Monday, 30 August 2010

HIGH HEELED BOYS | Amanda Eliasch

HIGH HEELED BOYS | Amanda Eliasch


I am now in Venice, my favourite place on the planet, staying in great splendour at The Hotel Cipriani which has decorated its rooms. I am now lying in a room with fake Canalettos, underneath a Fortuny light which looks quite out of place, with furniture that would look better in the sale at Harrods. Sort of weirdo peach, with aubergine and slimey green suitable for a Granny. I was a bit horrified when I entered the room as I love this place. I made the powers that be change my room twice, and I couldn't be bothered to argue anymore. It looked better before. I didn't mind it falling apart. The real things that needed to improve are never improved.

In any case I am here for the Venice Film Festival and I will supposedly be reporting for the Collective Review. There are quite a few films I would like to see, but with only two days here it is unlikely that I will have much time. I am happy losing myself down streets that lead to nowhere. Today I ended up in the most incredible costume atelier - hidden away, but so beautiful - belonging to Antonia Sautter, she makes clothes for Viviane Westwood and was making golden masks for Bulgari who are having a party this week. In fact the whole street seemed to belong to her. Velvets, brocade, shoes, masks in glorious colours were so exciting, enough to make a Shakespeare play. I was in heaven.. I am going to have a frock coat made for myself which my son Charles is bound to steal.

I made Tim Willis wear the men's gear immediately. I do love venturing out with him, it is never dull and he is a perfect model. To my total delight we found the shoes that are "in" for men who wear drainpipes - 18th Century court shoes -( I will tell you more about the shoes, in another blog, may be for The Collective Review) so I bought three pairs for my sons and a friend. You have to wear them with tight tight jeans.. wow..

On the way back we had a filthy dinner at a tourist joint and landed up, on the boat back home, bumping into Robert Rabensteiner of Italian L'uomo Vogue. Ravishing as he always is, he makes living easy. So tomorrow, at his and Franca Sozzani's invitation, we have dinner with Tarantino...

Saturday, 28 August 2010


I don't fear death
I fear not
living life
there was so
much to stop me
in the beginning
that I wasted time
looking at the
at the floor
instead of seeking
I hugged a pillow on the
too in awe of what
I might find
I am rarely terrified
I am brave
it's a different world
Your questions
are for yourself
not for me
they are your secrets
and you don't realise
say everything you
said to me
back to yourself
by mistake
you have told me
what you wish for
and what you
I am stronger
than before
because I made myself
this way
I don't need someone
to say they love
or to see someone
to know they do
in your silence
it tells me everything

Carlinhos Brown - Samba da Bahia [viktor]


Today I was nagged to get married again. Why is it that everybody who is trapped in dreadful marriages suggests that I should again wear handcuffs?. If I was brave enough to leave then I am brave enough to be on my own, with all its consequences.
I have lived too much kitchen sink drama and made a profession out of being difficult to again be with anybody except some Greek God. Now Zeus, thats a good idea..
Of course to share my life with somebody would be great, but, there is a huge BUT. I sleep happily with Bun Bun, whose ears are a delightful to play with. He doesn't have depression, he doesn't nag and he feels cosy enough, and he can't answer back.
I never thought I would say this, I had dreams of white dresses, red roses, the Pachabel Canon, confetti and Ave Maria. I am not some hating feminist. I love the male species, but why on earth would I put myself into the position of being hurt, left, beaten, bored and neglected again?.
I also like to wake up in the night read a book, read facebook, speak to some aliens, and play with dating sites in outer space, and you know they nag as well but at least I can pretend not to be awake.
I will pray to God that Zeus has room for one more woman..?

Friday, 27 August 2010


David Gilmour Sonnet 18

Shakespeare Sonnet 116

East Anglian Holiday (1954) - extract

PISSING RAIN OR THE CAT? Which would you rather?

