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Inside Christ Church, Spitalfields

13 Jan

I’ve written about Christ Church, Spitalfields before but couldn’t resist writing about it again as it is such a stunning building and people don’t often seem to go inside to appreciate just how beautiful and harmonious the interior is.

Christ Church was built between 1714 and 1729 by Nicholas Hawksmoor and I think displays his genius more than any of his other constructions. It looms ominously over the dark Victorian buildings that surround it and dominates the Spitalfields area.

It is of course well known as a central location from the infamous Ripper murders of Autumn 1888, which, bar one, took place in the streets around the church. Fans of the book and film From Hell will recognise it as the classically austere white church beside the Ten Bells pub, where the victims allegedly drank and tried to attract punters. In those days it was a magnet for the prostitutes, dispossessed and hopeless of the area, who congregated on its white steps, which overlook Commercial Street.

More recently, the church has been the object of an amazing restoration project and has now been revealed in all of its glory. I was literally dumbstruck with admiration and awe when I stepped inside for the first time, the noise and bustle of busy Commercial Street fading away to a distant buzz as I walked around its light filled, luminous and serene space.

We’re planning to have a vow renewal ceremony on our fifth wedding anniversary this year, and I really want to have it at Christ Church. My great great great grandfather was married in Christ Church but they only let people whose parents or grandparents were married there have weddings there, alas.

All of the photographs in this post were taken by myself. I hope you enjoy them!

Paris trip 2012

28 Aug

Crikey, Paris, 2012 sounds like THE FUTURE doesn’t it? I mean, not just a year into the future but THE FUUUUTURE. How time flies. I’m sure it was still 1992 last time I looked, which will explain why I’m still listening to Fields of the Nephilim at any rate…

We’re planning to spend a week in Paris next year on what appears to becoming our biannual trip. My husband actually wants to go to Rome but I’m putting that off for a bit until I write about Isabella de’ Medici as I want to do a combined trip to Rome, Florence and Venice and the boys will need to be a bit bigger for that.

So Paris it is! Not that I’m complaining. I did complain once though about going to Paris, can you believe? It was (and still is) the practice at my old university to send second year History of Art undergraduates off for a week in a European city to research a dissertation based on a topic relating to said city. Due to being quite flush with cash I tagged along with the second years above me to Rome, which was pretty amazing but also a bit overwhelming and as the weeks went in order I expected to be packed off to Venice with my own lot a year later.

It was not to be. The course directors decided that it would be unethical to send a group of students to Venice after spending two years banging on about how bad tourism was for the city’s conservation and so agreed that we should go to Paris instead. ‘Oh no, not boring Paris!’ we all groaned in the lecture theatre when they made the announcement. Imagine that. It was quite a good week though in the end. I researched a First worthy essay about the representations of Marie Antoinette in post revolutionary art, almost fell in the Seine, visited Malmaison for the first time, went to the Louvre so often that I seem to have spoiled it for myself forever and ate a lot of cake.

Typically, I have already started thinking about where we will be going. I’m not going to lie or pretty this up – I am a monumental control freak and really love making lists. There, I said it. I couldn’t go to Paris and just drift around with no clear idea of what I was going to do with my day. Sacre bleu! No, I like to have my time there organised with almost military precision so I can march around with my precious Batobus Pass and Musée Carte and totally kill my feet in the process.

On my list for re-visits next year are:

1. Musée des Arts Décoratifs. This is my favourite museum in Paris and is crammed full of unimaginable treasures. In fact there is so much gorgeous, glorious stuff in there that it can be overwhelming so I often have to have a little break half way round to look at something ugly until I’ve come to my senses and so can appreciate everything again.

2. The Louvre. I’m mostly over the Louvre now, having been so often but the foundations of the Medieval Louvre, sculpture department, royal jewels and Napoleon III apartments are still definite MUST SEES.

3. Musée Nissim de Camondo. A gorgeous museum of art housed in a lovely former mansion.

4. Musée Carnavalet. Always this one. It wouldn’t feel like a trip to Paris without a look in at the French Revolutionary rooms and amazing paintings in this museum! I need to spend quite a bit of time in the Marais area in general to get a feel for the seventeenth century city and may even look into renting an apartment there for the week. We stayed literally (and I mean LITERALLY) opposite the Louvre last time, which was just perfect so that would take some beating.

5. Versailles. Bien sur. I didn’t go last time because Dave was unwilling to put himself through a day at Versailles with me again (I’ll admit that it can get a bit arduous as I like to cover a lot of ground and look at EVERYTHING) but next time I’ll be going with or without him. So there. I’ll be paying more attention to the Trianons this time as I still haven’t seen all of the renovations at the Petit Trianon.

6. Fontainebleau. We planned to go there last time but for some reason (rain storm and sleeping in, I suspect) didn’t quite make it. I HAVE to go next time though so we’ll just have to make sure we get up in the morning, won’t we?

7. Conciergerie and Sainte Chapelle. Like the Carnavalet, I can’t imagine visiting Paris and not going to the Conciergerie. You can read about our last visit there here.

8. Saint-Cloud. I haven’t been out to Saint-Cloud before but feel that I should as it was the site of Philippe and Henriette d’Orléans’ amazingly beautiful château. Not much remains now but I still want to see the site for myself.

9. Palais Royal. One of my absolute favourite places in Paris – I adore the serene pillars and sense of history all around. It’s simply stunning. I need to work out if they ever let people visit the chapel inside – does anyone know?

10. Picpus. I may have to go here on my own as it’s a bit too morbidly obsessive for Dave, but I regret not going last time we were in Paris.

Of course, that’s not all we’ll be seeing but that’s just enough to be day dreaming about for now! If you’re planning a visit to Paris as well then you may like my brief guide to visiting the city with children.

All photographs are MINE ALL MINE. I’ve got a fancy schmancy camera that scares the bejesus out of me now and a whole plethora of Hipstamatic lenses on my iPhone so expect even better photos when I get back next time!

