Birthday Girl

Today is the day, it's birthday time for me...I so love celebrating my big day, my special day, the day that is all about me. It's about other people in my life too, my mum who brought me into this wild, weird and crazy world, she cradled me when I was tiny, fed me, kept me warm, held my hand and hugged me. Thank you for all the love. Sadly, my dad isn't here anymore so I send him lots of love too on my special day and love to my gorgeous, sexy friends who make me laugh. My small herd who make me so proud I could burst. Finally, handsome husband, the keeper of my heart who loves me just for being me.

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That's Just Not Cricket

It almost felt like summer, as I schlepped across the field with smallest chap, two dogs, new fold up chairs and picnic to watch middle chap playing cricket for the school teams 1st XI. This is a momentous occasion, as having arrived here last summer this is the first cricket season he has had an opportunity to show the new school his great bowling and batting skills.

I know I may sound like a terribly pushy mum, but to be frank, although I like to watch a bit of the cricket, I'm afraid I am fair weather attendee and I see it as an opportunity to get a little sun and participate in a little polite chatter with other parents.

Attire is not the main focus, and layers are sensible as the pitch is quite exposed and the temperature and wind tend to fluctuate, naturally there are some schools when clothing is a little more considered and this was one of those matches, so I went for some Gstar jeans, t-shirt underneath a Michael Kors over sized cashmere cardigan and my oh so comfortable Bensimons and all topped off with my newest purchase, a Eugenia Kim panama hat.

We placed ourselves in a great viewing spot and more importantly in direct sight of the sun, and I began to unpack the picnic not a huge feast as the teas at cricket are magnificent, just a few titbits to munch on.

It was just as I was biting into a Royal Gala, when I saw them marching towards the pavilion, the opposition mothers, a formidable selection of finely tuned, tanned long limbed ladies, with the leader of the pack, a fine specimen of female perfection, barking orders at the others. I was not intimidated in the slightest actually I was amused as I watched their lovely heeled shoes slowly sinking into the grass as they began to quicken their pace in an attempt to avoid getting completely stuck. They planted themselves right in front of the pavilion doors, so boys coming in and out would have to walk around them and the leader delegated the unpacking of chairs, rugs, cushions, hampers, coolers and an enormous umbrella to keep the shade off. All this would have looked at home in some bygone era of the Indian empire, but here in this world it all looked rather affectacious.

The match began and the visitors batted first. We politely clapped as they scored the odd run here and there, and did the same when they were bowled out, caught out and on one occasion run out. The opposition mothers screeched and screamed loudly whenever a run was scored, and remained silent and sullen when one of their boys were out. This is pretty poor behaviour for a cricket match, where rules and etiquette are keenly observed. However, I could have gladly dealt with this without being bothered but it was the behaviour of their coach that was highly questionable. I won't bore you with the details, as you may not be familiar with the rules of cricket, but basically there are a limited number of overs in a game and it is normal that whichever team bats first, declares after tea giving the other team the same amount of overs to reach the winning target. For the first time since I have been watching my sons play cricket, this did not happen and the visiting team continued playing until they had played 30 overs, leaving only 14 overs for our home team. This just isn't fair play, just not cricket, not gentlemanly and an outrageous example of bad sportsmanship to set as an example to these boys of privilege.

This turned out to be one of the most exciting matches I have ever watched (except of course the Ashes) and our boys were completely brilliant, our first two batsmen scored fast and furious taking us to within 4 runs of a win with 4 balls left. My son was batting at number 4 and as the other two boys has been batting brilliantly it seemed unlikely he would get walk onto the pitch in order to bat for the school, but with all the excitement, one boy was caught out, and then another boy having scored 3 of the four runs needed was run out, which meant my middle chap on his debut had to come on and score one run to win, with only one ball left to bowl - this was a do or die moment. Now I knew he would be nervous under normal circumstances, as he would want to prove himself more than capable with the bat, but this pressure was immense, what if he was bowled out, what if he couldn't score a run, or was caught. I could barely watch, as I felt a mother next to me squeeze my knee in support as he walked on looking cool and calm and in control.


We watched in silence as he walked to the stumps, lined himself up and looked out. The bowler made his run up and bowled so fast I could not see the ball, but I saw middle chap raise his bat and heard the thump as he smashed it away. We had won and I jumped up and screamed, the other parents in our group all jumped up too and we hugged and cheered and I had tears of joy and pride which I could not hold back.


