I have been off gallivanting again. Tsk. With good reason though. On Friday, I played the part of ‘plus one’ for the opening of the Holburne Museum in Bath. Closed for three long years, it has been extended and renovated and now relaunched with a wondrous exhibition by none other than Peter Blake.
I was a little too scared to take photos, the gallery attendants looked rather fierce, but decided that you all ought to go and see it anyway. It’s a single room, seemingly small, but with Blake’s found objects and miniature artworks on display that hardly seems to matter at all. From Tom Thumb’s boots, to a waxwork bust of Leslie Caron (taken from life, and very spooky), to Ian Dury’s rhythm stick, via pictures of Brigitte Bardot and her ‘B-side’ (thank you to Tarkus for introducing that phrase into my life) plastered all over a cabinet and two original heads from the Sgt. Pepper album cover. It really requires more gazing time than I was able to dedicate. The rest of the museum, from what I saw, is looking rather splendid and I have fallen in love with a few Gainsboroughs I wouldn’t mind owning.
Then on Saturday, I attended the gorgeous Penny Dreadful’s launch party. Too briefly it would seem. It was lovely to meet up with some other bloggers who I hadn’t met before, and to see Margaret and Sharon Rose again. Seems I missed some Dolly Parton karaoke, but I was heading all the way back to Brighton and didn’t wish for my train to become a pumpkin. Margaret has a gorgeous pad, and some gorgeous vintage, so I would recommend booking in for a session at Maison Penny Dreadful.
Last night, to round off a lovely weekend, I went to see Annabel Giles in ‘Annabel Giles talks too much‘ at the Brighton Fringe. Engaging and very beautiful (cheekbones to die for) she’s also rather funny and self-deprecating. She will speed through her life story, with photos from her modelling days (several I recognised, and would never have guessed were her), stories of Midge Ure, Paula Yates and naff gameshows from my childhood. It’s a surprisingly enjoyable night out, rather like agreeing to go to the pub with someone you haven’t seen in ten years, and who then doesn’t ask you a thing about yourself. Which is rather nice, to be absorbed in a life other than your own, but a risky business. It’s a fine line between brutal honesty and prattling self-obsession, but she walks it confidently.
My only criticism would be, don’t advertise that you will be answering questions about ‘anything’ at the end, and then get a little cagey when someone wants to know why you split from your husband. All or nothing, for me.
I’m doing a little more gallivanting over the next week or so, but I’m trying to line up some blog posts and get some listings up, so please bear with me dear readers. And if you are so inclined, I’d be awfully grateful if anyone felt like voting for me on Lulu’s Vintage.
Up until Tuesday night, I was a Who-virgin. Now, thanks to Senti, Charley and Lola, I’ve popped my Who-cherry as well as my Albert Hall-cherry. I’ve worked there enough times, but never been to see anything.
It was amazing. In aid of the Teenage Cancer Trust (of which Roger Daltrey is a patron) they performed the entire Quadrophenia album from start to finish, with some stunning visuals from the archives, the film version and newly filmed inserts of Jimmy’s spoken parts.
Then, hanging around fruitlessly at stage door afterwards, Charley spotted Peter Blake coming out and we decided to be geeky together and go and get his autograph. The other day I found myself sitting on a sofa at the Oxford Literary Festival, chatting to the truly amazing Sally Tuffin. (I couldn’t really spin that one out into a blog post of its own, unless I had recorded the entire conversation for posterity…which would be very rude.) Who would later mention her friend Peter Blake in her talk with Iain R. Webb.
It seems amusingly bizarre that I should be asking him (with chattering teeth) for his autograph after a Who gig less than a week later. Life is weird…
In honour of all this mod-ness, here is a rather fabulous red, white and blue striped jumper by ‘Gay Girl Knits’ just listed over at Vintage-a-Peel.
p.s Since some people complain that I never show what I am wearing to these things, I’m going to try and be a bit better about doing it. So here is me in my Celia Birtwell (for Topshop, I’m not an idiot. I’m not going to wear my Ossie Clark original to a Who gig!!) top and hair up. I don’t often put my hair up, but the rain was pouring and I was buggered if I was going to let it control my mood. So up it went!