Back from London

5 Jul

I am back from a two day trip to London, where we saw some amazing things and completely destroyed our feet in the process. Whenever I go to London I feel a certain regret that despite growing up nearby in Colchester, coming from a proper old fashioned East End family and then accidentally living there later on (in my defence, my then boyfriend was one of those controlling weird freaks who don’t read books, despise intellectual pursuits and think their partners shouldn’t have their own interests and so systematically ridiculed me about my love of history until, exhausted by the jibes, I decided it was best to just turn my back on it), I appear not to have taken full advantage of these facts. Still, we’re making up for it now!

I have a series of posts planned for this week about my adventures over the last few days, but thought I’d start with a brief photographic tour of What We Got Up To, which should hopefully provide a bit of a taster for what I have in store for you all…

A photo in passing of the spire of St George in the East Church on the Highway, Wapping. This is of course one of the six Hawksmoor ‘creepy’ churches that one will find dotted around London, all of which are fascinating structures. I’m particularly fond of this one as I grew to know it well during the previously mentioned residence in London which involved a lot of hanging around Wapping.

I’ve wanted to get to the top of the White’s Row car park on Commercial Street for ages just so that I can get this shot of the nasty little service road that runs alongside it. Weirdly and as I may have mentioned one or two times before, this road is the site of Dorset Street, which was apparently the worst street in London at the end of the nineteenth century and central to the Jack the Ripper case. The murder of Mary Jane Kelly took place in Miller’s Court, which ran off to the right hand side of the road, roughly where the shuttered doors are here.

The best known of Hawksmoor’s ‘creepy churches’ (look, that’s just what I like to call them), Christ Church on Commercial Street, Whitechapel. This church will be familiar to fellow fans of From Hell (both the book and the film) as it looms eerily over the crowded, revolting streets of Victorian Whitechapel.

I now know that my ancestor Sergeant Lee of H Division in 1888 (yes, Ripperology IS genetic), lived most of his life in the shadow of Christ Church. I totally forgot to get a photograph of the address that he lived at though with his enormous family – next time!

Christ Church looks great when snapped with the Hipstamatic app on my iPhone as I went past on my way to Folgate Street. I took F with me and pointed out the old Truman Brewery on the way, where my great grandfather was a manager. I think that Whitechapel is the place that I feel most at home because there are echoes of my family and therefore me at every turn.

I’m fascinated by the juxtaposition of grimy old and shiny new in Whitechapel, as illustrated by this photograph. I was in Spitalfields to visit Dennis Severs’ house at 18 Folgate Street, which was even better than I expected it to be and a magical and unforgettable experience. I’ll be posting in full about it this week…

A view down Artillery Lane that runs between Spitalfields and Bishopsgate. A spindly, narrow little street, lined with Victorian shops and houses that gives an evocative reminder of how this area would have looked at the time of the Ripper murders. I’ve already decided to have one of my book launches there at some point – in Before The Storm, one of the characters, Sidonie comes from a house on Artillery Lane.

More of the old and new – a view of St Botolph Without Bishopgate church which we walked past on our way from Bishopsgate to the Museum of London. John Keats was baptised here in 1795. I always get in confused with St Botolph’s in Aldgate, which was known as the ‘Prostitute’s church’ in Victorian times as ladies of the night used to walk around it touting their wares.

Mind you, the guide on a Ripper walk I went on many moons ago also seems to have been confused between the two as he took us to the one on Bishopsgate and told us that it is where the prostitutes used to hang out…

We took a walk through the remnants of the Medieval city to Moorgate and then the Barbican beyond. Very little remains of the old city but you can glimpse echoes of the past every now and again…

Photograph of the Lord Mayor’s carriage in the Museum of London, taken by a nice young man who noticed me struggling with O, the pushchair, a mountain of bags and my phone. I really enjoyed the Museum of London, although it closed earlier than the time stated on their website and so I missed seeing the Victorian bit that I particularly wanted to view. This is annoying but at least gives me an excuse to go back…

Back on Commercial Street again – it looks like someone’s done the Ten Bells up a bit, doesn’t it? That stonework looks brand new and there’s an awning too. I actually got a bit enraged when I spotted this – ‘How dare they improve my pub?!’ I demanded, which is a bit weird of me so I do apologise. I’ve taken dozens of photographs of the Ten Bells over the years so will have to do a comparison, which I won’t share with you so don’t worry. I’m not THAT mad. Yet.

The main tower thing at Canary Wharf, as seen from below so you can’t see the pyramid or flashing light on top. We decided to stay in the Docklands, which was a bit of a left field decision but I thought it would be fun for some reason. Google maps convinced us that we were close to Canary Wharf so we gamely set out for a bit of a wander only to get hopelessly lost in that embarrassing way that always seems to occur when one is looking for a very tall building.

Anyway, after much woe, we finally got to Canary Wharf, which was just as vilely soulless and rather depressing as we expected it to be…

View across to Canary Wharf the next morning – this has a pleasantly sixties feel to it, I think.

The Natural History Museum in the early morning. Stupidly, we failed to check their website before setting out and so our promises of dinosaurs were actually LIES as the dinosaur bit (the only bit worth seeing in my opinion) is closed until the end of the month.

Still, we gamely queued up to get in, which led to an altercation at the door when a Polish family attempted a blatant queue jump and my husband decided to very un-Britishly shout at them about their lack of manners – earning himself a raised middle digit from the mother.

Inside the Natural History Museum – the architecture of the building is far more impressive than the displays. When I was fourteen I once worked as a waitress at a function here, which was a lot of fun – except for some posh git who tried to get me to come back to his flat to do heaven knows what.

D took the boys off to the Science Museum, which they loved, while I headed off to the Victoria and Albert Museum, which I loathe with a passion but have been nonetheless persevering with since my teens because I worry that not liking it means that I am some sort of uncultured oaf. Maybe I am? I just find it a really depressing and frustrating experience as they have such amazing things there but the displays are tediously laid out, the attendants are at best arrogant and at worst rude and the whole thing is a confusingly laid out and iniquitous maze, in which not even the staff seem able to adequately give directions to where you want to be.

Not that it made a blind bit of notice yesterday as every single bit that I wanted to visit was either closed by a power failure or shut for refurbishment or I just couldn’t find it.