A very drizzly and depressing week in London where I am wearing Winter clothes and trying to find a reason for living. A friend of mines lies next door looking at the ceiling and it feels like April. I came back to London to blackmail my builders into doing some work. I am fed up of renting and not finding my clothes. My eldest son said last week how annoying it was that I had got divorced because he couldn't find anything, that is how I am feeling too. Walking up seven flights of stairs is proving a nightmare too with the amount of travelling I like to do. Please god I can entertain all of you very soon with my ideas of decoration instead.
I am also deciding what colour my tennis court should be in Los Angeles. Oh the problems of the lucky. It all sounds so ridiculous when thousands of people are dying in Pakistan and a cat is put into a dustbin. I watched the film of the woman putting it into the wheelie.. she looks so ordinary, like a school teacher, frightening. You would think from her face that she should be home making scones or teaching someone the piano.
No my life is incredible, I thank my lucky stars that I can go on the swings in Hyde Park and that I only have to worry where my favourite dressing gown is, and whether the builders keep to their budget. Why doesn't my friend next door see that?. Well he's stopped smoking and is ready for a heart bypass. He should be cheerful?

Sunday, 22 August 2010

Nick cave & Kylie Minogue

Kylie Minogue / Agent Provocateur Commercial


I am not grumbling but sometimes wish to throw cream mille feuilles at people who are pleased with themselves and who deliberately ignore you, although they have met you hundreds of times before. It's a problem in England, there is an unseen hierachy of touchy individuals who are either too shy or too rude to include you. I have this problem. I just asked a friend why I couldn't get a job in England? He said well they think you are too rich. So you see I have to travel half way round the world to find work and be given a chance.
Closer to home Martine at Assouline in Paris seriously helped me and so did Franca Sozzani in Italy, asked me to put together a book called British Artists at Work. What I would like to know is why just because I am cashed-up, well dressed and coiffed, is it so difficult on my doorstep? It would be so much easier if I could work as a Fashion Editor here in London, but no it took Stephen Kamafuji to give me an opportunity to work for Genlux as their Fashion Editor. Money is not the problem, just the break to have an interesting life. Oh well, I can't grumble, Los Angeles has many other things that the rest of the world would die to have and I hope one of them is me..xx

David Bowie - Life On Mars?

Shirlena Johnson's X Factor Audition (Full Version) -

naughty marietta no 1 2 FINAL


I am looking in the mirror and thinking what to do with the tragedy before me.
'I love it, it's mine and it's unique": that is what the "fat channel" make us believe. However I instead walked towards Harrods with the intention of buying an eye mask from Myla which for some unknown explanation allows me to sleep. Pills did not do it, men did not do it, but wearing a mask does. The beautiful satin makes me relax, falling into deep undisturbed sleep.
Of course, I got distracted by Agent Provocateur on Pont Street, went in and was helped by incredible glamour to get myself 'looking like a cutish kitten going out to see my lover'. An hour later I left with C cup bras and lots of lace entwined with gold, black and shocking pink. Normally I say no to gold thread and leopard prints but the ravishing young girls in the shop said I was an inspiration to all 50 year old women. That was more than enough compliments for the day. Bra's and little pants with silk slips over them - that is the way to go. Boy, did I look better. This is the proper way to dress and if I ever break an arm and have to go into hospital I will look stunning for the doctor.

America's Got Talent YouTube Special - Jackie Evancho

Fat Beauty Contest

WOMEN IN LOVE - Ken Russell

The Devils (1971) Trailer

Saturday, 21 August 2010

Inside Coco Chanel's Private Apartment

A video description of Blood Moon's new biography DAMN YOU, Scarlett O'Hara

Written several weeks ago.. An Ode to a Lover

what do they
on paper?
what do they
mean spoken?
I love them
I hate them
the silence in between
the pauses,
I am frightened of
peace in case
it reveals my tragedy
or my failure
to please you
or interest
the dark thoughts
behind your eyes
which do exist.
I have never loved
anyone as I have
loved you
with no ordinary
time together
it becomes
a magic that
increasingly is
more erotic
yet gentle too.
I am a
beautiful soul
yet have
failings that
could disturb
I know this
so push for nothing,
I am nobody
and so do not exist
I just love your
sweet smelling brain
disturbing me.
Words are jumbled
messy, no longer
the music
I loved but they
belong to my hysteria,
my viper like tongue
has never been seen
by you.

