DFW has just returned from England. I have had to make do with Donald Draper in my bed since he has been gone.
To celebrate, we have 30 friends coming over for dinner on our terrace, under the stars. Actually, we don't really have 30 friends, we have a few friends and a lot of their children coming over for dinner.
The cat has just licked the crust off the baked ham (hopefully those coming to eat the baked ham will not be reading this)
Later tonight, much later, and probably under the influence of too many Kalik beer's, I have to write all the product descriptions for The Sugar Mill, which we are finally going to launch as a website, so that when we do launch, and you happen to go to the site, don't be surprised by some of the idiotic things I may have written.
Tomorrow the 8 year old will graffiti on his bedroom wall, which in a moment of weakness I promised to let him do....we are re-painting soon so graffiti seemed like a sensible idea before the spring clean. Is graffiti ever a sensible idea? Of course that will be followed by a fight over home work, then tears, maybe a slammed door or two and then make up hugs. And that is only one of the five children who live with me.
Tomorrow night I will be feeling huge regret from all the left over Easter chocolate I will have eaten, as I pack my bag for a modelling job in Portland Oregon. This last sentence is of course startling, yes I do eat chocolate, pack my own bag and yes there are some mad crazy people out there that still hire models over the age of 40. Ouch, that hurt.
Portland Oregon to New York to London to Oxford to London and back home. Hopefully in time for tea. There are days when I think of Lara. Sitting in her calm, cool home gently creating a new piece of jewelry. One beautiful gem at a time.....
I never seem to notice mother's day, which is odd as I should be benefiting from lots of them, being British, with children born in America and living in The Bahamas (each country celebrates on a different date)
But somehow they pass us by unnoticed.
If I did pay more attention, how would I celebrate? A day with out the cat meanly scratching my legs, as I innocently pass by? A kiss from Domino......?
No, I think it would be a day of sleep.
To quote Jean Rhys, 1934
It's funny when you feel as if you don't want anything more in your life except to sleep, or else to lie without moving. That's when you can hear time sliding past you, like water running.
Photo by Brittan Goetz
What ever we may think about royalty and monarchy (I see my LAST POST has invited quite a heated debate) I, for one, was grateful for a national holiday.
We slipped off to Italy for a weekend of late lunches and long dinners, in very good company, very.
The Basilica di San Francesco, and her 900 year old Giotto allegories were breathtaking (or was it too much red wine that took my breath away?) The story of St. Francis of Assisi, who founded the Franciscan Order, and assisted in founding the woman’s Order of St. Clare (we have one of those at home) was astounding to my 11 year old. Did he really give up his Nike's, i-pod and jeans after a vision from God?
From much fanfare and noise in London the sleepy hills of Perugia were a touching sight.
I'd just like to add that I have no emotional tie to that scratchy-pink-hand-me-down grass skirt.
There are a few people in my life who continue to treat me like a child. They remind me of my manners, check I've washed behind my ears and are always telling me to brush my hair. One of them is Maury Hopson.
Many moons ago, when I was a struggling model, Maury managed to get me upgraded on a flight we were taking, into first class, next to him. Those were the days, hey Maury? when the hairdresser flew in first class and the model was back by the loo's....never had I imagined the luxuries of hot peanuts and large leather seats.
Once airborne the stewardess shimmied over and in her gently caressing, first class voice, asked us what we would like to drink "Mr. Hopson, what may I get you?"
She then turned to me "And Ms. Hopson what may I get you?"
After she walked away Maury turned to me, amused "She thinks you are my wife"
"No, you idiot, she thinks I am your daughter"
Its not often I call Maury an idiot. Most of the time he has a pair of scissors in his hand.
Years later I asked Maury if he would be God Father to my first born. Not because I loved him, but because I wanted Felix to have free haircuts.
Here is Maury with Elizabeth Taylor, where the scissors are clearly in the other hand.
CLICK HERE TO SEE MORE OF MAURY'S HIGHLY ENTERTAINING PHOTOGRAPHS.
Domino is jumping for joy.
She is graduating to a big bed. Ruby helps celebrate.
The bars of the cot banished forever. Of course this has left me emotionally distraught. For 15 years there has been a baby cot in our house. I tried to keep her in it for as long as possible. I thought I might just get away with it until she was ready to leave home. But no, the day has come. The cot has gone.
With the upgrade to a bed, comes freedom. Freedom to get out of that bed. Freedom to wander around the house at all hours of the night, freedom to switch on your light and get out the puzzles, freedom to try to climb into Mummy's bed, freedom to open the fridge door when the rest of the house sleeps, freedom to leave the fridge door wide open, when suddenly bored with the adventure, you stumble back to your new big bed.
We are a country that values ritual, custom and tradition. Sometimes its a little bit dotty, our monarchy, but at the end of the day our monarch herself is not. With no history of political involvement, the Queen is in a far stronger position than a republican head of state to represent the nation to itself, which is the prime function of a modern monarch.
The British monarchy is a valuable institution and a royal wedding is a good time to remind ourselves of that. A wedding in front of the King of Tonga, the Emperor of Japan, the Sultan of Oman and two billion people you have never met, involving 1,500 military personnel, with 40 foreign royals and 60 governors general and prime ministers, and 1 Elton John.
I had a memorable week in London. Possibly not as historical as 30 years ago, when tackling that silly 25 foot long wedding train, but I did get to give Dame Edna Everage a hug, and admire her subtle dress sense.