You are allowed take photographs (without flash!) in most of the Museum except the jewellery bit. However, I had forgotten this but a vague memory that this perhaps was the case lingered on when I visited yesterday – however, I couldn’t find any notice telling me not to take photographs (I was feeling pretty harassed and annoyed by this point though so probably totally missed it due to sheer fury) and when I went inside everyone else seemed to be blithely skipping about taking photos (some with frankly enormous cameras) so I followed suit.

However, I was soon disabused of this notion by a snarky attendant. I debated not posting any of the photos here as they are clearly contraband, however the V&A annoyed me so much yesterday that TO HELL WITH IT, here’s the last one I took. I intend never going back again anyway…

After all this, I decided a nice relaxing walk was in order and so while D took the boys off to the Doctor Who Experience (which was fabulous, just in case you were wondering), I strolled along to Kensington Palace for my appointment with the curator of the Ceremonial Dress Collection – which I will be posting about at great length this week, but prepare to be amazed…

Imagine my surprise when I arrived at the palace to be greeted by a scene that seemed straight out of 1997. This particular display was in ‘honour’ of what would have been Princess Diana’s fiftieth birthday on the 1st of July and is apparently all down to one man, who is one of the last standing gate decorators. I had a chat with one of the Kensington Palace staff while there and was told that there used to be two warring factions of Diana fans who decorated the gate with (occasionally slanderous and swiftly removed) slogans, banners and pictures. However, they’ve noticed a dropping off in the amount of stuff attached to the gates now and expect it to stop altogether at some point. Apparently it’s left up for a week then discreetly removed with everything being recycled.

I had a quick look through the Enchanted Palace visitor’s book inside Kensington Palace and was rather amused to find an entry by an Antipodean visitor who angrily scrawled that there wasn’t enough about ‘the ONLY princess DIANA‘ so there you go…

What would she have made of this, I wonder?

Anyway, I hope you liked this – full posts on Dennis Severs’ House and the Royal Ceremonial Dress collection to follow! Also coming up this busy busy month – my first ever press event (and probably my last) for the Dressing the Stars Exhibition at the Fashion Museum, another visit to the Bath Fashion Museum study area to feel up some nineteenth century evening dresses CSI style, a day spent as a 1930s housewife (gosh golly crikey) and Camp Bestival again.

 

Ps. We’d better get a Whole Foods in Bristol at some point – we visited the one on Kensington High Street before coming home to get burritos from their burrito bar and I’m in love! So much vegan goodness!

A visit to Versailles

6 May

On this day, the 6th May 1682, Louis XIV moved his court to Versailles. To mark this momentous occasion and also that of my humble blog passing 400,000 page views (thank you!), I thought I would post some of the photographs that I took during my last visit to Versailles.

Marie Antoinette and countless others got married beneath this beautiful ceiling! Imagine kneeling beneath this vivid display while saying your prayers – it really must have felt like you were sending them directly up to Heaven itself…

A young, heroic Louis XIV, looking very different to (reality?) how he would appear in later portraits. He was a handsome fellow though, by all accounts. I still prefer his first cousin, Charles II of England though…

The beautiful, witty and rather sinister Madame de Montespan surrounded by her children by Louis XIV. I love how Louise peeps through the artfully placed hedgerow. One of the things that always intrigues me about Madame de Montespan is that we are told that she and her circle of intimates had their own idiom that they used when talking to each other (like the Duchess Georgiana of Devonshire and her chums) and I’d love to know what that actually sounded like!

Marie Leczinska, Louis XV’s pious Polish wife. The angle that I took this from makes her dress looks all the more ballooning and her head absolutely pin like in comparison. I love the jaunty little spaniel at her feet. Poor Marie – she complained that Louis was always pestering her for sex (‘always in bed, always pregnant, always giving birth’ she is said to have complained) and used to make up random and increasingly obscure saint’s days so that she could turf him out of her bedroom. She also kept the grotesquely decorated skull of the seventeenth century courtesan Ninon de Lenclos at her side, calling it her ‘Mignonne’. How very goth.

One of the many thousands of beautiful chandeliers in the château. It wasn’t very busy when we were there last but there were enough people for me to realise that if I wanted to get reasonable shots then lifting my camera towards the ceiling was definitely the best bet! Can you see the famous portrait of Louis XIV on the wall? According to tradition this room always had this portrait of the original King of Versailles on one wall and one of whoever the current King was on the other – this space is currently inhabited by a large full length picture of Louis XVI, the last King of Versailles.

A throne in what would have been used as the throne room on state occasions. This hasn’t always been in here so must have been added as part of the most recent round of improvements. It looks good though, and gives visitors an idea of how the château would have been used in its heyday. When I first visited in 1989, it was still relatively empty in comparison to how it is now.

The ante chamber before you enter the legendary Hall of Mirrors. This one is ‘war’ themed, while the one next to the Queen’s bedroom at the very end is ‘peace’ themed.

A view across the parterre from the window of the Hall of Mirrors. I keep meaning to photoshop courtiers over the tourists!

Another view from the window. In the corner you can see the mad little bus that takes people down to the Trianons.

Another view of the ante chamber, this time showing the marble warlike Louis XIV on the wall.

Self portrait reflected in the famous mirrors. They aren’t the originals, but who cares? I have bare feet as we foolhardedly decided to walk from the Opéra to the Louvre then down the Champs Elysées to the Arc de Triomphe and THEN on to the Eiffel Tower the night before and my feet were killing me! We went to the Louvre for the evening opening after leaving Versailles and I got told off for having bare feet in front of the Mona Lisa! Speaking of the Mona Lisa – did you know that the painting used to hang at Versailles?

View towards the ceiling in the Hall of Mirrors.

Beautiful gilt statues that line the gallery. In the times of Kings, the royal family and their attendants would walk in a procession down the Hall of Mirrors to get to the chapel for morning Mass and all the court and anyone dressed well enough to be admitted to Versailles would gather to watch them go past, making it the most opulent corridor in all the world.

More of the Hall of Mirrors.

The chubby little cherubs that ornament one of the chandelier plinths in the gallery.

The end wall of the gallery and my husband looking totally fed up!

