As I touched down yesterday from Los Angeles, all I could see from my window was yards of white snow, and middle England swathed in grey mist like chiffon. What am I doing in this country, when Los Angeles was shiny and bright?. Sometimes I wonder. Today however the flooded gloom has lifted, and if I could be bothered a long walk would do me good, it just isn't for me. I am instead looking forward to seeing no more Christmas Trees. Of course I love them, but after twenty days they seem to droop. Today is the official day that they come down in Spain and it is more celebrated there, than Christmas. Yet more presents are delivered and everything draws to a close as the Christmas lights go out. I did enjoy myself this year though. It felt cosy and I love my friends in Los Angeles. Julia Anne Rhodes's tree was so tiny and pretty, as is her house. Mine was a magnificent creation by Eric Buterbaugh and his team, extravagant in red. A tree tells your character so next year make sure it does. For now everything is put away, and I have to get on with my team of builders back in London.
I like houses with history,by some famous architect, or with some intrigue. Think about it, all houses have mystery under layers of paint and wallpaper, they have their unique beautiful stories to be found out. This I like to do, I like to take them into this decade with their fables and recreate them all over again. That is why I loved the Paris house. Tamara de Lempicka is a heroine of mine, and her pictures I would love to own. Mallet Stevens an architect of note. LA house was by a well known architect called Hal Levitt whose superior designs house famous Hollywood stars, among them Vidal Sassoon. So... here we go.. with London.
I have decided to remove all emotion from the building site of Cheyne Walk, it could drive me crazy, especially when new regulations say that the builders have to have a tea room, a new bathroom etc. Still nothing has started. I await for all my permissions. Builders are such a lazy lot, it can be nightmare, along with interior designers who believe that they have better taste than me. It can be a guaranteed loss of friendship with the sixth cup of tea of the day. I hate tea and coffee all day long, fortunately I have imagination, and the idea of all that milk swimming in my veins, is enough to put me off. In any case I expect nothing this time from anybody. It is now the 9th property I have done. Therefore probably I am as experienced as the builders themselves. It is always hell. So I shall think of violets and roses and get out of here, and wait until everybody has finished.
No comments:
Post a Comment