Salone Baloney

I was going to write about the highlights of the premier interior design show, Salone del Mobile, in this post. Turns out there were no highlights. Dull,dull,dull——the lack of inspirattion and paucity of ideas makes me want to smack my head against the nearest wall. If I never see another blasted chair inspired by mid-century furniture presented as thnough it were the acme of artistic endeavour again, it won’t be a day too soon. And please, no more blasted grey. We live in northern climes; there’s enough grey overhead to be going on with. Ye gods and little fishes, it fair makes me want to weep. Over-react? Moi? But seriously, what is all this rubbish? And to add insult to injury, they present this stuff as if they are showing Michelangelo’s latest sculpture. It is entirely sick-making. The few standouts that I’ve seen so far are: the ever-reliable Jaime Hayon’s new rugs for Ninamarquina, the Polifemo cabinet by Elena Salmistraro, Coral Bed by Andreas Varotsos, Painting (screen) by Alessandra Baldereschi, and Long Cabinet by Nika Zupanc. Everything else is either old news or should be used as firewood. Where is Girolamo Savonarola when you need him? It’s just really disheartening to see the big companies giving the resources to the same old, tired gang of idea-free designers when there are a gazillion unrecognised young artisans turning out really good work that is generally ignored.

Rant over. Instead, I’m going to tell some tasteless jokes. AlaraApothecary: reducing the world’s IQ one person at a time. Here goes:

A fifteen year old Amish boy and his father were in a mall. They were amazed by almost everything they saw, but especially by two shiny, silver walls that could move apart and then slide back together again. The boy asked, “What is this Father?” The father (never having seen an elevator) responded, “Son, I have never seen anything like this in my life, I don”t know what it is.” While the boy and his father were watching with amazement, a fat old lady in a wheel chair moved up to the moving walls and pressed a button. The walls opened, and the lady rolled between them into a small room. The walls closed, and the boy and his father watched the small numbers above the walls light up sequentially. They continued to watch until it reached the last number, and then the numbers began to light in the reverse order. Finally the walls opened up again and a gorgeous 24-year-old blond stepped out. The father, not taking his eyes off the young woman, said quietly to his son… “Go get your Mother.”

A man in Scotland calls his son in London the day before Christmas Eve and says,“I hate to ruin your day but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing; forty-five years of misery is enough.” ‘Dad, what are you talking about?’ the son screams. “We can’t stand the sight of each other any longer” the father says. “We’re sick of each other and I’m sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Leeds and tell her.” Frantically, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone. “Like hell they’re getting divorced!” she shouts, “I’ll take care of this!” She calls Scotland immediately, and screams at her father “You are NOT getting divorced. Don’t do a single thing until I get there. I’m calling my brother back, and we’ll both be there tomorrow.Until then, don’t do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?” and hangs up. The old man hangs up his phone and turns to his wife. ‘Sorted! They’re coming for Christmas – and they’re paying their own way.’

Have a wonderful week. Toodle pip.

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The Sun Has Got Its Hat On

How marvellous is it to see some sunshine. I finally realised that I have a Vitamin D deficiency by using simple deductive reasoning- the sun came out and  a lot of the malaise- like symptoms I’ve had since October started to resolve. When I told everyone I was going to Italy for the sunshine last November, well, they scoffed. Turns out my body was talking to me all along. Now to see if I can get a holiday to the Seychelles on the NHS…..

It struck me this weekend that most of the stuff that makes me happy is really simple: I met some friends and went shopping, bought two ceiling pendants for a tenner each ( I absolutely loathe the art-deco style ones I’ve had for soooo long. They had to go!) I couldn’t have been happier if I’d bought one of those beautiful Lindsey Adelman lights. I even left the lights on just to look at the lovely diffused effect. My electricity provider is thrilled 🙂 The sunshine has been so lovely that even the drive along the M4 was amazing. Beautiful shades of green and that lovely yellow from the fields of rapeseed. It was well worth the resultant mainlining of antihistamines. Then I dropped in to see my ex-neighbour who told me many scurrilous tales about fellow Chiswick residents. Some of them were even true. She is just about the funniest person I’ve ever met. Would love to share the stories but for sure, I’d get sued.

My favourite story so far this week? The National Trust has issued merchandise to mark the centennial of the suffragette movement. What sort of items have they produced as keepsakes? Tea towels. I nearly choked on the grape I was eating. Someone at the NT has an excellent sense of humour 🙂 Cue well-deserved feminist outrage. The best bit? The spokesman (person??) said, ” Tea towels have always been part of our souvenir offer as decorative comemorative items – they aren’t always about drying the crockery” You tell  ’em, pal. Nothing says ‘female empowerment’ like a nice, pastel-coloured teatowel. Except maybe a really lovely ironing board, or a nice set of chains and shackles to go with the commemorative kitchen sink. You’d need a heart of stone not to laugh. Have a terrific week my dears, as long as your hubby has given you permission to do so. Toodle pip.