The ceiling of the ‘peace’ ante chamber at the other end.

Louis XIV had himself depicted in a warlike state, while Louis XV prefered to be painted in a state of peace, with his twin baby daughters beside him.

Some photographs of Marie Antoinette’s bedroom at Versailles. It’s a bit over the top isn’t it? It’s funny really though that technically this is simply the ‘Queen’s’ bedroom but the other residents don’t really get a mention, it is and always will be the bedroom of Marie Antoinette. Can you see the portrait of Marie Antoinette’s mother, the Empress Maria Theresa above the mirror?

View of the mantelpiece, where a beautiful bust of Marie Antoinette stands, looking out haughtily over the millions of visitors who pass by every year.

The hidden door beside the bed, which Marie Antoinette used to make her escape from the mob in October 1789. I have actually been through the door and down the very corridor, thanks to a cunning ploy of pretending to have a headache on one of my visits. The very kindly guard took me past the balustrade and within touching distance of the royal bed then through the door and down the corridor to the Oeuil de Boeuf room that lies at the other end. It was amazing.

The bed, complete with reconstructions of the beautiful fabric that Marie Antoinette used in summer (the decor of this room was regularly updated and would be changed every year with the seasons). It has flowers, ribbons and peacock feathers intertwined.

Another view of the bedroom. Never mind the Hall of Mirrors or even the King’s bedroom on the other side of the château, this was the very heart of Versailles and the place that everyone wanted to be admitted to. Although Marie Antoinette actually prefered to sleep in a smaller, cosier room elsewhere in the palace, this was the room that was used for her official levée and coucher, the ceremonies of getting up and going to bed. It was also where the Queen was required to give birth: we know that Marie Antoinette had her children on a pallet bed that was set up more or less where I was standing when I took his photograph.

A close up view of the beautiful fabric used in the room.

The headboard, where you can see Marie Antoinette’s insignia: a combined M and A.

The amazing canopy, topped with an Imperial eagle, a reminder of her faraway home along with the portraits of her mother Maria Theresa and brother Joseph, which hang on the walls.

The sofa tucked in next to the door and covered with the same beautiful fabric.

The delicate green and gold room next to Marie Antoinette’s bedroom. The colours always remind me of Quality Street wrappers! It was in this room that her waiting women were dozing when they first heard the cry of alarm that warned them that the mob had broken into the palace and were on their way to the Queen’s rooms. The big portrait is of Louis XV, Marie Antoinette’s grandfather in law.

Posthumous portrait by Adélaïde Labille-Guiard of Louis XV’s favourite daughter, Louise-Élisabeth, who was also the only one of his eight daughters to ever marry and leave Versailles. She married the Duke of Parma and became mother to Isabella, who married Marie Antoinette’s brother Joseph; Ferdinand, who married Marie Antoinette’s sister Maria Amalia and finally Marie Louise, who became Queen of Spain and was infamously depicted in later life by Goya as a decrepit, dissolute harridan.

A closer view of the painting. The child is Ferdinand, who later succeeded his father as Duke of Parma and was the husband of the Archduchess Maria Amalia, sister to Marie Antoinette. It’s been suggested to me that the portrait is actually of Madame Elisabeth with Madame Royale – what do you think?

Madame Adélaïde by Labille-Guiard. At the time of Marie Antoinette’s arrival at Versailles, Adélaïde was the oldest of Louis XV’s remaining daughters and very much ruled the roost while exerting a negative and unwise influence over her young nephew, the Dauphin Louis.

Marie Antoinette as a young queen, painted shortly after her accession by Vigée-Leburn in what was to be one of her first royal commissions.

Madame Victoire by Labille-Guiard. Victoire was another of Louis XV’s daughters, who remained at Versailles as middle aged spinsters.

The iconic portrait of Marie Antoinette with her children, painted by Vigée-Lebrun in 1787, just two years before their world was ripped apart.

A closer view of the painting. The empty cradle originally held the youngest child of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI, the Princesse Sophie-Béatrix, who died as a baby. The Dauphin Louis-Joseph who holds aside the fabric covering the cradle was to die in 1789, the baby Louis-Charles (later Dauphin and then Louis XVII) died in prison in 1795. Marie Antoinette’s daughter, Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte (Madame Royale) was the only one to survive the Revolution.

A view from the palace. So beautiful.

I  think this may be my favourite shot of Versailles. I love the way that the mellow September sunshine dapples against the old gilt paintwork.

Another view of the same room, showing the beautiful clash of gilt, crystal and crimson silk.

Many of the rooms at Versailles have this amazing marble decoration with different coloured marbles arranged geometrically. It is a very masculine style, I think, and was probably Louis XIV’s own taste.

A view of David’s copy of his monumental ‘Sacrée de Napoléon’, which depicts the coronation of Napoleon or rather the coronation of his wife, the amazing Joséphine. Legend has it that she persuaded David to depict the moment that she was the centre of attention, probably to fling it in the teeth of Napoléon’s family who hated her and truly were the in laws from hell, who never stopped scheming to bring about her divorce.

A closer view of Joséphine.

Madame de Ségur and Madame de la Rochefoucauld holding up Joséphine’s enormously heavy train, which her spiteful sisters in law deliberately dropped on the way into the cathedral in the hopes that she would fall over.

Looking like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths: Julie Clary, wife of Napoléon’s brother, Joseph; Hortense, the daughter of Joséphine and wife of Napoléon’s brother, Louis and next to them the trio of Napoléon’s ill wishing sisters: Elisa, Pauline and Caroline.

A portrait of Joséphine.

Hortense gazing out of another canvas, with her brother Eugène beside her, as usual making the Bonaparte in laws look like a very vulgar and unattractive rabble.

A staircase that is ornamented like a very sumptuous wedding cake!

A beautiful marble vestibule.

A view from a window at the side of the château.

A view of the famous ‘bull’s eye’ in the Oeuil de Boeuf. This was the main waiting room to the King’s bedchamber, where the gentlemen of the court would gather before trying to gain admittance to the monarch’s presence. It was one of the main hubs of the palace.

