The boys became a little anxious when they came back one afternoon, to their card board box creation, and found squatters had moved in.
Photo by Norman (check him out on instagram @normme)
I was in Los Angeles for two days of work. And one day of fun. And it rained. All the time. Which is not a problem because I see a lot of sunshine. It was more a problem for the Angelians, because none of them own an umbrella.
I have two new partners. Both German. Very alarming. They like punctuality. Which I admire.
On Saturday, one of the Germans invited me to his home, to meet his beautiful family, a lovely offer and a break from the barrage of business meetings. But I was also invited to a quiet lunch with close friends and Robbie Williams.
Hey, this is an LA story so of course there has to be lunch with a rock star in here somewhere.
Robbie, and his utterly gorgeous wife Ayda, were so entertaining that lunch began to spill into late afternoon. Before long I explained I needed to leave, in order to be on time for the German. "We'll drop you" said Robbie "It's on our way"
Of course breaking up a good Saturday afternoon lunch, tackling the rain and not finding the right street as quickly as we thought all meant I WAS VERY LATE.
"Don't worry" said Ayda "Robbie will ring the bell and explain it was all his fault"
When the German opened the door Robbie Williams was standing on his doorstep "All my fault mate" he said before jogging back down the drive, to his car and Ayda.
The German didn't bat an eye lid. This is LA after all. "Come in" he said.
That night I joined the pre-oscar dinner hosted by Chanel and Charles Finch. Stuffed into the basement of Madeo's you squeeze past Anne Hathaway, chatting to Adrien Brody, whilst nearly knocking over the doll-like Kristin Chenoweth before finding your seat at the table, relived to find a familiar British face near you. Lily Collins. Snow White. Domino will never believe I had dinner with Snow White.
Keen to get home though, I was taking the Red Eye to Miami. The organizers of the evening had been somewhat surprised when I trundled down their small, but very red carpet, with my suitcases in hand, they were even more surprised when I darted out before pudding, hailed a cab in my high heels, diamonds and evening dress and sped off to the airport.
Struggling out of my party gear into my jeans and sneakers I exited the cab quite a different person to the one who had got in. The driver didn't bat an eye lid. This is LA after all.
Now that was quite an acceptance speech wasn't it?
The incredible Darlene Love.
Wearing India Hicks Fine Jewelry on David Letterman. So proud.
My two eldest boys, the two biggest ones in the house, share the smallest room.
We keep promising that one day we will build an extension for them, to properly stretch out in. But we simply can’t afford it right now.
So they took matters into their own hands. They built an apartment for themselves, well, more a Favela really.
They did not have to make their beds, or take out the trash, pick up wet towels or put the laundry actually inside
the basket; instead they set up an entreating area with revolving fan, X-box and soda bar, two bedrooms and a warren of tunnels.
I don’t think they are ever coming home.
Midterm last week. Everyone home. Everyone in the sunshine. Terrible timing for me. I was locked in the office.
But on Saturday we got out on the boat. All of us. Our family together.
It was a good day, so good that as we pootled home Domino said "Can we have another holiday like today, tomorrow?"
Town and Country Weddings April 2014
At the turn of the last century there were more pirates than civilians living on the island I now live on. Pirates, skulls, wild children….all part of island life.http://www.indiahicks.com/body-home.html
In my very early modelling days, when I was unbearably thin and very self-conscious, I was hired as a 'fit' model for the house Yves Saint Laurent. Being dressed in nothing more than a white lab coat, a flesh colored g-string and black patent heels, as high as the Eiffel tower, I would wait with two or three other models, in silence, in a small sterile room, nestling just off the 'Salon' a luxurious room with blood red walls, swaged chandeliers, oversized mirrors, velvet pelmet curtains and petite gilt chairs, where the venerable old ladies of couture would perch during private appointments.
We could sometimes wait all day in that room and never be called upstairs for a fitting but when Monsieur Saint Laurent entered the elegant couture house, on the Avenue Marceau, you would know at once. The rise in tension was palpable. Now summoned upstairs to the studio, I would be ushered onto a platform, asked to remove the lab coat and stand virtually stark naked, before a room filled with strangers, who began to drape and pin the finest silks over our frigid little bodies, as the shy designer directed from behind his iconic oversized glasses. Yves Saint Laurent, the master.
I never 'walked' for Saint Laurent. I was considered too short. Other designers used me for their catwalk although not often but never Saint Laurent. I did graduate beyond the studio and was photographed in his clothes, occasionally, and with the requisite drama, thigh high boots, tuxedo jacket, or monster blow dry.
The world of couture has changed dramatically; the customers no longer are buying for diplomatic balls, fundraisers and funerals but for the disco and day wear. It’s young and exciting and above all it’s survived. Although my mother's generation are tut-tutting in disapproval....both Dior and Chanel showed their collections this season paired with trainers on the models feet and one young Russian customer seated in row 'A' came dressed for the presentation in a pair of jeans. A PAIR OF JEANS.
Haute Couture is pulsing again, with new talent and fresh front row faces, but the legends of past will never fade. Well not in my mind. How could I ever forget this hair do?
Bet you are wondering how on earth we got that circle so perfect (admittedly it was more perfect before pesky children climbed in. I hate it when real life gets in the way).
Actually there is no 'we' here. It was all David.
He had 3 pairs of hands, two broom handles, one long piece of rope and several shovels.
Find your center spot and plant the broom handle. Tie one end of the rope to the planted broom handle, tie other end to second broom handle. Walk around in a wide circle tracing in the sand as you go. Repeat for wider circle. Dig.
David, as we know
, conveniently does not 'believe' in Valentine's day. Honestly. What a rat.
Any way what do I care when I get love notes like this. Even if it involves being called bitch and having to translate (beach perhaps, not bench?)
Christian and I met when I moved to Paris aged 20.
"O 'ow delightful. I will learn Iiiiinglish and you will learn ze French" I never learnt a word. He on the other hand speaks perfect Langlais. English and with a lot Louboutin-isims.
I was in his crazy little office the day our friend was painting her nails bright red and one of fashions great ideas was born. Scarlett soles.