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.

Gothic Folly

This architectural anomaly: an unfinished folly in South Woodchester was built and abandoned in the mid 19th century. It is referred to simply as the Mansion by local yokels. Solitary and resplendent it stands, sandwiched between verdant forests and pastures, as if placed there by a giant child, quite an inhospitable place for a building and the reason for its capturing my imagination. Folk flock here to amble through its empty carcass, gaze upon the majestic window arcs and smirk at the hideously exquisite gargoyles. Bats live here in thriving colonies, a fitting attribute for a Gothic Folly. A dead building brimming with so much life.

Neonsense

Neon makes me as happy as an Old Skool Raver and can give any scheme or outfit that oooh factor. A teapot flocked in neon green or a Chesterfield upholstered in a neon, orange velvet can provide the necessary jolt to one's habitat, if feeling a little staid but not in need of a massive overhaul.

I recently designed a lighting installation for a friend following an obsession with Glow Doodle on my i-phone, an application that even the most hardened luddite would find impossible not to enjoy. At the touch of an index finger you simply scrawl any epigram, word or profanity of choice onto the screen, email to my mate Steve at Electro signs and hey presto: a piece of flickering, sentimental yet slightly seedy gaudiness to hang on your wall.

Emery et Cie

I was introduced to this line by Retrouvius, who house a mini Emery et Cie concession within their warehouse. I was struck by a vivid, peacock blue sample tile and since then I have subscribed to their monthly newsletter and diligently visit the flagship store when foraging around for antiques in Bruxelles: a city of many quirks and surprises (that is a whole other blog). Feast your eyes on this month's current palette: a range of inky aubergines and plums. The paints are highly pigmented which is perfect for buttering up any absorbent surface for a rough yet luxe finish.

Mouldy

Who would have thought that a humble jelly mould could garner such admiration? I found several in TRAINSPOTTERS of Stroud. Jesse and his team are my all time favourite salvage geeks, this particular beauty originates from France circa 1920, it looks like it has been dipped in a vat of mercury. An exciting Queens Park renovation shall be the proud bearer of such a jewel, transforming its sombre Victorian corridor into an ambient and slightly surreal gallery space.

Last Days

I relish marching through meadows of dew drenched grass, the discordant buzz of woozy wasps hovering over fermented fallen fruit, breezy evenings that quietly announce Autumn's imminent arrival and the golden vastness everywhere. The last days of Summer should be celebrated not mourned.

Signs

I love signs: shop, railway, municipal, pretty much anything with an impressive or unusual font. This particular acquisition was spotted rusting away on a formica table outside a nameless treasure trove on the Lillie Road in Fulham. The sign' s provenance is unknown, could have been salvaged from the car or cigarette factory, I have no idea if Bristol cars or cigarettes are even synonymous with one another. The beauty of a piece like this is that you invent the story. I see it glowing and flickering majestically outside a gentlemen's drinking salon circa 1960. I have since revived the unearthly green phosphorescence, looks wild yet quite lonely in a darkened room.

Miniatures

I procured a pair of bucolic silhouettes from a boot fair in Gloucestershire, I am in pursuit of more diminutive masterpieces. There is something so innately precious about an intricately painted portrait or landscape. A beautiful artist friend of mine: Alice Instone, has painted a series of Lilliputian portraits and charms. A tribute to the sombre yet romantic Victorians who would treasure such keepsakes of a beloved within a locket or a coat pocket for the rest of their mortal toil.

I Heart Ferrowatt.

I have always been moth like in my tendencies: often drawn to things that glimmer and flicker in the dark. The Ferrowatt bulb is a jewel for your home, a miniature, flaming beacon of amber gold, smouldering sensuously and casting seductive shadows in a hall, stairwell or boudoir. Thomas Edison would be so proud of his humble little invention if he were to see it igniting the banqueting suite of many a boutique hotel and luxurious dwelling. I urge you to hunt these bulbs down before I plunder the net for a personal stockpile.

