Cinderella in Prada Tea Dress

If someone said to you, “Your life is the theme for a formal Ball. What outfit most defines you?” would you know how to answer? When asked this last week, my instinctive response was Prada! But apparently that was about as helpful as the suggestion in the book, "If I'm so wonderful, why am I still single?" to sit in café  windows, and every time a man walks in, look up and smile.

This fashion exposé  in E! True Hollywood style was revealed over afternoon tea at Al & Cathy’s. Even before the Mariage Frères tea was fully infused, Cathy had launched into an indepth précis of Australia's version of Cannes Film Festival; the Daylesford Book Ball. Each year, ten books get the Red Carpet treatment, with guests dressing up as their favourite characters.  Then she paused (for dramatic effect), before announcing that Tweed Tea and Wellies has been chosen to star in Daylesford’s Book Ball 2012. So this is what Fame feels like!

Audrey Tautou, Cannes Film Festival 2012

So the Cinderella question posed by my loyal Tweedettes, “What should we wear to the Ball?” Obviously the answer is head-to-toe Prada… but looking at Cathy’s confused face, I sensed more specific guidance was needed. Two days later after seeing photos of quintessentially chic Audrey Tautou in the most beautiful Prada Tea Dress with full pleated skirt and embroidered bodice, at Cannes Film Festival 2012… inspiration struck. Tea Dresses!

Ulyana Sergeenko, Russian fashion designer ,

I've been a Tea Dress fanista since my 20’s; even wore one in Liberty of London fabric as bridesmaid at former Jospehite nun, Sister Sonia’s heavenly garden wedding. For me, the vintage inspired, curve-flattering tea dress with fitted bodice, cinched-in waist and hourglass silhouette conjure up beautiful images of simpler times, afternoon tea parties, Tea Dances and Doris Day swirling around the dance floor singing Tea for Two. Tea Dances back in the 1950’s were the later day equivalent of match.com; even Mother and Father first met and fell truly madly deeply in love whilst waltzing at a Tea Dance in the Thames Memorial Hall. I still have the Tea Dress that Mother wore that day; it’s my favourite outfit for Prêt-à-Portea at The Berkeley.

Thank goodness 1950’s culture is coming back in style (thanks largely to Mad Men, Ulyana Sergeenko and Dior). Cause with hips the width of a classic Buick Cadillac, I rock the Tea Dress.  So maybe Tea Dresses represent a modern day Cinderella moment.  With a Pulitzer Prize, handsome Prince or Press conference not too far, far away. One can hope.

Now if Prada also made glass slippers... I'd be married before midnight.

 Is that helpful Cathy?

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Couture in a Teacup

Ulyana Sergeenko

Life would be so much more glamorous if women wore more day dresses.  Thanks to the impeccable style of glamorous Russian designer Ulyana Sergeenko (wife of Russian insurance billionaire Danil Khachaturox, No. 634 Forbes Billionaire List), the vintage inspired, curve-flattering 1940’s tea dress is having a fashion revival.  Tea Dresses are the Keep Calm and Carry On antidote to comfortable trousers and corporate suits. What I’m particularly excited about is that cinched-in waists and hourglass silhouettes are back in style. About time! It seems Ulyana, Nigella Lawson and Myself are not the only fans of butter (oops sorry, I meant curves). Vera Wang, one of fashion’s most spectacular advocates of Dresses over Trousers and huge fan of a good strong cuppa, has put Tea Dresses with vintage Wedgwood teacup patterns on the catwalk for her 2012 collection. Short of sewing warm scones in the sleeves, Vera Wang’s dresses are just a Petit Four and cucumber sandwich away from being Wearable High Tea.

Rather disappointingly, my teacup collection has yet to hit the catwalk. One can dream. Nonetheless, going teacup shopping (in Tea Dress of course) is almost as endorphic as placing a shiny new pair of Pradas into my shoe cupboard.

Living in the country and 17,000km away from Selfridges hasn’t remotely curbed my endorphin-inducing  teacup foraging ways. Mainly because there’s a world of vintage teacup treasures to be found in Daylesford's under cover version of Portobello Market in Notting Hill, namely Mill Market.

Many leisurely Sunday afternoons have been spent perusing through the Mill’s 120 antique stalls; almost every second one crammed with Queen Anne, Royal Albert, Villeroy & Boch, Wedgwood, Rosenthal, Royal Doulton and the fabulous chintz of Royal Winton. Teacups are best purchased with side plate, of course. Where will you put the homemade scones otherwise? The most expensive teacup 3-piece at Mill Market is around $40 - $70. This could be for a 1920’s Foley. Or an even rarer 1885 Majolica Lily of the Valley by German manufacturer, Villeroy & Boch.  However the majority of authentic fine china 3-piece sets range between $15 -$30. Incredible value when you think that a new Rosenthal Versace Les Reves Byzantins Tea Cup and Saucer sell for £145.

I've never given much thought as to why the Tea is in Tweed, Tea & Wellies, beyond knowing that I love collecting beautiful teacups. Until the other day, when I had an inspired (possibly Mensa worthy) revelation about why I’m so teacup obsessed. The worlds of bone china cups and fashion are intertwined. Genius. Could I possibly have just discovered the Butterfly Effect of Fashion?

The genius continues. Butterflies are notably the hottest design motif of 2012; in fashion and in fine bone china! Not exactly new inspiration given that the Butterfly has been ping-ponging between fashion and teacups for over 100 years.

It all started back in Edwardian days when Downtown Abbey could have been a reality TV show. Young designer, Daisy Makeig-Jones designed a metallic glazed porcelain (lusterware) range for Wedgwood based on illustrated children’s’ books of the 1890’s. Wedgwood called the collection “Fairyland Lustre.” Heavily detailed, brightly hued, two handled teacups with names like "Fairy Gondola", "Butterfly Women" and "Leap-frogging Elves" appealed to the public, starved of whimsy from the difficult post-war years. Wedgwood stopped producing "Fairyland" in 1929. Today Makeig-Jones' work, in particular “Butterfly Woman” is a rare collector’s item, spending more time in and out of Sotheby’s and prestigious museums (including the London V&A) than in service at morning tea.

Archive Butterfly, Jasper Conran Blue Butterfly, Harlequin Butterfly

Wedgwood clearly loves their famous 1920’s Fairyland butterfly because they recently revived it in fine style across three new collections. In the heritage Archive collection, with an art nouveau Butterfly design that pays tribute to the era of its celebrity predecessor. Whereas Harlequin Butterfly is a more modern interpretation, with gold and pink floral design, gold banding and an ornate butterfly handle. 

And the piece de resistance, Blue Butterfly; a Wedgwood collaboration with fashion designer Jasper Conran (son of design icon, Terence Conran). This simple, yet beautiful cup appears to be the Tipping Point that shifted fashion's attention back to porcelain cup patterns. The Butterfly pattern in particular.

Anna Sui was the first to be mesmorised by The  Butterfly Effect; threading her iconic butterfly motif across collections for the last few years. Her latest tribute are Butterfly Tights, a hot favourite with New York fashionistas. 

The rest of the fashion industry are now seeing the writing in the tea leaves and racing around with large butterfly nets.

Over one quarter of the catwalk collections in 2012 have included butterfly motifs in one way or another. The king of couture, Valentino made beautifully delicate neck detailing out of butterflies. Helen Mirren attended the Dolce & Gabbana Fall 2012 catwalk show during Milan Fashion Week wearing a stunning floral and butterfly printed dress with long sleeves by Dolce & Gabbana. Burberry is creating butterfly accessories. Even Gucci put the butterfly centre stage in their Autumn/Winter 2012 Menswear Collection.

All this to say...Its a beautiful world we live in when Butterflies can influence fairytales, teacups, history, fashion, design and Valentino. Time for a cuppa (and some online shopping for tea dresses by Ulyana Sergeenko.)

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Sleeping with The Golden Fleece

My Woolrest Golden Fleece wool underlay arrived in the post yesterday. Not a moment too soon. Living in a 1850’s cottage built with the insulation qualities of a Collette Dinnigan silk gown, is taking its toll on my beauty sleep. The house is so cold at night that I’ve taken to sleeping in neoprene skiwear (circa 1980’s). Genius solution except I’ve chunked up a bit since the last time ski-ing 18 years ago, so the neoprene one-piece is a smidgeon too tight. In fact, I can barely breathe, which is perfectly fine because it takes my mind off the cold. If this sheepishly warm bed fleece hadn't arrived today, I was considering moving into the former nuns' bedrooms at The Convent Gallery. Technically heritage preserved rooms but they do look mighty cosy.

Kiwi woolen bed-wear rocks! I don’t know whether it’s year-round luscious grazing in stunning Lord of the Rings landscapes that makes Kiwi sheepsters just a little more star-studded than sheep from other countries. Maybe it’s living on the doorstep of Antarctica in some of the freshest, unpolluted air in the world, that gives their wool extra weight, shine and fluffiness. Or possibly it’s because New Zealand is the 8th Happiest Country in the World (United Nations World Happiness Report 2012) that somehow translates to Kiwi sheep having such healthy and voluptuous fleeces loved the world over. 

Even the sheep are besotted with their own wool. One particular South Island Merino, Shrek, loved his fleece so much, he hid in a cave for six years to elude shearing. When finally found in 2004, Shrek was carrying an enormous fleece weighing 25 kilograms (now in the Guinness Book of Records); about three times the average fleece. After having 22 kilograms of fine merino wool shorn from his body, Shrek looked anorexic and a little chilly. Thankfully iconic NZ merino clothing brand, Icebreaker, came to Shrek’s rescue, with a custom-made fleece jacket. People often ask me what exactly it is that makes the New Zealand lifestyle so special… well if this much attention is given to the health and happiness of sheep (and there’s 31 million of them), imagine how the population of 4.3 million is living! 


I’m not saying that other countries don’t have great sheep… just that Kiwi sheep and the nation's weavers of woollen magic are Legendary. 


Woolrest created the world’s first wool fleece underlay, back in the days when John Travolta’s hair was almost as fluffy as woolly slippers. Today, Woolrest underlay is the Festival de Cannes' Palme d’Or of bedding (if there was such an award). Imagine the shorn virgin wool from eight A-List Merino and Down sheep, tightly huddled together to create a thick-piled mattress pad. Naturally cushioning your body and reducing the load on pressure points such as hips and shoulders. Then there’s the thermal warmth factor! Woollen fibres are scientifically proven to keep pockets of air close to your body, in a tiny micro-environment. The fibres subsequently disperse heat and moisture from your body; maintaining even body temperature throughout the night. Warm in winter, cool in summer (I can’t quite get my head around how this works but its true nonetheless).


Would love to stay and chat more.. but time for Afternoon Tea in bed. Then maybe a little nap.

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Italian Aperitivo, Hush Puppies and Eight Sheep

Living in Daylesford is every bit the fairytale and more. Winter being one of the most magical times; with roaring fires in restaurants and cafes, hot mineral baths warming weary and stressed bodies back to life, over-sized spa pools in all the self-catered accommodation and mulled wine served as frequently as espresso. There’s even mention that snow is just around the corner.  Such an enchanted time, except my 1850’s cottage was built with the insulation of a Gingerbread House. Nights have been hijacked by Jack Frost blowing gale force winds under doors and through non-insulated windows. I’m awake shivering half the night; desperately trying to convince the pussy cats to lay across my feet like a fluffy puffa jacket. Where are menopausal hot flashes when you need them? Clearly two duvets are not going to be enough to keep me warm through Daylesford winter. What I really need is a sheepie underblanket from Woolrest NZ. Imagine the virgin wool from eight merino and down sheep laid out on your mattress underneath the base sheet. Sheepskin slippers for your mattress. Now that's cosy.

Like writers throughout time, purchases are now measured in number of books. Time to head to The Larder to find out if “To Daylesford, with Love” has been flying off the shelves. Flight or Flop will determine whether I'll be ordering the super duper Deluxe Gold Fleece Mattress Slippers with 900grams of wool per square metre and favoured by the Queen. Or the slightly less fluffy, but still toasty warm Double Fleece Mattress slippers.

The Larder has recently gone through a seismic relaunch of their menu, branding (including dropping "Gourmet" from their name) and outdoor seating. I popped into their launch party a few weeks ago and instead of chatting to anyone, stood in the corner with winemaker extraordinaire, Giovanni Fontanella eating Hush Puppies. Giovanni and I instinctively knew that gratuitous talking would take attention away these lightly battered, crispy balls of gooey Gouda cheese. Damn you Hush Puppies for being so delicious.

Deli Delicacie

Book sales check-in coincided perfectly with Larder’s Aperitivo (5-7pm). Larder has always had a chilled out Verona vibe and excellent Italian delicatessen under the ownership of young couple, Luke & Sarah; now they’ve gone one step further. Returning the menu and dining style to local and familial Italian roots. Did I mention that Giovanni is Sarah’s Papa? Sitting down with my Aperitivo tasting board and glass of Fontanella Pinot Grigio, I quietly reminisced about the glorious simplicity of European life; where it’s considered civilised (not frivolous) to stop work at five and enjoy time with loved ones. Mid musings, in walked semi-locals Darren & Sharon, also here for Aperitivo. They haven’t tried Hush Puppies so without further ado, a bowl was ordered even before winter coats and scarves were shed. Once they'd settled into the banquette seats, taken their first few sips of wine and devoured  cheesy balls.. the verdict came back. Hush Puppies deserve a Michelin Star all of their own.

A lively debated ensued over whether Aperitivo is all about time after work to socialize, unwind, and nibble as dinner approaches, with a glass of wine accompanied by a plate of maybe thinly sliced Mortadella, chunks of salami and some crumbled seasoned Parmigiano or Grana Padano. Often (for Italians) Aperitivo acts as a light meal replacing the bigger dining moment. Well that was my theory. Darren was adamant that Aperitivo is a palate opener, gently easing you into the evening meal and pacifying rumbling tummies. (Sharon was Switzerland for the evening). To test both theories, I went all Italian and stayed with my Aperitivo Grazing board ($20 including glass of wine), while my fine dining companions ordered Pasta Fiesta (Aperitivo tasting board, fresh pasta and glass of wine $30). Then the Games began.

No, I didn't eat half a salami! For photographic purposes only.

For me, Larder’s Aperitivo is the Romeo to Fontanellas Pinot Grigio’s Juliet. A match made in heaven; where you fall in love with every mouthful. Certainly the Italians know how to woe the tastebuds. Often all it takes is the simplest of gestures.  For here is a plate that simply comprises traditionally cured Vercchieti salami, Provolene Dolce (semi-hard yet creamy cow’s milk cheese originating from Northern Italy) and locally sourced roasted Red Capsicums. Accompanied by freshly baked, warm Italian bread (Pane Casareccia); crusty on the outside and spongy soft on the inside (Casareccio means homemade). Following with Italian tradition, neither olive oil nor butter is served. Such a perfect combination of flavours and textures. Munching, sipping and chatting with dear friends, reminds me that the Good Life doesn’t always need to be so complicated.

In a lovely relaxed pace, the Pasta dishes arrived. Damn you, Roasted Pumpkin and Goats Cheese Agnolotti (super-sized ravioli) with burnt butter sauce for being so delectably delicate and moorish. Just one whiff of the rich buttery aroma had me casting aside all thoughts of winning the aforementioned debate over Italian dining rituals. Who cares with pasta like this gracing the table? To which Sharon politely pointed out that in fact, this was HER plate and could I please stop eating her Agnolotti! If only I’d ordered Pasta Fiesta!

In a bid to distract myself from thinking too much about Sharon’s Agnolotti, I checked in with Luke to see how many “To Daylesford, with Love” books have sold this week. I might not be on the New York Best Seller list yet, but I can afford a Woolrest Double Fleece underblanket. Yay! With the change, might even splash out on some NZ merino mittens. Finally I can stop wearing my possum jumper to bed.

Who would have thought that my simple quest for eight fluffy sheep would turn into a QI evening with  friends, sharing a bowl of delectissimo cheesy Hush Puppies, falling in love with Aperitivo all over again, and discovering the best Agnolotti this side of Naples. Mission accomplished and just in time for MasterChef.

P.S. Was still bit peckish, so clearly I'm not an Aperitivo-only type person. Took home some of Larder's signature Chicken Liver & Sherry Parfait with a loaf of Ciabatta bread to munch on watching Gary, George and the utterly gorgeous Matt Moran. Good times.

Buona note

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Two Grandmas sow Wild Oats & Apple Strudel

The humble oat is underestimated. Most people wouldn’t give this a second thought. Not me. I’m out there investigating the hard-hitting issues, no matter how small. This particular oat-sized exposé came to light a few weeks ago with The Oat Challenge (aka Budgetary Readjustments for Writer Living the Dream).

After twelve days of eating supermarket purchased Oats in various guises, my taste buds went into meltdown. To the point that the mushroom village in my back yard was starting to look particularly appetising.  Hearing that mushroom poisoning was just a few mouthfuls away, the lovely Klika arrived at my front porch with a basket full of her delicious Farmhouse Muesli.

Over a few bowls of Farmhouse Muesli, Klika poured out a lifetime of stories about growing up on a farm at the foothills of Slovenia. Similar to the childhood of Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie, just without palaces, a milkman or central heating. Every morning, Klika rose at 5am to cut wood so that the house and stove could be heated. Meanwhile, Grandma Katarina (or Kata) would be milking cows for fresh creamy milk to pour over oats for breakfast. To make the oats tastier, Kata stirred in leftover apple strudel, poppy seed cake or apricot jam. Not all at once! Forget Princesses, this is breakfeast fit for a King .

Croats love their oats. Not just because they are one of the largest agriculture crop of this little Central European country (which interestingly has almost identical population and geographical landmass to New Zealand). Oats are the unassuming noblesse of breakfast; equally at home in muddy wellies one day and ball gown the next. Croatians have long been mixing Viennese pastries or French pâtes de fruits with Oats;  transforming breakfast from ordinary to bourgeois. Fast forward a few generations, and Klika's oat-based muesli's are making mouths water from one end of Australia to the other.  I've never really understood what the MasterChef judges mean when they talk about, "Cook with Love and you'll create something special." Now I do. It’s impossible not to taste the love, or feel the presence of Kata in Klika’s Farmhouse Muesli. This is a rare treat.

I'm sitting at feet of Grandma Managh on right hand side

All this nostalgic talk of love and Grandmothers has momentarily made me take a step back and contemplate the matriarchal influence on my life. Like Klika’s Kata, my Grandma Managh lived her life (all 97 years) by the values of resilience, strength of character and tenacity. Grandma didn’t consider it a hardship to live in a tent for two years while Grandad built a home for the family. I’ve inherited this same gene, never hesitating to put dreams before hardship. We grew up hearing how Grandma insisted Father not leave the table until he finished all his porridge (even after it went cold). Father won’t be seen within a mile of oats ever since, but nevertheless he’s passed onto my brothers, sister and I, the same tenacity to finish what we start… no matter how difficult. Then there’s the competitive side to our family. Having a Grandma who represented New Zealand Croquet for many years, instilled in subsequent Managh generations, a determination to take on the world. Now if only I could bake pinwheel scones half as well!

Back in the early morning Daylesford sun, Klika has morphed into James May (Top Gear); delivering a complex explanation of how Oats are graded. A fleeting reprieve came when she popped inside to get a box of supermarket rolled oats from the pantry.  Breakfast then turned into an interactive challenge; spot the difference between generic oats and Klika Oats?  Amazingly a) this was more interesting than it sounds and b) there was a dramatic difference. Being highly processed, generic oats are almost translucent, crumbling in your fingers (goes mushy when heated), compared to Klika’s “rolled once” organic oats with soft grain texture and hard centre, retaining their shape when heated.

Now I’m craving Apple Strudel. Klika has given us her Kata’s recipe, apples are from next door and Gerry has the apron on.  Perfect Sunday

To Grandma Managh, with Love. (1918 – 2012)

Hepburn Bathhouse and Chanel swimwear...so Hot right now

I’m a wreck. Rundown from a cold that’s like the house guest who ignores the Three Day rule, pale hormonal skin that’s scaring away young children and lie-down-and-sleep-for-a-week tired from worrying about what the future holds for Gerry and me. As I’m half dozing over a Hot Toddie outside of Jimmy’s Bar, an outlandishly healthy looking chap parked his bicycle, stripped down to Lycra and sat next to me. Introducing himself in a posh Scottish accent as John Hibbert, new-ish General Manager at Hepburn Bathhouse & Spa. I didn’t even mentally plan our wedding…that’s how tired I was.  What DID Jimmy put in that Hot Toddie? I’d completely forgotten we were meeting for my story investigating the benefits of bathing in mineral water. Myth or Mystery?

Before I even have time to cough, John had raced into a detailed anthropological explanation of spas. Like Champagne, there’s a certain pedigree and authenticity attached to being a “spa,” grounded in the healing powers of mineral waters. Dating back to prehistoric times no less. Getting down to tin-tacks, this means that spas must have curative water therapies and bathing pools originating from authenticated water spring reserves to be worthy of the title. So while there are many methode traditionelles wrapped in fluffy bathrobes and slippers, Australia actually only has TWO genuine spas; thermal waters in Morningside Peninsula and mineral waters at Hepburn Bathhouse & Spa. (Everyone else should actually be called Spa Salone, or for the more cosmopolitan set, Institut De Beauté. Lovely titles, and so much more accurate).

With semantics out of the way, John moved on to how his beautiful Bathhouse could physically and visibly get me healthy again. Really? Mother and Father are emphatic the only thing that can get me healthy again is Any Man that will have me, a Wedding Dress and living Two Doors Down from them. None of those options are on the immediate horizon, so Hepburn Bathhouse & Spa it is!

While Hepburn Bathhouse has almost as many beautiful bathing options as Chanel’s S/S12 swimwear collection, John suggested 45 minutes in the Pure Mineral Water Bath to start my “visible difference” overhaul. Unlike the Atrium Relaxation Pool filled with 50% mineral water and heated to approximately 38°C, these private hot baths are 100% mineral water, freshly filled for each guest.

For the first 20 minutes, soaking in the murky mineralised and algae water, I’ll admit to being slightly skeptical. My mind racing with all the things I should be doing instead of lying here, with no apparent transformational results in sight. John had given me some scientific documentation on the benefits of medicinal bathing in Hepburn mineral water. Now seemed as good a time as any to start on background research.

From the slightly damp pile of papers, I learn that mineral water pumped from spring reserves beneath the Bathhouse Pavilion is internationally renowned for its high levels of Bicarbonate and Magnesium. Feeling a bit of a Dr Quinn Medicine Woman moment coming on here. Bicarbonate is essential for balancing the pH in your blood stream, which if out of kilter too long, can result in nerve and joint pain, insomnia, or issues with kidneys, bowel or pancreas. Incredibly, taking sodium bicarbonate tablets are not recommended as they produce a whole other set of repercussions, so bathing in Hepburn Mineral Water is actually on the prescription pads (for both preventative and reactive measures) of most doctors throughout Australia. Meanwhile Magnesium is equally as fabulous, responsible for over 300 chemical reactions in the body, coupled with maintaining healthy muscle, nerve and digestive functions. There’s a load of other goodies in the water as well, including Potassium, Calcium and Silica. People from all around the world come to Hepburn Bathhouse with everything from pulled muscles to digestive disorders, and leave all Energiser Bunny’ed Up. It’s not quite Loudres (in France), but I’m praying this is the battery charger that brings back my bounce.

I was just about to read the section on muscle tone when my body lifted off the marble base and started to float. Mesmorised by the gentle sway of feet popping up just above water level, all thoughts of PH levels, long lost muscle tone and why there isn’t a wedding dress hanging in my wardrobe simply ….. disappeared. The next 25 minutes evaporated into a gentle reverie until a quiet knock at the door, advised, “Time’s up.” Stepping out of the gigantic marbled bath felt like the end of a three week holiday in Fiji. All is well in the world again.

After drying off, moisturising all over with delicious honeydew body lotion, and wrapping up in a large white fluffy bathrobe, I floated over to the Salone wing. All the treatment rooms overlook native bush and a rambling stream. It’s lovely to be in a spa room with natural light and just an arm’s throw from nature. That’s therapeutic in itself. Next on the schedule was a deep tissue massage. In an all-time first, I fell asleep…. until jolted awake by my own snoring!  Definitely not a Prada moment. Thankfully the therapist graciously pretended not to notice. By the time my lovely therapist moved onto the La Gaia facial, I was back on the Fijian beach lounger listening to the waves quietly wash against the shore. To be honest, I don’t have much memory of the rest of that afternoon, except noticing upon arriving home that I’d driven the whole way in second gear.  Two hours later, I’m tucked up in bed fast asleep.

At 6am the following morning, I jumped up like the Energiser Bunny. That was a week ago and I’m still racing around with so much life and joie de vivre that friends are starting to comment. Miraculously my skin has also never looked better. Honestly. Blemishes have disappeared, bags gone from under my eyes and complexion looks fresher, less dry. Goodness me, I must have looked a wreck before!!  I’ve tried and tested many skin products over the years, (including some that have cost £500 for a small pot) but have never seen such a dramatic positive result. Incredible. Intrigued, I looked up La Gaia website and discovered that this simple naturaceutical brand is all about balancing the skin’s pH.  I have no idea what that means or whether there is any connection between the mineral water and La Gaia working together for an even more optimised result ? But having found the Prada of Skincare, I’m jumping head first into the world of La Gaia and going to find out. Watch this space.

Thank goodness there are locals rates at Hepburn Bathhouse as its already become my second home. And John, please stop looking so ridiculously healthy. The rest of us just can't keep up.

Gotta dash. 1001 things to do. (Oh and almost forgot. Mystery solved; bathing in mineral water is essential for life. Full Stop)

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Slipper couture to Mother, with Love

Mother is a saint putting up with me. Last time when I was home, we did yet another “wardrobe cleansing” to bring back her Mother Couture. Followed by a shopping tutorial on layering. This has been going on for years. Once I even threw her slippers in the trailer because they didn’t coordinate with her lounging-at-home wear. How she found them again is beyond me. To solve Slippergate once and for all, I’ve sent Mother these heavenly felt slippers from Daylesford’s beautiful design store, Topham Trading.

People are a little too Carpe Diem with their slippers for my liking, throwing on any old thing to potter around the house. Let’s be clear… rubber massaging slip-ons and Crocs are NOT slippers. Anything fluffy, pink or with dusters on the bottom is just wrong! Such sacrilege needs divine intervention. Or in this instance, felt slippers. Legend has it that during The Middle Ages, St Clement, the patron saint of hatters, was doing some serious power walking with St Christopher (patron saint of travelers). Fleeing persecution is hard work on the tootsies, so Christopher and Clement packed sheep’s fleece into their sandals, cushioning the holy footsies against potential blisters. At the end of their journey, the movement and sweat had turned the wool into felt slipper liners. The first ever record of Heaven-sent fashion.

A few centuries later, we are blessed with these felted floral loop, limited edition slippers, each individually hand cut and sewn using 100% (super thermal) wool and soft leather soles. The creator of couture slipper heaven, Kirsty Powell, designs and releases a new "flower" every season from her London atelier. It's difficult to decide whether slipper couture fits best in the fashion industry or homewares, as they seem to straddles both beautifully. After graduating from one of the world's most famous fashion schools, Central St Martin's, Kirsty launched her first wearable art collection in 2004, at the Paris Maison et Objet homewares Exhibition. Where she took home the award for ‘Best Newcomer in Textiles. Fast forward a few years and Kirsty's sculptured textiles, including these adorable slippers, are in the spotlight at Selfridges, Conran Shop, Barney's New York… and Topham Trading in Daylesford (handy  for those who don’t have a visit to London or New York diarised in for the near future). The saints must have been keeping a watchful eye over Kirsty.

I've loved slippers ever since my early fashionista days. Almost every childhood photos of me features pom poms and slippers (that's me on the far left). The sheepskin and felt always seemed so much more glamorous than shoes! A phone call from Mother jolts me out of slipper reverie; she's received her Kirsty Powell's and finally admits that slippers are a fashion accessory. Promising to never again deviate from slipper couture. I'll sleep easier tonight knowing this. Although am a little concerned that Mother's going to start wearing her slippers out to the supermarket. 

(Slipper Couture is dedicated to Granma Managh, who today slipped away peacefully in her sleep. May she rest in peace in Heaven. With Love xx)