tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81532036991495465782024-03-19T00:31:30.527-07:00House of Gatsby: Musings of a Twenties ThrowbackGirl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-36038954895439160872012-03-09T14:42:00.002-08:002012-03-09T14:49:30.248-08:00Fabulous Vintage Links<span ><span style="font-size: 100%;">Absolutely stunning dresses:</span></span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div><span >http://www.revampvintage.com/index1.html</span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >http://www.bluevelvetvintage.com/</span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >http://www.20thcenturyfoxy.com/en/index/a1</span></div>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-19914718069462666362012-03-09T13:33:00.003-08:002012-03-09T14:40:37.052-08:00In the name of Gloria<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCymhANpI0Klgal2tR3MzW_eRROL5ZkqC63PNilEseYhHg3nKyjt9bxVpCfY7vsgdXMHGmnrhuVRBTXzd5djo4B1J6WnyhuHzHXAQyZtGctJNKRyUD8VabAi32uECxzxT7FHNEsjMvqU/s1600/424908_10150743943168969_689673968_11763911_449083731_n.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCymhANpI0Klgal2tR3MzW_eRROL5ZkqC63PNilEseYhHg3nKyjt9bxVpCfY7vsgdXMHGmnrhuVRBTXzd5djo4B1J6WnyhuHzHXAQyZtGctJNKRyUD8VabAi32uECxzxT7FHNEsjMvqU/s400/424908_10150743943168969_689673968_11763911_449083731_n.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718029713007541378" /></a><br />Last weekend, I was in a film. And I was in a film the way the likes of Gloria Swanson happened to end up in films. By pure chance. The original actress couldn't make the shoot at short notice, so I found myself donning the romany gypsy outfit I had supplied. It was silent, and there had been no time to prepare. At the word action, the cameras rolled. And I hope I did my idols proud. If only there were more opportunities for a silent movie actress...Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-39172834394066227832011-10-08T02:27:00.000-07:002011-10-08T03:02:25.838-07:00To all the Bright Young Things<span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPyzoEEbKuGkpMjOWkARax8VQhz9lDa3k2HCl31VJYlmbHFpIwa_uuhoHtF3q5WyhDa8JHZ7m8mV7MFTwdgoQnu9zBtpBm1CCYg14kiRwuQP3tefARBb573r7msztC-yb-IDBCQFGhIg/s1600/BYT.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 321px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPyzoEEbKuGkpMjOWkARax8VQhz9lDa3k2HCl31VJYlmbHFpIwa_uuhoHtF3q5WyhDa8JHZ7m8mV7MFTwdgoQnu9zBtpBm1CCYg14kiRwuQP3tefARBb573r7msztC-yb-IDBCQFGhIg/s400/BYT.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661057402613884466" /></a><br />For past few weeks, I have met a circle of souls who are all kindred spirits of the roaring age. So for this I bow down humbly to the powers of social media and the modern age, without which I would still be sat alone in my room with the lamp burning low, shrill cornet bleats and quivering voices rising from my gramophone. Surrounded by sepia photographs hanging around my head, I grieved that there would be no one else in the world with whom I could ever really share the magic of that world with.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And so in celebration of these new found souls, I hereby declare a twenties revival society; the flame has been lit again, and we shall bask in the brightness of the bright young things!</span></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">In greedy haste, on pleasure bent,</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">We have no time to think, or feel</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">What need is there for sentiment </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Now we've invented Sex Appeal? </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">We've silken legs and scarlet lips, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">We're young and hungry, wild and free, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Our waists are round about the hips </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Our shirts are well above the knee </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">We've boyish busts and Eton crops,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">We quiver to the saxophone. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Come, dance before the music stops, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">And who can bear to be alone? </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Come drink your gin, or sniff your 'snow', </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Since Youth is brief, and Love has wings, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">And time will tarnish, ere we know, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The brightness of the Bright Young Things.