YOGA WAS THE WAY FOR ME, Thank goodness for Godfrey Devereux

In 1992 I suffered depression and had done without being able to put a label on it perhaps all my life, off and on. I could not get up in the morning, I was unable to sleep without the help of sleeping pills. I was getting up at about midday.
I was a very lucky girl. I was saved literally thanks to a girl called Charlotte Barnes a decorator, when I told her how bad I was feeling. She said to come and join her at the Life Centre in Edge Street and go to a Yoga class. I went. I could hardly move. I was unfit, it was uncomfortable but I loved it, and I skipped all the way home, and I never walk .
I studied with several people there, Lynne Pynette, Khati, Kisen, and the most powerful influence of all was Godfrey Devereux.
The set of movements became a life saviour. I have since recommended many people to follow this route and not take pills. The pills are not great and have too many side effects. For me it was a life changer. Although I am actually a hater of any form of movement and am naturally horizontal, I find great pleasure and sense of well being from doing it. PLEASE TRY.
I became obsessed I would stay all day, start getting up early.
I stopped the sleeping pills which were very strong and after a while realised that I would sleep eventually and it did not matter in any case.
I mention this as I am reading Allen Carr's book on how to lose weight. A friend has just done his book on not smoking, which seems to work. I lost concentration and started to remember my "LIFE SAVERS".
There are so many Yoga Teachers around that nowadays you have loads of choices, so there is no reason not to give it a go. These wonderful people have taken me on many journeys, from pregnancy, divorce, to success and feeling happy once again.

Godfrey Devereux

Thursday, 19 August 2010

AN EDUCATIONAL RANT is WORTHWHILE.. Our poor children have nowhere to go.

My very clever younger son has just walked into the room, saying " What is the point in working when with hard work you can't get into the University of your choice?".
Indeed he is right. What is the point? What sort of country have we become when we have pushed our children into working hard and there is nowhere for them go?.

England has little Industry, too many people, lack of educational facilities, and poor very low standards. How can you compare GCSE's? How can someone with an A star in Drama or Cooking get into a better University than someone with an A star in Maths?. Why aren't there places when you have 4 A stars? What is an A star? What is its value?

It has now become apparent that we have to change. After this years fiasco we will hopefully introduce an International Baccalaureate type system. In any case you are not properly educated if you give up Maths at 16 and study only 3 or 4 subjects.

My eldest son has already got into music school in New York, the thought of him in dusty British University towns filled me with horror so I sent him away, hopefully to a more interesting life. He was at Harrow School, and was encouraged to study Ancient Greek, Music, Ancient History and Economics. The original idea was for him to read Classics at Oxford or Cambridge, but this was unlikely with all the horrors of the system. In any case I am pleased, he would be again singing in Cathedrals non stop instead of treading nervously along 47th Street.

We should fight for a fairer system whereby we make the rich pay for the schooling so the poor can learn in peace and foreigners don't take away all the valuable places.


I can't wear jeans, I really hate trousers on me, and I do not have the bottom that would make men swoon. That pert tight thing that never escapes stares and stops traffic, especially when there is long hair swishing around the waist. There I have said it and admitted it. I wish I did for their sake. Poor men who have to look at a teddy bear instead. I don't know what to do? I love mini skirts and certainly will carry on wearing them however stupidly until my dying day. When I was thirty I did lipo suction in order to wear trousers, but when I look back its a dreary look. I shall leave jeans to the people who look good in them and feel comfortable. They make me trapped and miserable.

When I look back I had the look of a Marbella blond, too much straight hair and lips and a trying too hard to be skinny, when I am not naturally, so I had that rather sad look.

