Modern Times

Well, it is not often I have good things to say about modern times - and by modern times, I mean the cold, unsophisticated, charmless world of today, not the 'modern times' we used to gaily refer to - but, for all its faults, the internet has been one of the best things to happen in terms of finding the perfect vintage dress at short notice. In a word, eBay.

Surprised by my beau a week ago, I was informed, to my delight and subsequent hysteria, that I was being whisked away for a trip to Burgh Island. That jewel of an Art Deco hotel, sat atop of an island just off the coast of Devon; most famous for one of my favourite authors, that being one Agatha Christie. It is where she wrote Evil Under the Sun and And Then There Were None; and while I gazed at the photo gallery on the website, the memory of the novel came flooding back, and the words she used to describe this paradise came alive in ways that one who loves the idea of a seemingly fictional, fantastical place suddenly finds out it exists, and that it exists unchanged at that.

And so, there came about a desire for a suitable evening dress for the dinner dance that evening. And here it is; antique black lace, a sweetheart neckline, a drop waist, and delicate lace hankerchief side drops. It fits like a dream and looks like one too.

At this time, three days prior to our expected arrival at Burgh Island, I can only imagine myself standing on the terraces, feeling the sea breeze tousle my hair and fairy-kiss my face, while I look out at the sea and at the super white crisp walls of the Art Deco buildings where once upon a time, Noel Coward, Agatha Christie and Josephine Baker to name but a few did exactly the same thing.

And somewhere within me, I feel incredibly saddened; because I know that when it comes to leave that precious untouched little world, far out in the sea, I will have to return here to these modern times. I can feel the breaks in my heart start to rupture already.

By chance, this evening on my return from visiting a friend, I came across a copy of the Sunday Pictorial dated May 4th, 1924.

I was sorting through some of my many hundreds of spare leaves of paper with ideas of novels scribbled in frantic kohl pencil and eye-liner (most likely whilst travelling on a train and influenced by a potential character sitting opposite me); snippets of song lyrics barely legible - scrawled in spidery biro at an angle (the trademark of a midnight, mid-sleep flash of inspiration) and the unfinished lines of poems which awaited their completion (the curse of a spell of writers block).

I was sifting through these papers when I noticed the coffee coloured pages of an old newspaper. And what a delightful read it was. Before I knew it, I was engrossed. 2009 evaporated; its mist stealthily descending out of the open window into the night air, and instead, 1924 filled the room with the smell of my old gramophone rising from its opened lid mixed in with a little dash of Shalamar (the famous perfume being launched a year later in 1925; albeit a little early for the publication I was reading. But we shall ignore that here for the sake of nostalgia).

I was whisked happily, fondly, and oh-so-abundantly back into my own day and age. And here, for your delight and pleasure, are some of my favourites:

"Open Door to the Stage; The Actors' Association wants to make acting a closed profession. The abuses which it is desired to remove are, in no doubt, real abuses, but this is not the way of removing them. The stage cannot be put on a level with law and medicine. In those callings the unqualified charlatan could do infinite mischief before he was found out. An incompetent actor can do no particular harm, and we can protect ourselves from him by stopping away from his performances."

"Nuts And Wine: Gossip For The After-Dinner Hour."

"The suggestion that titles should be taxed has not been acted upon. From that quarter there will be no Sir-plus."

"A woman in America has shot her Landlady in order to get publicity for a book she has written. This is usually a certain way of getting oneself into the noose."

"I hear that a sixty year old brick layer has just gone in for writing poetry. Isn't he rather old to be starting work?"

And finally, an excerpt from Mary Pickford's article "Why I admire the British girl" which we can all take something from. I particularly took Ms Pickfords words to heart, and I rather liked the context in which she had written them. It is then , with the fervent optimism of which they inspired in your own girlgatsby this warm, summers eve, I present to you the words of Mary Pickford:

"Success, I think, is made up of three things - opportunity, ability, and what I might call 'stick-to-it-iveness', because it expresses more than the stately word perseverance.

Opportunity is rather different.

You can will stick-to-it-iveness. You can develop ability. But you must wait for opportunity. Only don't wait too long. It is like one of your London tube trains. It rushes into the station, and in a few seconds, it is gone. Only, unlike your tube trains, there is not a vital opportunity arriving to time-table every few minutes!

Remember that!

You wait for opportunity, but you must also seize it the instant it appears."

Thank you, Mary. One of those kick-up-the jacksie and 'remember to keep working hard at your goals' speeches.

So. On that note - from me to you - go, each and every one of us, and may we all throw our dreams to the skies and hope they find their wings to fly; and in the course of our lives keep eyes peeled and wide open for that opportunity, whatever it may be and whatever form it may come in; so that we might board that tube train to take us to our next destination in life.