London, Day 3
May. 2nd, 2006 09:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelleTuesday, 2nd May
Well, I’m blaming the wonderful series I finished last night for keeping me up. Lian Hearn’s Tales of the Otori, a fabulous epic of love and revenge set in a semi-real feudal Japan. Yummy. And I was close enough to finishing that I literally couldn’t put it down, so I was up til 5am. So it was, to say the least, a late day. Well, I’d planned on having at least one of those, so I’m not berating myself for not getting to Soho til 3.
Wait. Allow me to amend that. I got off the Tube at 3-ish. Leicester Square, as I thought I’d exchange my voucher for Les Mis before anything else. And it would have been simple, if I hadn’t refused to pull out my A to Zed and, thus, turned the completely wrong direction. A few more…I shall call them serendipidous turns, and I caught the edge of St-Martin’s-In-The-Fields, and knew I was at Trafalgar.
I will admit, however, that I almost didn’t recognise it, because I couldn’t find its most obvious landmark: Nelson’s Column is completely obscured by scaffolding and blue net. But I did recognise The National Gallery, etc. And all the tourists with cameras. (I know, I know—pot, kettle….) And, happily, a young man playing bagpipes. And I took a photo just for Betty and Deb of a new-to-me restaurant called Albannach, right where I think I used to queue for the night bus after my numerous late nights at Camden Palace. I also took a photo of Parliament, as I’m not entirely sure I’ll get much closer to it.
I obstinately wandered a little bit more through the Leicester Square area, until I made myself pull out the damned book. Surprise, surprise, the ticket agency I was looking for was in a building directly beside the Starbucks where I sat Sunday morning. Pshaw. Got my ticket, and it’s a strictly “meh” seat: third row, all the way on the end against the wall. I consoled myself with Burger King, and finally struck out again for Berwick Street. I found a square I’d never known was there, Golden Square, surrounded by small, old offices, looking very peaceful and, well, English. Lots of tulips and well-planned lunchtime sunning spots.
Oh, that’s right. It was sunny. Remember that.
Yeah, more wandering, until I found Berwick Street. And, holy cow, there really IS a market there. By 4, of course, it’s pretty sad, and I wasn’t looking for much in the way of fruits, veggies, or mysteriously-sourced Calvin Klein men’s briefs. I did wander for a bit looking for anklets, but no dice.
And then the fabric.
Oh, G-d.
Now, I’d planned on spending most of my money on fabric whilst here, save that for which I spend on boots. I’m thinking now I may have to forego the boots. I found some absolutely wonderful, fabulous, and incredible silks, but oh, I paid for them. £65 a yard, some of them. I got some utterly gorgeous, almost Mackintosh roses, some on black silk, some on white. Some green silk with multicoloured flowers. Some geometrically-gathered organza and some heavy Chinese silk. The woman at one store was absolutely lovely, and filled out a VAT form for me. She also told me that the silks I’d purchased were made specially for the shop in India.
So imagine my surprise when I walked into another shop and saw the same things. Whimper. For the same price, at least. But then, when I bought some lovely traditional Chinese brocade, the guy behind the counter—whom I’d actually seen at the other store—said, “I see you’ve already been to our sister store.” Well, whew. So I confessed about the silk, and we got into a great convo about my buisiness. I showed them the wedding dress, and they were highly impressed. I also told them about my five–year plan, and it felt pretty amazing to be able to say, when they asked how that was going, “Quite well!” Don’t ever think I don’t know I’m blessed.
I had about twenty minutes left to six, so I booked it to the fabulous fashion and costuming bookstore I saw Monday. Er…yesterday, when everything was closed. And yeah, I got hearty laughter everywhere when I mentioned I’d tried to shop yesterday. I picked out a wonderful book on the V&A’s costume collection, and a book of Art Nouveau graphics which, I have this instant discovered, is from a press in Pennsylvania. Sigh.
I was probably out a whole three or four hours, but stupidly, I was already tired, and it looked like it was about to rain any second. So I came back, got here about seven or so, relaxed, snoozed, and grabbed KFC for dinner. How exciting! Now I’m watching that video channel again, and I’m trying to pinpoint the differences—not that I watch American video channels much. But here, it seems it’s one video after another of women whose main talent is that they have teeny waistlines they’re not afraid to gyrate. And they’re covered in shimmer dust. It also seems the more, the merrier: very few clips have just one woman in them when three, five, or more will do. Conversely, I have seen more women on the streets to whom I've wanted to run up and say, "No! BAD dog! No low-rise jeans for you! BAD!" I swear to G-d, I thought we were bad at home, but mix super low-rise jeans with girls who ride scooters, and...wow. I see the English like thong underwear, too. More than ever, I realise super-lows only look good on those whose publicists tell them to wear them.
I’m liking the commercials, though. Especially since I’ve just realized that voice in the Argos commercial has to be Patrick Stewart. Yum.
So. Today's photos! http://www.flickr.com/photos/ysobelle/sets/72057594123813028/
Tomorrow, sketching and photographing in the V&A's costume exhibit, and possibly dinner with a family friend. We shall see!