Graced

I was introduced to the works of U.S artist Grace O'Connor by a gallerist friend, Paul Stolper, he showcased her "Tinkerville" collection a few years ago, I have been an avid collector since. I have always favoured photo realism and the figuritive over the abstract, for me the language and sentiment is clearer. Her inspirations are pooled from her own small town, misspent adolescence and being a band groupie.

Skater dudes and floppy haired Casanovas stare out from the canvas expressing that all too familiar suburban ennui and youthful insouciance. These are prized butterflies encased within a glass frame, once transient now an indelible memory.

The detail and tonal softness of the paintings render each subject with his or her own ethereal and mesmeric beauty, in spite of the ordinariness of their surroundings. Up close you can almost smell the Budweiser and bubblegum on their breath.

Oddities

Meticulously designed spaces have always been a little too contrived for my liking. There is a freshness and spontaneity that goes with 'slap dash' styling, something I enjoy immensely. Do not be fooled by this turn of phrase, 'slap dash' is an art in itself, requiring an open mind and masses of conviction.

A selection of sepia printed postcards tacked haphazardly onto a wall and a mantlepiece laden with treasures add instant nostalgia and edge to any room. I have amassed a fine collection of busts, mannequins and milliner's blocks which are perfect for draping necklaces, scarves and hats or as a focal point for a cabinet or chest display. Such touches are inexpensive and enjoyable to procure, I often marvel at how throw away our culture is, I once came across an entire crate of Amish stars in an (N.Y.C) East Village dumpster , I felt like a lottery winner!!

Accidental Beauty

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Fuel for the imagination lurks everywhere: a bizarrely curated shop front, discarded boxes, faded wallpaper denoting a bygone, gilded era and heartfelt urban scrawls.

Hell Yes!!!

Hell's Kitchen was the somewhat insalubrious setting for a Flea Market forage on Sunday. It delivered yet required generous lashings of stamina and focus, a feat in this piping hot stew of a city. A sumptuous pile of linen and lace satiated my spending urge, I was also drawn to a collection of candid 'naked beach babe' photographs taken throughout the 1970s and 80s, compellingly voyeuristic and Newtonesque.

OBSCURA

Pounding the pavements of NYC's Lower East side is a wholly different experience these days, it still maintains an elusivity and edge yet pockets of the neighbourhood have developed into a bustling antique, curios, gastronomic and design mecca. Lula's Vegan sweet apothecary on east 6th sits next to dive-bars and questionable saunas. It is this dichotomy that makes any area a delight to explore.

Obsucra on east 10th is a den of oddities. I wavered between fascination and repugnance as I leafed through a pile of Medical diagrams, depicting the various atrophying states of Venereal disease. Bell jars containing actual shrunken heads and a dizzying array of prosthetic body parts live in giant museum cabinets within the store. I settled for an embroidered 'sacred heart' keepsake and an oil painting of a nude, mustachioed male circa. 1970.

Tassels and Fringing

Maybe I am a showgirl at heart because I have always had a penchant for tassels and dangly, spangly fringing of any sort. I bought this lampshade from junk shop in West Hampstead for a humble tenner. It looks like it belongs in Sybil Fawlty's boudoir yet would not be out of place in a Parisien Salon du The. It is a veritable object of beauty, from its faded mustard hue to its decadent and ruffled edging. A perfect bedside companion sat upon a mirrored console or simply on its own lending any space an incandescent glow. Rescue them.

Ressurection

I have a true hoarding and rescuing sickness. If like me you choose to furnish your life with flea market and skip rummaging finds then allow me to offer a few key "rummager" tips and point you in the direction of some of my fave salvage hotspots:

1. Be an opportunist, look out for house clearances, boot/garage sales, surf ebay, rubbish tips and strolling up and down your local or any residential street can be a rich source of material, I have chanced upon many a brass door knob and cane chair whilst walking the dog. This has to be my preferred and the most satisfying method of salvaging.

2. When walking past a house renovation do not be afraid to ask the builders if you can pilfer through their skip, do not just take, salvaging etiquette requires you to always ask first.

3.Be outlandish and imaginative: dismembered dolly parts can become part of your own art installation if displayed en masse or beneath a bell jar.

4. Always enquire about the provenance of certain pieces, it is such a delight when an original piece tells a story. "Victorian hospital lights salvaged from an asylum" sound macabrely more desireable than plain old "Victorian hospital lights".

5. Taxidermy is fiercely on trend at the mo. My little sis did a bit of D.I.Y taxidermy for a my birthday present, she acquired some bunny ears off ebay, dried them out and coated them in glitter, they now sit pride of place on the mantlepiece at home, I am toying with idea of turning them into a necklace.

Shops :

Retrouvius
020 8960 6060

Polly Morgan

Baileys home and garden
01989 561931

Trainspotters uk
01453 756677

Glasgow Architectural Salvage
0141 958 1113

Ibizan Eden

I lost a week in an Ibizan idyll. Set up high in the enchanted hills of Santa Eulalia, equidistant between the north and south of the island is Les Terrasses. It is not signposted but land marked by a cobalt blue, Yves Klein Stone, it surely lives up to its elusive and glamourous air.

Starting out as a humble finca, it was purchased by Francoise Pialoux in 1981, then whitewashed and embellished with North African and Gallic objets d'artes. It resembles a truly lived in Artist's abode yet functions as a sexy and contemporary boutique escape. The Gardens are nearly all edible and evenings suffused with the scent of jasmine. The Couscous nights on Tuesdays are worth booking weeks in advance if only to dine al fresco beneath bijoux chandeliers fit for a fairy Queen.

We slept in stone casita 'quatre', replete with singing Geckos, gorgeous linen and vivid dreams. Bliss, bliss, bliss.

DOITYOURSELF.

When I am in New York I always stay at the Bowery Hotel, perhaps the loveliest hotel in the city! Without fail I drop in on the John Derian Store on East 2nd street, conveniently placed around the corner. Here I stock up on all manner of domestic paraphanelia namely art books, wooden Kodak frames and Italian sugar paper.

The walls are adorned with a dizzying array of naive animal and form sketches. I love this notion of displaying art or photographs en masse. It is an idea so easy to incorporate into your home. Simply sketch something you love from your children to a cherished pair of shoes, it does not need to be perfect, in fact the more haphazard the better, then mount in abundance on your walls.

Milleneufcentsoixantedixhuit (1978)

Pouring through napthalene scented albums is a past time savoured for quiet moments of indulgent solitude. This morning I did just that and came across a rare jewel of a photograph. A Buddha baby version of my current self, on the cusp of taking first tentative steps. Aside from being a reminder of how impossibly cute I was (and everyone is at that age), it is testament to how stylish and hip my parents were. The back drop is the living room of my parents' Hong Kong Condominium circa 1978. Perhaps I am drawn to the amber glaze, a prevalent *"huematic" in photographs of this vintage? There are nuances within this meticulously curated space that I have carried with me into adult life. I am welling up with nostalgia and an irrational longing for bamboo furniture. The Phalaenopsis orchids in a vase on the coffee table are a staple within my home and my bloom of choice for any occasion. I am convinced the key to my outlandish taste is hidden within every fibre of that noisy three-piece-suite. The mental snapshot I took at 9 months regurgitates itself often, it is clearly imbedded within my subconscious.

I yearn for those balmy days, the smell of my Snoopy pencil case and nanny Aurora's chicken adobo.

* Huematic does not exist in the English Dictionary but I like the way it sounds, suggests colour theme.

I heart Jim

I fell in love with Jim Meadway's work when I was given his book entitled Shorty Loves WingWang: an autobiographical memoir of life growing up in a small town up north, told through a series of anthropomorphic teen cat drawings. The comic book world he creates is in fact very gritty and familiar, the only difference being is that it is a world populated by cats resplendent in Kappa tracksuits, replete with fags, drugs, acne, underage sex and other resonant teen paraphernalia.

It is the simplicity and detail of his drawings that grip me, leafing through his book you are presented with punchy, Loachian social reportage.

Loretta Lux

My current visual obsession is the work of German photographer Loretta Lux. I equally love and am unsettled by her utopian representation of the child in her pictures. I connect with the awkwardness of their gaze and allow it to bore a hole right through me, the unreadability of their expressions renders them inhuman yet oddly vulnerable.