed cotton circle skirt by River Island
Vintage silk shirt (found at Traid in Kilburn)
Vintage fox fur stole  found at Wills Moody Jumble Sale)
Vintage Cacharel diamante brooch (via eBay)
Hair bow (found at Wills Moody Jumble Sale)
Brogues by Office (found at Kilburn car boot sale)

All bike decorations found at Poundland and Harlesden and Kilburn car boot sales

p.s. If you spot any pictures of me in full get up during your web browsing, please let me know!

It's been a while...

Since I last blogged, many important things have happened. But let's not dwell on that. It's a new year and, really, it can't possibly be much more cataclysmic than 2011. Unless, of course, the Mayans were right.
I did abandon my blog last year. I have missed it and I apologise to anyone else who might have missed it too if they exist. I was busy having a full time job, worrying about the world, dealing with real life and doing this:

Yes, it was two months ago, but it still feels pretty amazing. And I met Caitlin Moran!

I also took up swing dancing. This is definitely not the same thing as swinging. There is no pampas grass in my front garden thank you very much. That joke is getting very, very old now.
I've dabbled with dancing once or twice before but this is the longest I've ever stuck with it and it feels like it's a permanent part of my life now. And dancing makes me happy. When I got home after my last lesson the boy said I was 'glowing'.
What all this has meant is that I've had no time to spend hours trawling fashion blogs and watching style.com and BoF like a hawk for gossipy tidbits, shows and news. I haven't really had the energy to trawl online retailers to find content for 'best of the sales' posts or keep up to date on new arrivals - frankly after a while it just gets depressing because I can afford precisely none of it.
I do, however, still find the time to trawl charity shops, designer exchanges and car boot sales and I still retreat to Liberty to stroke the lovely things after a difficult week.
So this year, my blog is being revived. I made myself a New Year's resolution and I am going to at least make an attempt to stick to it by posting a minimum of once a week. The content may be a little more varied. I'll be posting about the hunt for the perfect 30s and 40s dance outfits - be they vintage or repro or modern-with-a-flavour-of (Miu Miu is on the wish list at the moment) - and about learning new ways to burn my hair with curling tongs. I'll be reviving the £10 challenge because it's fun, although I still hate pictures of me. I'll also be talking about non-clothing related stuff occasionally; books I'm reading, new recipes, dancing and other things I like. But there'll still be the occasional post on new collections, things in the shops and wish lists.

MMmmmmmmmiu miu - yes please! (image via mademoisellelek.com)

Finally, just thought you should know that I've sort of given up smoking and am putting aside the money I would usually spend on cigarettes (roughly £10 a week at current prices I think, although I did save by turning to roll ups for a while) as I'm trying to save up for my dream bag - a Mulberry Bayswater in black. I've wanted one for so long now that I've learnt to ignore the litle pangs of jealousy that I get whenever I see someone with one on the tube. But recently one of my favourite people was given one. Yes, given. Just like that. And I can't handle it anymore. So I've made buying one - the real thing - one of my other New Year's resolutions. And I'm selling a lot of my old stuff on eBay to raise further funds towards it.

Drool. (image via mulberry.com)

I want to walk into Liberty and pay in cash. Wish me luck!

Uggxactly

Tackling writer's block

Image via charleshelfin.com

A very talented freelance feature writer that I first met back when were both trainee journalists emailed me this morning in a writer's block induced panic, asking for my advice on how to beat it. She's more than capable of getting past the block without my help and is a proper writer (I was one of those once but now I'm a web editor which mostly involves moving things other people have written around a screen, chasing contributions from bloggers and lots of scary budget meetings), but sometimes you just need a bit of reassurance from someone who understands what it's like. She said my response made her feel a bit better, so I thought I'd put it up here on the off-chance someone else might find it useful, funny or at least make them feel a bit better about themsleves because they are more organised/normal than me.

"OK, what I always do when I have writers block is faff around all day THINKING about the subject – this usually involves doing laundry, trawling blogs, walking in the park, spending hours on facebook, taking pointless bus journeys, going to the bank, etc... carry a notebook with me at all times and jot down the odd sentence (most of which I will be unable to read when I come back to them, but it will remind me what I was thinking about).

"Then when it starts to get dark I go out and buy a pack of 20 marlborough lights, a giant bag of maltesers and a couple of cartons or orange juice. Then I sit down and brain fart on my keyboard – write and write and write. "When it stops flowing I have a cigarette outside in the garden or take a juice and malteser break. At about 5am I do an edit.

"In all, during the course of a 24 hour day I will probably spend about 4-5 hours actually sitting in front of my computer attempting to write.

"Then I send it to my mum who reads it while I have a shower, tells me its fine, I look for reasons to disagree with her and then do another edit to correct all the things I found.

"Mostly, this technique is about giving yourself plenty of space away from the computer to organise your thoughts and being very close to deadline when you write so you can’t spend too much time agonising over it because you’ve just got to get it done.

"This is how I got a first at uni and how I got my first piece published in the Evening Standard. However, it is also how I failed to get onto a masters course at Cambridge.

"I have no idea if it would work for anyone else and it would probably be very risky  to try it out for the first time so close to an important deadline. Also, I strongly advise you not to do the cigarettes bit – it’s how I started smoking again. 