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plus ça change

I was going to make today’s post a diatribe about the iniquities of our leaders and the wickedness being perpetrated in Syria but quite frankly, I believe that my poor readers need a break from contemplating the parlous state of human interactions. I am no peacenik, in fact I’m notorious for wading into battle when provoked but I struggle to see the point of raining missiles on the heads of the poor Syrian people who have surely suffered enough. Why the megalomaniac superpowers are choosing to fight a proxy war in Syria is a complete myustery to me. If we really believe that Russia is a pestilential rogue state that we as the world’s policemen must deal with, put your money where your mouth is. Direct the Hellfire missiles at Moscow and St. Petersburg. When they retaliate by levelling St.Albans, Bordeaux, or Cincinnati and we meet that consequence with a needs-must shrug, then I’ll really accept that we believe in our actions. It doesn’t seem to matter who is in power, we end up with warmongering psycopathic behaviour. All this aggresion based on a level of ‘facts’ and ‘evidence’ that would not secure a shoplifting conviction in any court of law. The argument seems to be ‘ Assad is highly likely(!) to be using chemical weapons even though he has all but won the war, and the Russians are helping him in ways we can’t prove. I know! Let’s bomb the Syrians. That will put an end to this nonsense.’  It is all inexpressibly depressing. Sorry, turns out I couldn’t help the diatribe after all but it royally ticks me off. This is what Syria used to look like before the sons and daughters of Belial decided to destroy it:

In a bid to cheer us all up, I will move to the much saner world of design, where coffee tables cost £10,000 and beds are £25,000. OK, maybe not so sane after all. Salone del Mobile is about to kick off, hurrah and huzzah. In that spirit of creativity and exuberance, today’s images include the oh-so-beauteous pendant light by Chiara Colombini, street art by Vhils, a mental gold kitchen by Stine Goya of Reform, and Fabio Novembre’s art furniture. Brought a smile to your faces I hope. I look forward to updating you on the wild fruits of designers’ imaginations as Salone goes on. I leave you with some poems to cheer us all up. Have a lovely, peaceful week:

The Orange

By Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

 

I Am My Own Grandpa
By Moe Jaffe & Dwight Latham
It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she’s as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother ’cause she was my father’s wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow’s grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.

Father’s wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter’s son.
My wife is now my mother’s mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she’s my grandmother, too.

Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.

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Ooh, Mr Darcy!

Now that the weather is improving, I’m strongly tempted to start a series of posts based on travel and food. In this way, I can have fun whilst pretending that I’m doing it all for my readers. This is what we apothecaries like to call a win-win situation. This weekend, I visited Bath for the first time, accompanied by my partner-in-crime Sarah, who foolishly volunteered to accompany me on one of my jaunts. I did initially consider going for a theme of pure cheesiness on these visits i.e a bath in Bath, eating a banana in Split, eating a piece of gateau in the Black Forest….. but good sense, and taste prevailed. My cardiologist is relieved, as all my ideas seemed to revolve around eating something calorific in a scenic spot 🙂

Anyway, Bath: be still my beating heart. It is a ridiculously beautiful city, jam-packed with people intent on having fun. I was strongly reminded of Rome, a cleaner, less ancient Rome anyway. That beautiful Bath stone which seems to emit its own gleam and lustre; I was quite taken aback to see how lovely it all managed to seem without any of that dreadful quaintness. Can I just say though, Charlotte St car park has the smallest parking spaces known to man. I may not be a skinny mini, but I shouldn’t need to do a sideways limbo to exit my car. We were there (in Bath, not the car park) for about five hours and did not even see half of the stuff we wanted to see.

The Royal Crescent did not disappoint. If I could just combine say three of those houses, I just might have the perfect house. Greedy, moi? Perish the thought. We also went to Bath Abbey because I had to see the famous ladders of ascending and descending angels carved into the facade as described in the Inspector Diamond novels by Peter Lovesey. The books are excellent, by the way. What else? Pulteney Bridge, a gazillion shops full of swanky goodies, the frenetic swirl of water over the weir (they had ‘No Diving’ signs on the bridge parapet. What manner of maniac would dive into a weir, making such a sign necessary? Pazzo, as we don’t say in Bath). The highlight of the day was the Jane Austen Centre. Considering the fact that Sarah says that watching ‘Pride & Prejudice’ was ‘the longest six hours of my life’ (the philistine!), we loved it. We stuffed our faces with the afternoon tea (highly recommended. The Russian Caravan tea was superb), and then visited the exhibition in the company of some American girls who were in anarchic mode. We tried on several hideous Empire line dresses, bonnets, top hats, and learned the language of fans. What I called ‘the Illuminati one-eye sign’ is apparently saying ‘I want to get acquainted’. Who’d a thunk? If you go, make sure you visit the loos. There are some queasy-making ‘facts’ on the doors that will make you very glad you live in the 21st century. We also tried our hand at writing with a quill pen and ink. Sarah, being a millenial, did not realise that you had to keep dipping the pen in the ink pot 🙂 I also pressganged Sarah into taking a picture with the costumed doorman who definitely has an eye for the ladies…… All in all, a thumbs-up for Bath, and we didn’t even have time to visit the actual Roman Baths or to swim in the open-air thermal pool. A must-do for the next time I visit. Bath, you’re awesome and you know it.

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