A triumphant Louis XIV in the Oeuil de Boeuf. Nice shoes!

Another self portrait.

I always feel that Louis XVI is a bit under represented at Versailles. Everyone is interested in Louis XIV and Marie Antoinette and poor old Louis XV and Louis XVI barely get a look in.

The young Louis XIV surrounded by his family.

The adorable Minette, Henriette-Anne, Duchesse d’Orléans: an English princess at the court of France and the subject of my very next book!

Another view of the Oeuil de Boeuf. This room was the antechamber to the king’s bedchamber, which lay at the very centre of the château. It was into this room that Marie Antoinette stumbled after her terrifying escape down the secret passage beside her bed in October 1789.

The King’s bedroom.

A close look at the sumptuous and rather masculine fabric that hangs in the king’s bedroom.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that little tour of some of the rooms of Versailles and here’s to the next 400,000 views! x

Snapshots from my life

14 Mar

We’ve only just got round to uploading the contents of my old phone camera folder after my rather nice husband got me a lovely new iPhone 4 for Christmas and I thought I’d share some pictures with you all as I often feel like I write and write and write but you don’t know me at all!

The picture above is of the Circus in Bath, which is a very stately round square indeed. Um, a round square? You know what I mean – it’d be a Square if it was square but it isn’t, it’s more of a circle, which makes it an um Circle? Anyway, it’s very nice.We’re lucky enough to live quite near to Bath so I get to go there quite regularly – I’m going at the end of this month in fact to visit the Fashion Museum and study some eighteenth century dresses.

This is me. I thought this haircut looked terrible but actually it’s not that bad is it? I don’t know where this photograph was taken – I think it might have been in Giraffe in Bristol, thus the red tinted glooooom. I look a bit WILD EYED don’t I? Sadly, I was probably sober when this was taken.

The Eden Project in the winter dusk.

SNOW. Yes, we’ve mostly all seen it before but I love the eerie almost neon blue of the light in this picture.

Bristol Suspension Bridge.

This is why I have trouble losing weight.

Trafalgar Square on a sunny morning before I ventured into the bowels of the National Gallery to see the Lady Jane Grey exhibition.

Christ Church, Spitalfields. There’s only one thing to be done when in the grip of a merciless GIN hangover – head to Whitechapel…

The Ten Bells, Spitalfields.

A bright corner of Bristol.

A happy young man.

Yo! Sushi, Cabot Circus, Bristol. The tower on the left is mine, the one on the right is Dave’s.

A metro station by the Palais Royale in Paris. This was our view as we ate our supper on our first night there last year.

Vegetarian lunch on the Rue Bac in  Paris. Dave and Felix were at the top of the Eiffel Tower while I ate this.

A Queen’s head that had mysteriously appeared on the side of a dryer in our local laundrette. It’s okay, I don’t live in Eastenders – we have a functioning washing machine but it decided to break so off to the laundrette I went for a very happy hour of reading and crisp eating.

At some point I realised that as I work from home and don’t have to see anyone if I don’t want to, I can go back to my sad youth and have pink hair again.

Well, I like it anyway.

The view from our bedroom window at The Hurst Arvon Foundation centre in Shropshire.

More reasons why I will never be slender – these beauties are from Swinky’s on Park Street in Bristol.

A fake incident room at the Whitechapel II advance screening in Mile End.

Montacute House on my last birthday.

Felix and I.

I think that sums me up quite nicely actually! Even if I missed out the random photos of gin bottles, miniature Marie Antoinettes, boots, sandwiches and curry…

A day out and about in London

14 Aug

Hello! I’ve been a bit quiet lately haven’t I? If you follow me on Twitter, you probably already know every tiresome detail of what I have been up to but if not then I will start here, with a post about the rather odd day we spent in London with the boys this week.

It started auspiciously enough with an early hours walk from our house to the train station, which is always a precursor for disaster in my experience as it’s all very well being bright eyed and bushy tailed and looking forward to a day of adventure but what happens at the end of the day when you simply cannot face yet more walking through the dark streets to get home again?

Anyway, moving on. After an uneventful train journey, we arrived at London Paddington and headed straight for Southwark, where we were meeting people at the Tate Modern. This was a bit of an odd journey for me as I used to be engaged to a guy who worked on Blackfriar’s Road so would find myself at Southwark Station several times a week when I went to meet him from work. I’d like to say at this point that my then fiancé only ever met me from work ONCE and then it was very begrudgingly. How weird that I never noticed this at the time.

Anyway, I haven’t been to Southwark Station for seven years as I have been manfully avoiding it but needs must so I livened things up a bit with a bit of a tour of the area: ‘See that tandoori house? We went there about twice a week! See this road? I’ve had lots of rows here! Oh no, that used to be a lovely pub, but it has gone now! I met my friend Rosie in there for the first time ever and we got very drunk!’ That sort of thing.

If this was a chick lit novel then we would have bumped into said ex fiancé en route and there would have been an awkward conversation while I pretended not to recognise him. However, I am pleased to report that this did not happen and we managed to get to the Tate Modern without incident, at which point I relaxed as he is totally not into art or indeed any form of culture that isn’t to be found within the pages of a Dan Brown book and probably hasn’t set foot in the place since I made him go there many years ago.

Actually, I’m probably a bit of a philistine too as I got really bored and restless inside the Tate Modern this time and hastened our departure somewhat. I am not opposed to the idea of modern art and indeed I really like a lot of artists that this label encompasses: mainly Ian Hamilton Finlay, because he does stuff inspired by the French Revolution but other stuff too that resolutely isn’t Dali, who I loathe.

So anyway, we wandered about inside the Tate Modern and made disparaging remarks about many of the paintings and what was optimistically refered to as ‘sculpture’. I wished at times that I was wearing a T shirt that said ‘I HAVE AN ART HISTORY DEGREE’ which I thought might lend intellectual gravitas to my sneering mien, but alas it was not to be.

After this, we decided that actually we wanted to be near Saint Paul’s Cathedral, which is fair enough as it is magnificent so who wouldn’t want to be there? I like how these days a shot across the Thames towards Saint Paul’s and the City is now a typical scene setter for London, whereas in the past it used to be all about Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. How times change.