I turned to the pitch and saw middle chap take of his helmet and raise his bat in victory, he then walked over to the opposition captain and shook his hand and in the true spirit of Cricket showed the opposition there and then how to behave like a gentleman..

Oh, This Old Thing

School holidays are over and spring is upon us and I have now begun the delicious ritual of replacing my winter wardrobe with my spring wardrobe, taking care not to get too enthusiastic by unwrapping summer pieces just yet, I don't like to tempt fate. I so enjoy sealing away winter in my vacum seal bags from The Holding Company and gently opening, unwrapping and unleashing spring.

Being a creature of habit I put aside two days for this event to ensure I can focus entirely on the job at hand as it is vital that no errors are made in the packing up process and all items have already been checked carefully to establish if any repairs or dry cleaning is needed. I always begin with the heavy items such as coats, jackets and boots and follow on with lighter pieces until I reach my cashmere section, and after removing a few of my more delicate pieces suitable for chilly spring and summer evenings, I reach the point where caution is needed as any potential nasty moths need dealing with in advance. I have taken advice from the experts and add some gorgeous scented wooden balls into the airtight environment for the summer and they really do seem to do the trick as my knitwear is completely unblemished.

On day two, when I have a beautiful assortment of sealed joy laid out before me, all labelled and dated, and the familiar sense of satisfaction washes over me I embark on the packing up process and all items are carried to the loft which has a constant cool temperature which is ideal for clothing storage (except fur which goes into professional storage), and placed in wooden packing cases which have been adapted with hanging rails or shelves for flat items. Everything is closed up and it is only then that I commence the unpacking of Spring.

Bags have been unsealed, boxes sliced open and tissue removed and everything has been placed out in order to be appraised for selection. Our tastes do change from season to season and what was gorgeous last spring, can look out of place a year later. For example, a Jil Sander very sleek but now seemingly dull dark coloured long silk hooded top and skirt is so wrong with this seasons soft pastels. However, more significantly, what has really changed for me and my wardrobe of beautiful clothes is that countryside chic is very different from London chic and I have hit a tremendous potentially life changing dilemma. Do I need all this stuff, are these clothes really going to serve me well here, am I just holding on to my London life through them, when will I wear them, and will the heels of my Giuseppe Zanotti shoes survive the uneven stones and paths I now tread. Attitudes to clothes is very different here compared to London, and it has become obvious that having 14 coats and 16 jackets (not including suits) is perhaps a tad extravagant, and although I wonder to myself why women on the school run only seem to ever wear one coat all winter and one jacket during the summer is there anything wrong with that. Should I just keep what I need and pieces that will be useful and off load the rest, or do I say, I am what I am and if I want to wear heels and a Matthew Williamson dress on the school run, than I shall.

I did ponder on this big question, and decided that I am a North West London Girl In The Country and I shall always hold my head high, be true to myself and not bow to the masses, I will always have my hair blow-dried, have regular manicures and facials, and above all I will always find any excuse to dress up.

Twinkle Toes

The shame of it all. One morning last week I was caught short. I had just woken from a deep and satisfying sleep and was stumbling around for my favourite mug when the doorbell rang. This was very early and I was slightly alarmed as I could not think who would be on my doorstep at such an uncivilised hour. Handsome husband was not here to protect me (gone the previous night for meetings in London), so I grabbed the still slumbering dog (not the puppy) to accompany me to the door. I slowly unlocked the many bars and chains and peeked out while telling the dog to "STAY BACK", trying to make it appear that I was holding back a vicious beast, and there before me was Margaret our post lady holding a package. The dog bounded out pushing the door wide open and gave her a huge lick. "Special Delivery" she announced. Gosh this early, Margaret proceeded to explain that they had been running a bit behind due some industrial issues and they were therefore starting earlier to get up-to-date. It was then that I noticed her gazing down at my footwear and I suddenly felt very exposed and was reminded of the time Cherie Blair was photographed looking horrendous whilst opening the door to take a delivery also early in the morning. Naturally, I thanked her for being so super efficient and dashed back indoors, dragging the dog with me.

It isn't that I am concerned with the appearance of my body or hair, which I know all holds up quite well in the morning, or my silk nightwear and gown which coming from Carine Gilson will never let me down, it is my footwear, my slippers which really are something that I should be quite ashamed of, and I have been meaning for sometime to deal with, but have overlooked. I have been wearing what once were a perfectly decent pair of Cash-ca slippers but have been worn down to a thread and were looking quite unsightly, not very me at all.