Truly I feel best as a round Marilyn, with reasonable legs as long as I feel free and do a little yoga or pilates. So you girls out there who hate trousers stand up and stick up for me. Of course there are a few awkward moments, for instance a few weeks ago when I went rowing in a mini, or at school sports day. I am who I am so please accept it, and be sweet to your adoring Teddy Bear.

The New D├ęcor at Hayward Gallery - Curator's Tour

Wednesday, 18 August 2010


When I have a few idle moments I love spending the day dreaming about architecture and houses, where I nose dive into all the back pages of magazines where the property lies. For me it is better than any predictable novel, I can imagine my own script. I just wish people would not comment and let me dream. I also hate investing in anything but bricks, food, Mcqueen, Vedura or Graff jewellery, at least I can feel they are alive.
I was told by a banker yesterday to be careful with my fantasies as there are 600,000 properties coming under the hammer in Las Vegas.

He just doesn't understand my passion, I can happily go into another world where everything is different and exciting with new stories. I believe that I can take on the the atmospheres of the houses and I can find my life changing because of them.


I love for instance Richard Rogers, who is still around, a modernist and functional architect who makes buildings inside out, I don't know why but he reminds me of a modern theatre designer for Alison in Wonderland, because of his insane designs.
I adore and own a Robert Mallet Stevens,he built houses that look like they should be on the set of Batman.
My favourite house is however in Capri, Villa Malapart by Curzio Malapart, a fascist, he fought with Mussolini and Hitler yet was the son of a German Protestant. His writings stirred up his enemies, but he was able to build the most beautiful place to live on this earth during the war between 1938 -1942 with the drawings by Adalberto Libera. Libera was however pushed aside by Curzio, a natural artist who loved poetry and like Corbusier changed his name.

In his life he seems to have done everything, from journalism to fighting, and being expelled to living and writing in Paris. I want to skip up and down those stairs, redecorate the inside of the house with the help of my friend Nicky Haslam and sunbathe on the roof and be filmed together in a remake of that famous 1963 film which was made there.


Then the stunning proportions of Versailles can make me weep, a hunting lodge for the Kings of France are exciting to me, a chill sweeps down my spine when I visit it. The Hall of Mirrors, the exacting size of the building which had to fit in all the Aristocracy and the trade supplying them. Built by several architects, Louis Le vau and Charles Le Brun and completed with the direction of King Louis XIII and XIV. It is one of the most magnificent and cherished buildings in my memory bank. I can see the dressmakers, the hat makers, the jewellers, the markets for food, from the 17th Century, I can see them all.

Brilliant designers and Architects are everywhere. In Los Angeles I like Hal Levitt, who is not so famous, who built my house in 1960. I have just sold it, but loved the environment he created.


The other day a girlfriend came through the door who likes The Brutalist movement, Alison and Peter Smithson coined this phrase, which went from the 1950's to the 1970's, and a period that is much criticised..


The modernist Corbusier a French Swiss Architect 1887-1965 was part of this because of his use of cement. He tried to improve the welfare of the ordinary peoples living conditions, although he horrifies many. Designing throughout India, Russia, North and South America. Austere and often too gloomy for me, they are just to be admired. He changed is name from Charles-Edouard Jeanneret-Gris. Of course they were souless but I like his bleak thoughts.


I love Rococco splendour, I was recently introduced to Tony Duquette by Nicky Haslam. He was an award winning costume designer from Beverly Hills who put his talents to decorating and jewellery, I am also happy to settle into prison like modern reality too. Truth is I am flexible.


John Soane's fantastic museum, which was his house 1753-1837 was a Neo Classicist, his use of light and frescoes is incredible.


Robert Mallet Stevens was a socialite cum architect in the 1920's who is perhaps more modern and contemporary than the Architects now although except in Paris he is virtually forgotten. Famous for his staircases, stain glass windows, his white walls with off centre windows. I live in a building of his, 7 rue Mechain where he gave rules for living including only using red geraniums, when I put in pink and red last year, the neighbours were in uproar and would not listen to my reason, that the pink makes the red redder and richer. I am happy to share the interesting world of Tamara de Lempicka and with its ghosts, so imagine the life we have together.. Poof if only...