Had a nice stroll across the formerly wobbly bridge and then went for lunch at Pizza Express, which was rather jolly. Saul, who is nine, who was also the one clamouring the loudest for pizza insisted on ordering one of the most expensive pizzas and then ate about a quarter of it, which is a very nine year old thing to do apparently. I was unusual and had cannelloni, which was very nice if a bit hot. I was more interested in the splendid view of Saint Paul’s facade than the food to be honest. I don’t know if it was quite as impressive as the time I ate pizza right next to the Colosseum though.

There was then an incident in which Felix ran out in front of a car and was scolded by a nice Italian man, much to his dismay and then we decided to walk to Spitalfields through the City, because it would be much nicer than going by underground.

We used the trusty Google Map app on my phone as a guide and to its credit it did a really good job in getting us there via a route that took in Threadneedle Street, The Cut and the dreaded Poultry. Don’t you just love the street names in the city of London? Many of them date back to Medieval times and are really evocative and almost poetic. Crutched Friars and Seething Lane are amongst my favourites, I think.

The boys really liked our walk through the City, although I am now wondering if perhaps it was a good idea to take impressionable young boys through such a rampantly masculine area where the air is thick with the aroma of testosterone, ranting on mobile phones, arrogance and Chanel aftershave. ‘If you do well at school, you can come here and be very bossy and annoying,’ I told them, which may have been a bad move as the nine and five year old gazed up in awestruck love at the Gherkin. ‘I want to wear a suit and work in an office on a computer and drink coffee and milk,’ the five year old declared with shining eyes. Neither of them asked why there weren’t any women to be seen.

We finally arrived at Liverpool Street Station and headed straight to Artillery Lane so that I could show them my favourite route to Whitechapel and so that they could hopefully appreciate the Victorian gloom of it all. They didn’t of course. It’s a brilliant way to arrive in Spitalfields though, coming out through an increasingly narrowing network of alleyways lined with forbidding red brick houses. The graffiti of Jack the Ripper has gone now though, alas. I’ll miss it.

Then it was past the former Providence Row night shelter where the unfortunate homeless women of Victorian Spitalfields would often find a bed for the night and then past the White’s Row car park and the grim service road alongside it, which marks the route of the once infamous Dorset Street. It’s still blocked off with railings at the end so you can’t walk down and see the spot where Miller’s Court once stood, unfortunately. I think next time, I will go into the carpark and go up to get a bird’s eye view.

I wasn’t sure that Spitalfields Market would be a good place to take children as it’s always an area that I have mentally connected with my own interests in what I am going to coyly refer to as Dark Victoriana (okay, okay, in other words I’m a self confessed Ripperologist) and also with fun filled nights involving curry and gin. However, I now know there is a lot more to it than that and really recommend it as a great place to take small people as there is lots to see and do there and the atmosphere is really fun and safe, despite what you may have heard about the area.

We spent quite a while with the boys, happily pottering around the market stalls and admiring the fab clothes and accessories on display. The stall holders were all happy to chat and pass the time of day too and it was just a really nice way to spend an afternoon. Luckily our visit coincided with the Thursday antiques market, which was excellent and had lots of things like old military uniforms and medical specimens in jars for the children to look at in horror and amazement.

My favourite stall was one selling old newspapers and postcards, where I came across a postcard photograph of a pretty young girl in Edwardian clothes. Turning the card over, I saw ‘murdered’ written on the back in pencil and of course my interest was picqued! The stall holder was able to tell me more – apparently she worked in a mill in the North and was stabbed by her fiancé in what was a very well known murder case at the time. The postcard was widely distributed at the time of the trial as apparently it was popular at the time to buy pictures of murder victims. It was £8 so a bit pricey but I wish that I had bought it anyway or at least taken note of the girl’s name so that I could look it up later on. If you know who I mean then let me know! I think she may have been an Agatha or a Martha.

After this we took a quick stroll around the Ten Bells, Christ Church (which was open again) and Fournier Street to soak up the atmosphere a bit and admire the lovely eighteenth century merchant’s houses. My husband thinks they look derelict and offputting but I really do think they are beautiful in an austere sort of way.

I was about to step into the All Saints flagship store (you know me and my passion for All Saints!) when my friend Zazz texted to say she was back in the area and so we immediately repaired to Giraffe to catch up over wine and Moroccan mint tea, which was very lovely! Zazz works for the amazing Lulu and Lush on Lamb Street (some of you may know them as Fairygothmother, where I have been shopping ever since they opened their first ever shop in Camden Market about seven years ago!) and also does talks about the history of corsetry at places like the V&A, which is really amazing! I’m going to be doing a guest blog post about something Victorian and decadent and Spitalfields silk flavoured for the Lulu and Lush blog sometime soon, which is a bit exciting!

All too soon it was time to go and so we made our way to Fenchurch Street Station to drop the nine year old back to his father. This time we followed Dave’s map app on his iPhone (I think it is funny that iPhone owners always call them ‘iPhones’ instead of just, y’know, ‘phones’ and so have resolved to follow suit) and it led us through the backstreets of Whitechapel through a rather rough looking estate where policemen lurked on balconies. ‘It’s horrible here! Why is it so dirty?’ the nine year old proclaimed loudly as we tried to shush him, intimidated and very struck by the contrast between the grimy tower blocks and the glimmering Gherkin tower that stands beside them.

I’d love to live in Spitalfields one day – as Zazz said, I feel like I really, really belong there and am amazed to be honest that I don’t live there already. One day! Although it may have to be when the boys are all grown up. Would it be weird to retire to Whitechapel? I guess it’s not surprising that I feel at home there though – a lot of my family come from the area and were involved in the local music halls and the Truman brewery and I’ve been hanging about the place in a gothic fashion ever since I was a little girl.

Anyway, after a rain soaked walk to Fenchurch Street and then on to Tower Hill, we got back to Paddington and enjoyed and exhausted and exhausting train journey home which would have passed without serious incident if the five year old, Felix had not put his case containing all of his DS games underneath his seat ‘to keep safe’ and then promptly forgot about it until we arrived back at our house. Alas, it seems to be lost forever!