The only slippers I have seen locally just have not been to my taste and I think they have mostly been aimed at ladies with very wide feet. I had become concerned that this matter would have to be remedied on my next return to London, nevertheless being determined in my quest for comfort and elegance I will never give up, and it is due to this steely desire for my needs to be met that I found exactly what I had been looking for in a most unexpected place.

I had been enlisted to accompany middle child on a school trip to a small town with an enormous Abbey, I have visited the town many times as it has attractive ancient buildings and a friendly and easy atmosphere, it also has a couple of boutiques where I have made the odd purchase. We had completed our tour of the beautiful Abbey and made our way through the obligatory attached shop when my eyes were drawn to something twinkling at me from a shelf of accessories. I have a weakness for things that sparkle and I walked over for a close-up inspection and was overjoyed and astounded to find a small selection of treasure from my favourite accessory designer, William Sharp , I have several of his scarves, hats and gloves, and amongst the booty were a pair of ruby red cashmere slippers emblazoned with a shining crystal star pattern. After my initial shock of finding these delights in such an odd place, I asked the volunteer working in the shop why and how they were able to stock these beautiful pieces. Apparently Mr Sharp spent quite a bit of his youth in this town and had been inspired by the twinkling prism of light from the old stain glass windows. How heavenly.

Now I am happy to answer the door whenever the bell rings, as I am assured in the knowledge that I will never ever have another embarassing morning episode and will always put my best twinkling foot forward.

Killer Cows

Following a hearty weekend lunch with our small herd and a couple of teenage visitor friends of our eldest chap, handsome husband and I felt a gentle walk with the dog along the river was the ideal way to walk off my over the top toffee apple crumble, and an opportune moment to leave the teenage boys to some washing and drying of dishes.

We kitted up for the cool, but sunny weather and ambled down the lane to the fields and the stream. I felt relaxed with the faint glow of lunch time red wine as we squelched through the mud avoiding the familiar sight of cow pats. As we turned a corner I caught a glimpse of some cows. Now normally when I come across cows on my daily walks with the dog I go out of my way to give them a very wide berth, and stick as close to the hedge as possible, I suppose I'm a bit of a coward when it comes to cows since I read some articles telling tales of vicious killing cows.

I mentioned this to handsome husband who being made of macho stuff said he could handle it and he strode straight through the middle of them. I followed reluctantly and ensuring I had marked my escape routes should they be needed. All was well until our naughty dog decided it would be fun to bark at the cows and try to play with them. Well what ensued has left me even more convinced that I shall never walk near cows again.

A large Guernsey, quite rightly, felt affronted by this outburst from the dog and began running towards her, this spooked a couple of nearby cows who in turn reared up and then also joined in the chase, they are faster than you would imagine a cow to be and I screamed which was no help to anyone including myself, the dog realising her folly sprinted towards the safety of the hedges, leaving handsome husband to deal with the chaos. I was glued to the spot in terror and watched in awe as he raised his trusty stick, pointed it at the cows and shouted loudly "GET BACK", and do you know what, they did and calmness was once more restored. We found our dog trembling and stuck to brambles in the hedge, when we released her she whimpered and bolted off with her tail between her legs in the direction of home.

Handsome husband and his trusty big stick come to the rescue again..

Farrier, a Loyal and Brave Beagle

It isn't all fun here, some of the things that occur are really quite brutal, but as I have said before it is the way of the countryside, and many peoples lives depend on it, and there are plenty of protesters around to stick up for the foxes, hares and other hunted animals.
Farrier was out with the pack when the hounds slightly over-ran the trail and crossed a minor lane. The whole pack, bar Farrier, crossed safely and picked up the line and hunted strongly onwards. Very sadly Farrier, who was behind the main pack was struck by a car on the road. The driver stopped immediately and Farrier was quickly attended to by several members and was taken back to the kennels by the Master and another member with veterinary advice being received during the journey by mobile phone.
The seriousness of the injuries sustained made the decision inevitable and, on arrival back at the kennels, he was swiftly and kindly put to sleep.
Farrier was already on borrowed time, last summer the members became aware that Farrier had firstly one and then latterly two tumours growing at a steady rate, and it had been fully expected that a final difficult decision on his future would have to be made towards the end of this season. The outcome would have been the same for any hound in that situation. No one was to blame for what happened and a hunting day can never be completely risk free nor can every eventuality be planned for. It is this unpredictable element and the associated risks to everyone that makes the hunt such a vital antidote to the often synthetic and hazard averse world that so many people live in.
Farrier would not have been happy being retired, the hounds rarely settle into a domestic environment after growing up with the pack, and they howl for their friends when separated. He was loyal, strong and brave and will be greatly missed.

