I hope all the Brits are enjoying the Bank Holiday? (Do you Americanish types have one this weekend too?) I had what started out to be a fantastic day yesterday, and ended up on something of a bum note, unfortunately. I got all dolled up and went off to meet the chap in London, and then off we popped to go and see Mr Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds at the Electric Cinema in Notting Hill. It’s a fabulous place with enormous squashy leather armchairs complete with footrests, in lieu of the usual popcorn and fizzy drink encrusted monstrosities with less legroom than an Easyjet flight to Magaluf. Not to mention that the Electric has a bar serving proper food on proper crockery, and drinks in glasses. Simply marvellous! I also thoroughly enjoyed the film, though it must be said, it was rather disgusting in parts; and Tarantino did take rather a lot of artistic license with history. Some great outfits too, albeit some disappointingly modern hairstyles. Nonetheless, worth a watch!
This is the point where where my happy tale turns sour. But before I come to that, let me show you what I wore! Now, please note that I handed the camera to my chap, without checking any of the settings. Well, the white balance was totally off for the first couple, so I adjusted it, handed it back and we took a couple more. Well, the ISO and aperture were still totally off, but by this time we had to leave or we’d have been late for the cinema. And my chap didn’t tell me to move, despite there being a bloody great big BMW just behind me! Men! Here they are anyway!
Nothing you’ve not seen recently! Vintage 40s wrap dress, peach bolero cardi knitted from a 40s pattern, white wicker 60s handbag and beige, modern but vaguely 40s-inspired, platforms (that either totally don’t go, or go with everything depending on your viewpoint! I’m not sure, I think I need a beige straw handbag, then it’ll always match!); plus green bakelite jewellery.
So after the mile-and-a-half walk to the cinema and the film, we were about to head back (which I was dreading since my feet were killing me) when the chap discovered his rather expensive designer sunglasses must have detached themselves from his shirt. He went back in to discover, of course, that they were nowhere to be found. It’s a shame since in such a decent establishment, one would hope to find a better class of clientele, but of course in this day and age, that is not the case.
So that rather put a dampener on the rest of the evening.
This evening, I am baking some shortbread to take to my parents’ house tomorrow, where I shall celebrate the beginning of my first week of freedom from office drudgery! Because, as of last Friday, I am now a professional flâneur! Well, alright, a freelancer then (and vintage model, events planner, vintage style consultant… jill of all trades!). Although I’d quite like to be a professional saunterer (through life), which is what flâneur means… and it’s almost my name! I got a lovely bunch of flowers and a Gruau card as a leaving present from my colleagues. Gruau obviously screams ‘Fleur!’ to people as my dad got me the very same card for my birthday!
Talk to you all again soon,