Well, I’m blaming the wonderful series I finished last night for keeping me up. Lian Hearn’s Tales of the Otori, a fabulous epic of love and revenge set in a semi-real feudal Japan. Yummy. And I was close enough to finishing that I literally couldn’t put it down, so I was up til 5am. So it was, to say the least, a late day. Well, I’d planned on having at least one of those, so I’m not berating myself for not getting to Soho til 3.
Wait. Allow me to amend that. I got off the Tube at 3-ish. Leicester Square, as I thought I’d exchange my voucher for Les Mis before anything else. And it would have been simple, if I hadn’t refused to pull out my A to Zed and, thus, turned the completely wrong direction. A few more…I shall call them serendipidous turns, and I caught the edge of St-Martin’s-In-The-Fields, and knew I was at Trafalgar.
I will admit, however, that I almost didn’t recognise it, because I couldn’t find its most obvious landmark: Nelson’s Column is completely obscured by scaffolding and blue net. But I did recognise The National Gallery, etc. And all the tourists with cameras. (I know, I know—pot, kettle….) And, happily, a young man playing bagpipes. And I took a photo just for Betty and Deb of a new-to-me restaurant called Albannach, right where I think I used to queue for the night bus after my numerous late nights at Camden Palace. I also took a photo of Parliament, as I’m not entirely sure I’ll get much closer to it.
I obstinately wandered a little bit more through the Leicester Square area, until I made myself pull out the damned book. Surprise, surprise, the ticket agency I was looking for was in a building directly beside the Starbucks where I sat Sunday morning. Pshaw. Got my ticket, and it’s a strictly “meh” seat: third row, all the way on the end against the wall. I consoled myself with Burger King, and finally struck out again for Berwick Street. I found a square I’d never known was there, Golden Square, surrounded by small, old offices, looking very peaceful and, well, English. Lots of tulips and well-planned lunchtime sunning spots.
Oh, that’s right. It was sunny. Remember that.
Yeah, more wandering, until I found Berwick Street. And, holy cow, there really IS a market there. By 4, of course, it’s pretty sad, and I wasn’t looking for much in the way of fruits, veggies, or mysteriously-sourced Calvin Klein men’s briefs. I did wander for a bit looking for anklets, but no dice.
And then the fabric.
Oh, G-d.
Now, I’d planned on spending most of my money on fabric whilst here, save that for which I spend on boots. I’m thinking now I may have to forego the boots. I found some absolutely wonderful, fabulous, and incredible silks, but oh, I paid for them. £65 a yard, some of them. I got some utterly gorgeous, almost Mackintosh roses, some on black silk, some on white. Some green silk with multicoloured flowers. Some geometrically-gathered organza and some heavy Chinese silk. The woman at one store was absolutely lovely, and filled out a VAT form for me. She also told me that the silks I’d purchased were made specially for the shop in India.
So imagine my surprise when I walked into another shop and saw the same things. Whimper. For the same price, at least. But then, when I bought some lovely traditional Chinese brocade, the guy behind the counter—whom I’d actually seen at the other store—said, “I see you’ve already been to our sister store.” Well, whew. So I confessed about the silk, and we got into a great convo about my buisiness. I showed them the wedding dress, and they were highly impressed. I also told them about my five–year plan, and it felt pretty amazing to be able to say, when they asked how that was going, “Quite well!” Don’t ever think I don’t know I’m blessed.
I had about twenty minutes left to six, so I booked it to the fabulous fashion and costuming bookstore I saw Monday. Er…yesterday, when everything was closed. And yeah, I got hearty laughter everywhere when I mentioned I’d tried to shop yesterday. I picked out a wonderful book on the V&A’s costume collection, and a book of Art Nouveau graphics which, I have this instant discovered, is from a press in Pennsylvania. Sigh.
I was probably out a whole three or four hours, but stupidly, I was already tired, and it looked like it was about to rain any second. So I came back, got here about seven or so, relaxed, snoozed, and grabbed KFC for dinner. How exciting! Now I’m watching that video channel again, and I’m trying to pinpoint the differences—not that I watch American video channels much. But here, it seems it’s one video after another of women whose main talent is that they have teeny waistlines they’re not afraid to gyrate. And they’re covered in shimmer dust. It also seems the more, the merrier: very few clips have just one woman in them when three, five, or more will do. Conversely, I have seen more women on the streets to whom I've wanted to run up and say, "No! BAD dog! No low-rise jeans for you! BAD!" I swear to G-d, I thought we were bad at home, but mix super low-rise jeans with girls who ride scooters, and...wow. I see the English like thong underwear, too. More than ever, I realise super-lows only look good on those whose publicists tell them to wear them.
I’m liking the commercials, though. Especially since I’ve just realized that voice in the Argos commercial has to be Patrick Stewart. Yum.
So. Today's photos! http://www.flickr.com/photos/ysobelle/sets/72057594123813028/
Tomorrow, sketching and photographing in the V&A's costume exhibit, and possibly dinner with a family friend. We shall see!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-05-03 11:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-03 01:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-03 02:55 pm (UTC)The fabric you are purchasing sounds so beautiful! I can't wait to see it all. Are you getting this stuff for your own corsets/clothes or to use for corsets for others? Any wine-red material? hint hint ;-)
no subject
Date: 2006-05-04 01:14 am (UTC)