So, in summary an unusual but rather fun day out! It’s the first time that we have taken both the boys to London with us and it went a lot better than expected! Am now looking forward to lots more trips there in the future! We’ll be leaving the DS at home next time though!

The Palais Royal

25 Jun

The Palais Royal is one of my favourite spots in Paris – it is so serene and elegant and harmoniously proportioned that it is hard not to feel really calm and happy there. The sandstone colonnades are just as they were in the eighteenth century, when the Palais was the central hub of fashionable Parisian life and so it is very easy to imagine glamorous celebrities such as Joséphine de Beauharnais, the Duchesse de Polignac and Aimée de Coigny strolling at their leisure beneath the beautiful columns and gossiping with their friends in the bustling, fashionable coffee shops and restaurants that used to line the arcades.

The Palais Royal was originally the Parisian home of Cardinal Richelieu and was completed by the architect Lemercier in 1629. When Richelieu died in 1642, he left the gloriously beautiful palace to the French royal family, who were probably glad of a Parisian home that wasn’t the uncomfortably Medieval Louvre, which is just next door. Louis XIV spent part of his boyhood in the Palais Royal with his mother Anne of Austria and younger brother Philippe before it was turned over the use of the deposed Queen of England, Henrietta Maria, her young daughter Henriette ‘Minette’ and their crowd of exiled English hangers on.

On the 31st March 1661, the lovely Princesse Henriette was married to her cousin, Philippe, Duc d’Orléans in the Palais Royal’s exquisite chapel and the young couple took up residence there, making it the seat of the Orléans family from that point on, while Henrietta Maria, probably feeling like her work was done now that she had successfully married her daughter off into the French royal family (or indeed ANY royal family) retired to the Château de Colombes in the countryside.

The new Duc and Duchesse d’Orléans were blessed with exquisite taste even if they did not generally agree on anything else and they transformed their new home into the centre of French aristocratic society. It is Henriette that we have to thank for the Palais’ lovely formal gardens where modern Parisians still sit and quietly enjoy their lunch surrounded by tranquil rows of trees. While her brother in law, Louis XIV was busily transforming his father’s old hunting base at Versailles into a magnificent palace and busily trying to persuade his courtiers to basically colonise the town he was designing to surround it, Henriette and Philippe were making the Palais Royal the focus of Parisian social life by throwing gorgeous balls and splendid parties on a weekly basis.

Over the years, the Palais Royal continued to evolve and be transformed by succeeding generations of the Orléans family. In 1692, when Philippe’s heir, the Duc de Chartres married his cousin, Françoise-Marie de Bourbon, the daughter of Louis XIV and Athénaïs de Montespan (who had once been a lady in waiting at the Palais Royal before she caught the King’s wandering eye), a whole new wing was built alongside the Rue de Richelieu in order to house the new Duchesse’s apartments and servants as well as a new picture gallery for her father in law.

The Palais Royal was to become even more important in the early years of the eighteenth century when Louis XIV died in 1715, leaving his five year old grandson, Louis XV as successor. The young King was raised at the Tuileries under the watchful eye of his guardian and cousin, the Duc d’Orléans at the neighbouring Palais Royal. Of course rumours abounded that the all powerful Duc would end up doing away with the little King but on the contrary, Orléans seems to have made an excellent guardian who genuinely had his young charge’s best interests at heart.

The Duc’s private life did not bear up to scrutiny however and the elegant Palais was scene to notorious orgies during which Orléans, his friends and family consorted with prostitutes of both sexes, actresses and even footmen. There were even rumours that Orléans was having an overly close relationship with his own daughter but was this was doubtless just malicious gossip. The behaviour of the next generation was not much better with his daughter in law, Louise Henriette de Bourbon also becoming notorious thanks to her affairs and bad behaviour.

When Louis-Philippe, Duc de Chartres took possession of the Palais Royal in 1780 he immediately moved there with his wife, the heiress Louise-Marie-Adélaïde de Bourbon and began a process of expanding and remodelling the mansion, which culminated in the gardens and new arcades being opened to the public in 1784 as what was the eighteenth century precursor of a shopping mall or a one stop entertainment and shopping destination with everything that you could possibly want. The main mansion was still inhabited by the Orléans family but the noble colonnades now housed 145 cafes, shops, hairdressers, restaurants and gambling dens and was soon frequented by all of the Parisian classes from the circle that surrounded Marie Antoinette to the lowest prostitutes who would prowl the arcades in search of clients.

The Palais Royal was as popular as ever during the Revolutionary period, when the Duc d’Orléans aligned himself with the Revolutionaries and turned on his cousins, the royal family. It was at a café in the Palais Royal that his protegé, Camille Desmoulins called the assembled people to take arms and march on the Bastille in July 1789 and it was in one of the colonnades many shops that Charlotte Corday was to buy the knife with which she stabbed Marat.

Madame Vigée-Lebrun described the Palais Royal in its heyday in her memoirs:

‘On Sundays and saints’ days, after hearing high mass, my mother and my stepfather took me to the Palais Royal for a walk. The gardens were then far more spacious and beautiful than they are now, strangled and straightened by the houses enclosing them. There was a very broad and long avenue on the left arched by gigantic trees, which formed a vault impenetrable to the rays of the sun. There good society assembled in its best clothes. The opera house was hard by the palace. In summer the performance ended at half-past eight, and all elegant people left even before it was over, in order to ramble in the garden. It was the fashion for the women to wear huge nosegays, which, added to the perfumed powder sprinkled in everybody’s hair, really made the air one breathed quite fragrant. Later, yet still before the Revolution, I have known these assemblies to last until two in the morning. There was music by moonlight, out in the open; artists and amateurs sang songs; there was playing on the harp and the guitar; the celebrated Saint Georges often executed pieces on his violin. Crowds flocked to the spot.’

Happy days at Chanteloup

19 Jun

I’ve been reading a biography of Louise de Crozat, Duchesse de Choiseul every night before going to sleep. It’s a curiously restful and delightful book and I love being lulled into sleepyness with tales of the halcyon days at Chanteloup, during the heyday of the Choiseul family. It’s also nice to read about a historical person who was lauded and admired everywhere she went and by everyone who knew her for her goodness, sweetness of character and general niceness.

