Smoke and Mirrors

For me, smoky mirrored glass conjures up images of champagne fueled debauchery, stolen kisses and rock oysters, undoubtedly that is why it features on the walls of many a Michelin starred eatery. This sort of panelling reeks of opulence without the gaudiness, especially if the edges are bevelled and hued with the subtlest amber or rose. I have incorporated this glass into some furniture I have designed, it whimsically offsets the wood.

I have a a few samples of rose tinted glass from a company in Bath called Roman Glass, they achieve the most vintage mercurial, marbling effect better than most other specialist glaziers. The tiles are delightful objects in themselves, currently moonlighting as display units for my jewellery, I have more dotted about the room than a Hatton Garden diamond seller.

Horses for Courses

The Folly's 'Equine Salon' is almost complete. It was tough striking the balance between Polo Chic and Jilly Cooper sauce. I would have loved to have taken it further with riding crops and hats festooned on walls but alas, measure is essential in a grown up space.

Sacred Beryl

Featured on the cover of this month's World of Interiors is the North London home of the late and great Beryl Bainbridge. Her home is ghoulish to say the least: a dusty shrine to Catholicism and Englishness. Half filled ashtrays lay strewn throughout the house, a clear indication of her affliction and struggle to break the habit. The house itself is a beautiful Edwardian shell, she bought it with her first husband Austin Davies in the late 1960s, gutting it and then turning it into a whitewashed Modernist space. When they separated, Beryl gradually and wholeheartedly stamped her insignia into each and every room, the house soon morphed into a mad, late Victorian den, a macabre curation of curiosities and objects. The house has shiny brown lacquer on every surface, dark furniture cramping up the tiny rooms, moth eaten taxidermy, sacred hearts and black linoleum upon the floors. Within every fibre and particle of this bizarrely beautiful interior is the essence of a woman who not only wrote, but lived, laughed and loved abundantly.

I Am Love

Luca Guadagnino's: 'Io Sono L'Amore' (I Am Love) starring ethereal beauty Tilda Swinton, is truly mesmerizing and provides a cornucopia of visual inspiration. The story revolves around the haute bourgeoisie Recchi family. The inaugural sequence draws us into the inner sanctum of their household, revealing tender snapshots of the family and staff dynamic as well as intimate preparations for a birthday banquet. Emma Recchi's ( Swinton) runs an impeccable residence: an austere yet magnificent warren of amber lit corridors, clad in Carrera marble. Neutral shades of cream, oyster and mink are accented with emeralds and medici blues. The walls are adorned with exquisite family portraits and art. Emma is the paradigm of an upstanding, refined yet vulnerable Milanese Matriarch, nuances of which are beautifully illustrated by the painterly use of palette and subdued lighting throughout the film.

Bootiful

The splendid Lodge Park in Sherbourne, Oxfordshire was the incongruous setting for a biennial car boot in aid of the NSPCC. I basked in the autumnal sunshine and snaked my way through each lovingly curated trestle table, refueling mid morning on the requisite carbooter fare: a chip buttie and vicky sponge, washed down with a strong and sweet cup of PG.

There was the usual abundance of common household detritus that diverted my focus at times, so fascinated I was with sorbet coloured bath mats that I lost out on a bidding war over a stuffed, green parrot in a bell jar. Alas, there are pitfalls to such weekend pursuits. However, I left the haggling masses and verdant grounds of Lodge Park triumphant, armed with a trio of Formica, tri- legged occasional tables, remnants from the utilitarian 1960s and mine for a fiver!

Flora

Wallpaper is an excellent palette and mood dictator for any space so it is essential that one employs discernment throughout the selection process. What seems current and edgy today will be pasted onto the walls of a Gastro pub near you tomorrow. Ubiquity is a personal bugbear, I feel it is best avoided by honing in on hues, motifs and textures that verge on the more twisted side of traditional. Stroud based company Lewis and Wood have a delectable selection of textiles and papers as do the quintessentially English Sanderson, who have resurrected a few relics from their archive namely: Eglantine, a riot of sun drenched, mustard and carmine roses. Flora and fauna motifs are so unfashionably enduring.

Jardore

Paris, pour moi, is synonymous with two sensory pleasures: fruits de mer at La Coupole and a visit to Jar on rue de Castiglione. The latter being a true feat of self indulgence. My friend Josef who manages this velvet flocked, haven of olfaction, is ever ready to declare the Jar manifesto: a charming anti-establishment rant about discretion and non branding. The tear drop bottle is jewel like and free from any insignia. One is urged to sample the fragrance atop the wrist rather than under and there are no vials to spritz and sniff at ones' leisure. A leather chamois is doused with the fragrance and housed within crystal domes as if to entrap the perfume's spirit. I was drawn to Golconda, a quixotic blend of earth and clove, quite unplaceable and evolving on the skin.