Bid Easy

Spring is in the air which is a great excuse for a fresh round of activities, and what does any style conscious woman need for all of these forthcoming social gatherings but new frocks. I am aware that I already have some stashed away, so I felt it only proper to begin my frock project within the warmth and safety of my wardrobe, to see if I had anything within it that would be suitable for a birthday lunch party, a school shindig and an evening drinks.

After 2 hours of fashion scrutiny I came up with 3 possibilities, one for each event, however although they were satisfactory they did not express fully the gratification I normally feel when I know I have succeeded in garment selection, and simply conveyed a sense of 'making do', but I will never give in so I tried a different angle and began to look at separates, which are repeatedly overlooked, as the statement dress is often the easier choice, separates require considered thought of colours, fabrics, styles and patterns that work together, separates involve more work and creativity on the part of the wearer.

I narrowed my search down to three items that demanded I find another piece to finish the ensemble. This was going to be a very exciting project, I would require a jacket for some soft suede navy YSL trousers, a bright top for some plain black skinny Earl jeans and blouse for a velvet Ralph Lauren skirt. Where on earth should I begin my search? My question was answered when I attended a one-off charity auction in one of the larger cities here, which one of the mothers at school had invited me to, not a furniture auction, but one where elegant genuine vintage clothing was up for sale along with some small pieces of bedroom items for the dressing table, very much a female auction. I have been to a couple of auctions since our arrival here and they have been pretty informal events, this was considerably different with some eye watering polished ladies sharpening their Manolo heels to ensure they snare their target items before anyone else. We arrived in good time to register and to peruse the vintage goods which were mostly in pristine condition and I earmarked five potential pieces.

The sale was enormously exciting and I found myself completely absorbed in the tension of the room. These buyers clearly frequented auctions regularly as it soon became clear that some lots were completely ignored while others had many bidders, these women knew what was worth having and what wasn't. My first item came up a Moschino (mainline) navy jacket with small mirrored circles embroidered on the flaps of the pockets. Bidding began and with my heart pounding I raised my hand, big mistake, as I had played my hand to the women of prey who could smell my fear and my novice credentials. I was completely out of my depth and I was lulled into believing I would get my prize as bidding was slow and low, but then the big guns waded in as the jacket hit the price I wanted to pay and then quickly sored out of my reach and into the arms of a woman with slits for eyes.

My friend told me to wait until the last moment to bid on the next item I wanted and be willing to go 10% over my top price. So I was better prepared when my next piece came up a beautiful Pucci print shirt made up of all my favourite pastel colours and perfect for my Earl Jeans. I was patient and observed the other bidders more closely, the price had crept up close to my top price when I raised my hand, "Any more bids on this gorgeous piece"? the auctioneer boomed out, yes there was and a sinewy blonde raised her hand, I waited as the auctioneer looked over to me, I feigned disinterest and then he looked out to the rest of the room, no more bids, I seized my moment and raised my hand again, holding my breath and waiting. It seemed to take forever as he looked over the the blonde who shook her coiffed head, then "Going, gone" and he banged the hammer down. Oh joy, it was mine. I showed no emotion as I had not seen any of these cool customers flicker any clues to their enjoyment of winning, I kept my head focused on the remainder of the auction and winning the further objects of desire.

I lost one piece, a Lanvin blouse, but made up for this with a Chloe blouse for my skirt and was brimming with confidence. My final treasure was within reach a Chanel jacket (navy with gold buttons) and I knew that it would be sought after, anything with the Chanel label is always going to sell well and I wanted it, I had tried it on and was instantly in love with this gem and it had to be mine. To buy new, this piece of art would cost me close to £3,000, so I was prepared to go quite high on this as we all know Chanel rarely have sales. The auctioneer announced the jacket and the room fell quiet as bidding began at £150, there were two telephone bidders and I was actually quite scarred that I might get carried away and buy it at any price just to win, I had done well with my other two purchases paying less than I anticipated so had some extra in the pot should I need it. Very quickly we were up to £500 and I still hadn't shown my hand, at £610 the bidding had slowed and I sensed the moment was not yet there and waited. £620, from a new bidder with a rich ginger bob and glossy lips, a pause for a show of a hand, £630. Things were definitely slowing £640, no one moved, he looked around and opened his mouth to speak, and then I knew my moment had arrived and I raised my hand £650, ginger bob spun round and glared at me raising her hand, £660, I breathed and calmly lifted my hand £670. Silence I could feel the heat of ginger bob seeping out and I knew I had victory, I didn't move my gaze from the auctioneer who was looking round the room and he raised the hammer and said "Going, gone" bang. "Yes", I blurted out, possibly a little loud as several shiny heads turned in my direction, but I did not care what these skinny latte loving, salad eating women thought, I was overjoyed and beaming, I would love and cherish this jacket forever and give it it's very own special space in my wardrobe.