There is so much in this book that I want to share but I’ll start off with a trio of lovely little scenes from life at Chanteloup, before the death of Louise’s husband, the Duc, the Revolution and the diminishment of the family’s enormous fortune.

I loved the Choiseul couple’s close friend (he had a huge crush on the Duchesse and rightly so as she sounds adorable) and chronicler of life at Chanteloup via his letters to Madame du Deffand (Madame de Choiseul’s best friend) Abbé Barthélmy’s description of Amèlie de Boufflers, Duchesse de Lauzun (whose Paris home was to become the Hôtel de Biron after her rakish husband, Armand, who was Madame de Choiseul’s nephew and probably Monsieur de Choiseul’s son – still with me?) inherited the title of Duc de Biron in 1788) making omelettes:

‘Madame de Lauzun goes tomorrow and that is the greatest event in these regions. Do you know that no one in France possesses to a higher degree a quality which you never knew she possessed, and that is the making of scrambled eggs? It is a real talent. She can’t remember when she learnt. I think it must have been when she was born. Chance uncovered this gift and immediately it was put to the test. Yesterday morning, epoch forever memorable in  the history of eggs, at luncheon, all the necessary implements for this great operation were brought in. A chafing dish, new porcelain… some broth, salt, pepper and some eggs. And here is Madame de Lauzun, who at first trembles and blushes and then afterwards with intrepid courage breaks her eggs, crushes them in the saucepan, turns them to right and left and round about with a precision and success quite unparalleled. One has never eaten anything so excellent. The experiment was made on a small scale as there were only six eggs. It will be tried tomorrow on a bigger scale.’


I love the details of life at Chanteloup – I loved reading about the immense ball that the Duc held for the servants of his friends who had visited him during his exile during the end of Louis XV’s reign, which was in every way the equal of the balls that he threw for their masters and mistresses. I also loved learning more about the splendid Chinese style pagoda he built in the grounds, inside which were stone tablets carved with the 210 names of the people who had visited Choiseul at Chanteloup during his exile. He was clearly enormously grateful to those who had stood beside him and keen to show his gratitude as after all, exile from Paris and, more to the point, Versailles, at this time was social and political death.

‘Etienne François, Duc de Choiseul, moved by the tokens of friendship, kindness and attention with which he was favoured during his exile, from a great number of people eager to come to this place, built this monument to show his eternal gratitude.’


In October 1778, there was a wedding held at Chanteloup between the Duc’s eldest niece Marie-Stéphanie de Choiseul-Stainville and her cousin, Claude-Antoine de Choiseul-Beaupré, who was raised as Chanteloup. The young couple would inherit the titles of Duc and Duchesse de Choiseul when their uncle died.

‘Before dinner we went to the cabinet de toilette of (the Duchesse) where the presents were displayed. I have not enough talent to describe them. Numberless poufs of all shapes and colours… cuffs most splendidly dripping with blonde lace, coats, dressing-jackets. After dinner, the new bride brought into the drawing room presents for the company; a purse for everyone; the ladies got a fan in addition to this; the bishops and abbés a gold cord for their hats.’

‘We gathered in the drawing room at noon. The men in the uniform of Chanteloup; the ladies, as arranged, in blue dresses with yellow ribbons. You will dispense me from describing the rest of the clothes to you; all that I can say to you is that it was a very fine succession of ventres bleus. The married pair were dressed in… Oh, as for those two, I can tell you nothing. At twelve thirty, we went to the chapel, the archbishop closed the procession… looking vey well, he did not preach a sermon, as arranged; he said the prayers of the ritual, the curé said Mass, the bridal pair said yes, and we left as we had come.’

‘We dined as usual. We were twenty seven at table. We played cards until seven when the comic opera began… Supper and everybody went to bed. No fireworks, no noise.‘

A very quiet, restrained wedding then. It’s always interesting to see how weddings were conducted during this period.

Mademoiselle d’Orliac described life at Chanteloup:

‘This moving noisy motley company, what do they all do there? They dine, they sup in full court dress, smothered in all their diamonds. They call on each other in their private rooms. They act plays and the little Duchesse excels. They compose verses and the Chevalier de Boufflers is the most inspired. They write fairy stories and the most successful is the one that Madame de Choiseul dedicates to Madame de Brionne: La princesse enchantée. They play billiards, backgammon and reversi. The Duc is at his tapestry loom telling court anecdotes. They do gold threadwork, they work on gold or ivory shuttles. Balbâtre is here with his harpsichord and gives evening concerts. There are hunts, there are calls, the abbé breaks his collar bone, the Duc injures his wrist. There are outings on the lake, Madame de Coigny sings with Vaudreuil in the bedecked frigate and the banks are lit up with multi coloured little lamps. They go to see the harvest. They are fill of admiration for the thirty thousand golden sheaves which resemble peasant women grouped for tittle-tattle. The tables are served every day for forty to sixty guests. The life they lead is untiringly joyous, dazzling and witty.‘

Sigh. Say what you like about the French aristocracy of the eighteenth century, but they really knew how to enjoy life.

I’ll end here with a description by Horace Walpole of the outfit worn by the Duchesse de Choiseul at the wedding of her nephew, the Duc de Lauzun and Amèlie de Boufflers in February 1766.

‘I supped last night with the Duchesse de Choiseul, and saw a magnificent robe she was wear today for a great wedding between a Biron and a Boufflers. It is of blue satin, embroidered all over with a mosaic diamond wise, with gold; in every diamond is a silver star edged with gold, and surrounded with spangles in the same way, it is trimmed with double sables, crossed with frogging and tassels of gold; her head, neck, breast and arms, covered with diamonds. She will be quite the fairy queen, for it is the prettiest little reasonable, amiable Titania you ever saw – but Oberon does not love it. He prefers a great mortal, Hermione, his sister.’

This last was a reference to rumours that the Duc de Choiseul was overly close to his nasty sister, Béatrix, Duchesse de Gramont.

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