"The bit in bold is the important bit – you may be able to think of your own way of doing it."

Some things just need to be said

We are all guilty. I think I suffer from a kind of keyboard specific dyspraxia as well. 
This and other charming letterpress prints (I psrticularly enjoyed the one from the Trekkies to the Twilight fans and the stationery/stationary canvas bag) available from Sapling Press on Etsy

The Margaret Howell Sample Sale March/April 2011

I am not going to offer a lengthy explanation for my prolonged absence from this blog. All I will say is that I got a new, very demanding full-time job as a web editor (a real, proper editor which is a terribly grown up thing to be) and there was also some other stuff taking up all my spare brain space. Mostly I was spending my alone time in the evenings watching the same episodes of Family Guy over and over again because everything else felt like too much effort.
I didn't have the energy or inclination to spend hours reading pointless, repetitive articles on the fashion industry or reports on the latest fashion shows, most of which were boring anyway, and the blog began to feel like a weight around my neck rather than something satisfying and fun.
It's not as bad as it sounds, I promsie, I am just preternaturally lazy and couldn't handle being so busy. 
So anyway, now I am back. But not fully. I don't want this blog to feel like a burden again, so don't expect any consistancy in the posting regime. And it probably won't just be about clothes anymore, although I'm making no promises.
In the meantime, though, here's a gift from me to you - the Maragaret Howell sample sale invitation. This has become pretty much the only regular sample sale I frequent. It's not full of amazing bargains, but it is good for seriously useful things for your wardrobe that also make you feel like you've treated yourself.

How to dress for a protest

My family have always been politically minded, from my grandparents right-leaning zionist generation, to my parents CND/anti-apartheid/anti-nazi campaigning, right through to my own light dabblings in socialist ideology (very short-lived).
I've been going to protests since I was tiny, strapped onto my dad's back in a brown corduroy sling or holding mum's hand dressed in Osh Kosh dungarees, so it was lovely to see so many families with young kids at the protest in London on March 26.
However, protesting seems to have become more risky as police tactics have changed. When I was little it seemed like the police were there to protect us from any violence, so when a group of skin heads started throwing rocks at us on an Anti-Nazi league March they were swiftly dealt with and we carried on in peace. Perhaps as a child I was sheltered from any other nastiness, certainly old-school protestors I later met while working for another anti-racism organisation would suggest so. But these days the police are the people I am scared of. Not because they are bad people - but because I am terrified of being kettled. Kettling escalates an angry mood and catches innocent peaceful protestors up in the aggravated swirl of masked teenagers looking to cause damage and antagonise the police into doing something stupid. Being held for an indefinite amount of time is scary and also I don't like peeing in public.

Thus, my mother and I have, over the past few years, been considering a new sartorial approach to protest that we thought would help us avoid any trouble. On Saturday, we put it to the test. No more dungarees, definitely no corduroy (not that I have considered either of these a sensible choice for clothing since an unfortunate lilac denim-cut-off dungarees moment when I was 13) - no face paint, no jeans, no slogan t-shirts of any sort. In fact any clothes that make you look like you might possibly be a protestor are banned unless they can be easily removed and compacted into a handbag or covered with a shawl.
And thus it was that I went along to the cuts protest in polka dot high heels, matching red lipstick, an APC coat and a satin YSL pencil skirt (ebay's finest).

(taken by my mum in nice hotel toilets in Mayfair, five minutes after leaving the protest route)

No-one was anything but polite to me. One woman stopped me and said she admired my commitment, coming on a march in heels. A masked teenager, fresh from smashing the windows at Lloyds, actually stopped and apologised for crashing into me as he ran towards the Ritz. A riot policeman told me under his breath exactly what the next police move was going to be so that I could get out of the way and not get crushed. In fact every policeman either of us spoke to was nothing but friendly, helpful and polite despite the abuse being hurled at many of them. We even managed to walk straight off the march into a very nice hotel to use the loo without anyone batting an eyelid.
After five hours the heels did start to hurt a little. But I still managed to run with the riot police as they poured onto Piccadilly from Old Bond Street and take some decent pictures, although I had to hitch the pencil skirt up above my knees to keep up.

Yes, some people would say that there is an ideological conflict in wearing designer clothing to an anti-cuts protest (even if the entire outfit actually cost me under £50). Those are probably the same people who thought smashing the windows of the Ritz was a good idea. But I think their point is moot. The middle classes - a number of whom would take a trip to Fortnum and Masons for birthday ice creams or Christmas presents, or the Ritz for tea for Grandma's birthday, and who are collectively the biggest consumer group for fashion in the UK - are seriously affected by these cuts. Almost all of them rely in some way on a state-funded service, be it the NHS, state schooling, libraries, sport centres, child care or benefits. Very few of them have the money to pay off their children's university debts, let alone the new fees. Yes, this may seem trivial compared to the loss of a disability allowance or a newly-jobless single mother with no support (although being disabled or a single mother doesn't make you automatically working class or poor despite what some newspapers seem to think), but the point is that these cuts affect almost everyone. And even the more comfortable and straight-laced members of the middle classes are angry. They're just a bit too nice to throw eggs full of paint at the Royal Academy. For now.

Some other outfits from the protest:

And my favourite message of the day: