Sweet Music from Sugar Sisters

Some pre-Christmas parties are better than others, and one of the cutest events I have attended recently was a small but perfectly organised jolly at the Marylebone`s Deploy boutique. I have been there on a few occasions as they have a good selection of bespoke fashion, including quirky accessories. Last week, they decided to offer some heart-warming mulled wine, mince pies, and opportunity to catch up with friends, to say `thank you` to their patrons for ongoing support and to welcome new customers. I – together with other guests - applauded their choice of music - the Sugar Sisters, swinging 1940s voice harmony. A well dressed trio – they were sporting Deploy`s made to measure fitted dresses - entertained us throughout the evening, and I hear they were allowed to keep their couture outfits! Well done to Sugar Sisters, and thank you to Deploy boutique for a lovely soiree.

Regret

Jackie Collins advised me to; `Keep at it`, so here is something I have written earlier in the year:

REGRET

A faint but distinctive stench of stale urine made Bea turn her head towards the sea.  Small yet powerful waves were shifting brown-coloured sand in regular intervals. They were carrying it towards a stony beach, and hurriedly taking it back to their depths. A sudden gust brought a few droplets of salty water, which settled on her cracked lips. Bea wrapped an old, suede jacket around her tubby torso and belted it up. She tried to cover her hair with a scarf but an unexpected wind lifted it up high above her head, making it look like a half-deflated balloon. Even Nice with its Alpine barricade, strategically positioned to guard the city from neighboring colds, felt the first bounds of winter.

`The Summer is gone for good` - she spoke down to a stray dog, which had appeared at her side. It came to hear her complaints after earlier urinating against the wall, which protected Promenade Des Anglais, built on top, from the caprices of the sea.  She started walking slowly towards the steep steps, which would take her back to the famous boulevard, where she felt so much more welcome.  The chilly wind played aggressively with her graying hair.  Her clumsy feet were making deep dents in the stony surface.  She regretted that she put on weight over the summer months.  Her jacket felt tight and her sneakers bulged uncomfortably around her swollen feet.  She felt the first pangs of the forthcoming headache.

She knew this beach very well.  She had been coming here every day at dusk, to watch the last flickers of sun cast a crimson glow on the water. She had been doing so since David left her for that cute-looking, vivacious bitch, twenty-odd years her junior.  A quiet beach provided a perfect backdrop for Bea`s morbid reflections on the events that had led to the break up of her marriage, since he packed up that small suitcase and left their apartment five months ago. She had been searching for answers in the cries of small, gray and sunburn-coloured stones under her heavy feet; in the anguish of the water that was forced by cruel nature to leap rhythmically twenty four hours a day; in laments of the shrieking birds; in weeping cracks of the pavement;  and in the wind that was mourning the end of the summer.  She had met David at university. Their stormy love affair survived his rapid rise through the ranks of middle and senior management; it lasted through the birth of their child; carried on when he made his fortune in derivatives; endured her brush with cervical cancer; lived on when their offspring left the parental home in search of distant lands; survived his sudden decision to move into the world of academia and buy a spacious residence in Nice, alongside the Opera House. How could their love perish so spectacularly? She turned at the top of the stairs, looking intensely at the choppy sea, hoping that its beauty would sooth her pain. It looked dark and murky.

Start of the Festive Season

Oxford Street and - from 15 November – Regent Street and South Molton Street are lit up by amazing street lights, which – traditionally – herald the beginning of the festive season. This year, we have – amongst other curiosities - a giant Marmite illuminations, and a number of twinkly displays featured across the major roads in Mayfair and the West End.

I got into a party spirit at Aspinal of London on Brook Street, fueled by champagne, while getting a new leather diary for 2013, embossed with my name. Many retailers, who are based in and around South Molton Street, offered champagne as part of the shopping extravaganza which coincided with the switch of the lights. The cast from Horrible Histories: Barmy Britain provided entertainment, and  a selection of Christmas carols created a joyous atmosphere. Yes, I ended the evening with a few purchases, my favourite being a pair of mid-arm-long soft leather gloves with fringing alongside the whole length – wonderful!

On South Molton Street, in a Prada coat; Missoni scarf; with Michael Kors handbag; and a hat from Solar