To ensure handsome husband didn't feel left out I slipped in a bid to snare a vintage Leonard tie for his own collection, and left the auction delighted that I had benefited from the day along with the very worthwhile charities.

Apologies

Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise for my lack of response to your comments and for my failing to comment on your own interesting posts. I have been feeling a little unwell (nothing serious), and had a little op on Tuesday, I shall return some time later this week, or early next week with some more tales from the English countryside for you. I have been gathering much material and it is all firmly lodged in my brain. There have been killer cows, a mouse in the house, and the fashion nightmare of a Mexican evening to contend with and to top it all the shame of sub-standard slippers, I only hope the anaesthetic doesn't do anything untoward to my memory.

MEET MONTY

Oh yes, he may well look like butter wouldn't melt, with those great big paws, that wet nose, and that soft and shiny coat, but he has, within 5 days turned my life, and the life of my other gorgeous dog upside down. I have done absolutely nothing except play with him, kiss him, sniff him (yes odd I know, but he smells divine), and have not done any of things I am supposed to do, I've fallen behind with my writing and I need a manicure, but I just don't care. It's love ...

The Thrill of the Chase

We received an unexpected invitation to the opening Point-to-Point of the season which produced huge excitement from our household as my eldest and middle chap have developed a passion for country pursuits and it seems that there is always something going on either following a hunt, beagling, shooting or beating all involving some form of killing or attempting to kill, all rather savage but these are the ways of the country and there are plenty of people around to protest and stand up for the rights of vermin which are the blight of most farmers.

Handsome husband and the small herd have all been kitted out with suitable country clothing for these various events and they work the country look convincingly, handsome husband looking particularly rugged. I however, have struggled as sludge green, the shade of all country attire, does nothing for my complexion and the box shapes of most jackets are not remotely flattering. My verdict is that English country clothing favours the male of the species whilst leaving even the most striking woman looking rather dowdy, perhaps that is why many of the younger women choose to dye their hair with peroxide, in the hope they may stand out.

In pursuit of perfection, I have solved the problem with ease and have the ideal combination of town and country and all thanks to some quality tailoring from Holland & Holland where I found a jacket of the softest and warmest cashmere I have ever touched in a deep cornflower blue, to which I added a silk twill Hermes scarf for my neck and all cleverly found in the same London Street.

So with clothing dealt with I only needed to concentrate on our picnic as this, along with betting on the horses is the highlight of any point to point and as ever ensuring my herd are properly fed and watered to the highest levels is a priority. I find Delia is the best help for picnics with a little input from Nigella and you not only have delicious pies, pastries, tarts and puddings to eat they also look beautiful spilling out of my Louis Vuitton hamper which I had purchased at a local auction (a tale for another time). There you have it the quintessential English picnic all set out and eaten from the boot of your car whilst sitting on your tartan rug.

We were not disappointed and we arrived just as the first race began and were instantly captivated as we watched these magnificent creatures jump hedges far taller than ourselves with ease and grace. We met a variety of people, some attending for the social aspect whilst others there very much to make a bob or two on the betting.

I left Handsome husband in charge of our gambling as he had done a little studying of the form, and eldest and middle chap were given £20 and told to double it. They weren't actually allowed to place bets themselves due to their ages, so they shrewdly roped in the Master of the Hunt who was glad to assist not only placing but also advising on where best to place their money.

Watching racing is fun, but watching when you have your money on a horse is completely thrilling as you can feel the adrenalin pumping as you shout, encourage and cheer for you horse as it takes the last jump and charges for the finishing line, and when you win the surge of elation is exhilarating.

We had turned our afternoon into a profitable one, our two chaps had won on 4 out of 6 races and handsome husband being victorious in 5 out of 6. When I questioned him on his expertise he simply gazed at me adoringly and replied that he had always known a winning filly when he sees one.