Brigitte Bardot makeup: Beauty Through the Ages

Sunday, 15 August 2010


For me there is nobody prettier, I have had a passion to of course reinvent Marilyn Monroe who throughout the world is recognised still way after her death. There is however an innocence about Brigitte that Marilyn never had. She is French which makes her even more alluring.

Bardot as shown in the photographs and the current exhibition in St Tropez was totally and utterly interesting. From a child there is a film of her with another child playing, her bedroom, her dance clothes, her smiles, her gappy teeth. A bomb.
Her love stories with Gunter Sachs and Serge Gainsbourg. A photograph with a tiger and in some strange Austrian gear.
Now in her old age she works for animals and has said good bye to her former self. Good for her. She is a miraculous creation.

Go and celebrate another time and see the true underbelly of the South of France and life in Paris. The visit was truly worthwhile.


A friend of mine is determined to stop smoking and today is the first day of his life. A beautiful day, a sunny day, free of the horrors of inhaling nicotine. Nicotine is deadly if injected into the veins. His lungs will have particles of a new life. I am told I have to be positive. I am told that by the time my friend has read Allen Carr's book "The Easy Way to Stop Smoking", he will be free from what he thought he was addicted to..
The only time I thought smoking was glamorous was in the 1940's, the smokey black and white films with beautiful women exhaling against shadows in some dusky nightclub in a seedy part of town.
Talking about nightclubs, I find people excited inhabiting VIP areas sort of repulsive. You know the type: fat, balding, very very rich and somewhere between thirty and death, who only like mixing with the so called elite and famous. Rather sad. I thought they had The Amazonian Rain Forests to protect, the National debt to sort out, and I wonder where their families are? There is so much more to life than hanging with these rather bloated individuals. As for the famous, why on earth would they want to be with them? I find the black bouncers, who protect them from "us" more attractive, as long as they don't smoke.

Friday, 13 August 2010


I have an annoying disease that whenever I arrive somewhere I wish to be somewhere else. I arrived at this hotel, the Pan Dei, a perfectly charming hotel in the centre of St Tropez, only to discover that it is virtually impossible to sit outside and sunbathe. I immediately wanted to leave. Then the girl on the desk tried to be welcoming and say I could move some chairs in order to get the sun, I imagined all the furniture in the place being turned upside down for my sun worshipping.

I feel acutely uncomfortable, that is the problem. I seem to be never able to rest here for one second. Last night there was a band droning terrible hit numbers from twenty years ago in a flat harmony and this morning I was bullied to wake up by drilling and the clunking of plates. No, it's not for me. I then go for a shower and there are no shower doors and the privacy is totally lacking so whilst washing I have friends going to the loo and cleaning their teeth all at once. There is no peace at all. The night before we had dinner here with their semi bourgeoise clientele who looked shocked at my purple, blonde and black hair, and platform bovver boots by Robert Clergerie, and french beret. I was served a medley of Thais cuisine all squashed prettily in a modern way onto one plate.

I am unhappy, as somebody I had lunch with at Club 55 told me I had put on a lot of weight. Well I have not, but that HRT has made me heavier than normal and I swear it's increased my appetite. It sort of upset me as I looked at the man whose skin was terrible and his tummy hung over his trousers, I thought it's still a man's world. How dare he. Anyway my younger son said to me I can do what I like, I look fantastic and I am a fifty year old woman. Out of the mouths of babes.

As for the Pan Dei, I am gobbling up breakfast and going to stay with my good friend Enrico Navarra who has a beautiful house above St Tropez - and although his night time energy is unsurpassed, his house is in blissful solitude. I did several books with him and he is virtually the only man in my life who has done what he said he would do. I photographed a book for him called Made by Indians and he has more style in his little finger than the architect for Pan Dei who has mixed up Bali with Morocco, added a dash of India and credit card of Thailand with the rudeness of the Southern French Belle.