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">"Women of 1926" - James Laver.</p> <!--EndFragment--><p></p><p></p> <!--EndFragment--></div>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-32497606920909485822011-10-04T11:17:00.000-07:002011-10-04T11:32:53.775-07:00Oh frabjous day, calloo callay! Happy Birthday Buster!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu6K7WGT90UhbT7448LeqcaM-FppwcddLuKy6wBe4H4JTZcSKuf3KT1fS79anLjkGPE9GmSE7IBXCzkYTedhU3mkkl_wqtNmr1Z2uBt9a-nMfcZ2jq_bGrCrw3bKGEPD-leDp1JgMzNac/s1600/BusterKeatonBK2_ST.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 325px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu6K7WGT90UhbT7448LeqcaM-FppwcddLuKy6wBe4H4JTZcSKuf3KT1fS79anLjkGPE9GmSE7IBXCzkYTedhU3mkkl_wqtNmr1Z2uBt9a-nMfcZ2jq_bGrCrw3bKGEPD-leDp1JgMzNac/s400/BusterKeatonBK2_ST.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659705366689435538" /></a><br />No, it's not by me, but I love this poem and it springs to mind today, October 4th, when in 1895 one of the greatest talents this world has seen was born. I am slightly biased, because he has had me spellbound since I was a 14 year old school girl; but let's ignore that for now. All you need to know is that he was one of the greatest film makers of all time, a lovely person - and today is his birthday!<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; background-color: rgb(240, 235, 214); font-size: medium; "><blockquote><blockquote><p><span>A BIRTHDAY</span></p><p><b><i><span>by: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)</span></i></b></p></blockquote></blockquote><ul><ul><dl><dt><img src="http://www.poetry-archive.com/m_pic.gif" width="33" height="24" align="BOTTOM" border="0" naturalsizeflag="3" />Y heart is like a singing bird</dt><dt>Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;</dt><dt>My heart is like an apple-tree</dt><dt>Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;</dt><dt>My heart is like a rainbow shell</dt><dt>That paddles in a halcyon sea;</dt><dt>My heart is gladder than all these,</dt><dt>Because my love is come to me.</dt><dt> </dt><dt><br /></dt><dt>Raise me a daïs of silk and down;</dt><dt>Hang it with vair and purple dyes;</dt><dt>Carve it in doves and pomegranates,</dt><dt>And peacocks with a hundred eyes;</dt><dt>Work it in gold and silver grapes,</dt><dt>In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;</dt><dt>Because the birthday of my life</dt><dt>Is come, my love is come to me.</dt><dt><br /></dt><dt><br /></dt><dt><br /></dt></dl></ul></ul></span></div>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-33748062306374535242011-09-02T16:47:00.000-07:002011-09-02T16:53:09.780-07:00And some other goodies I happened to pick up recently...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraaiqIO4_RKMa4lnJxo4TBZwFjW2SlAsNVhyphenhyphen62EHDs7gGjoBXBpqMqtq9jdEqHVPftfiPbr_S_fCuR-HzRlqEoewv5ddXfJprUEbJRRNFCo4sbWCAfqx32iV8MhD8b3uDdrY3ICpIIJA/s1600/egypt.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraaiqIO4_RKMa4lnJxo4TBZwFjW2SlAsNVhyphenhyphen62EHDs7gGjoBXBpqMqtq9jdEqHVPftfiPbr_S_fCuR-HzRlqEoewv5ddXfJprUEbJRRNFCo4sbWCAfqx32iV8MhD8b3uDdrY3ICpIIJA/s400/egypt.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647914409969212050" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVfJTKk13vPV1CPD2lInfxNGB9PbpaXvZ_SPUXLYwwb8TPes73hiyfk4G6h_iLZHeLZCeLZcQjK4DK7aD7u7R9dj_u80DQ8G6E1VjbSdHvtQoBXPpFVccF30zx3xdqqCtOhaUy5CxdJ8/s1600/cleo.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 370px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVfJTKk13vPV1CPD2lInfxNGB9PbpaXvZ_SPUXLYwwb8TPes73hiyfk4G6h_iLZHeLZCeLZcQjK4DK7aD7u7R9dj_u80DQ8G6E1VjbSdHvtQoBXPpFVccF30zx3xdqqCtOhaUy5CxdJ8/s400/cleo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647914333067690002" /></a>
<br />eBay has been very twenties generous recently. With these earrings, I'll certainly be ready for my close up...<div>
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<br /></div>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-50311681545827576912011-09-02T16:32:00.000-07:002011-09-02T16:47:11.069-07:00For gorgeous 1920s earrings...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-I64RwCVn9DlsIRtWUgDidpu3fYw3fAtT4HZX0p1h-S7u65-ijwnDPTsADM8fkW9OiZmm-1WIe8KvtX04XolTLFpYpKQcPmkhcWrw90x4C-8CBMorTikxY_jXfvTqo1NvPhut2rQB30/s1600/ear5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 302px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-I64RwCVn9DlsIRtWUgDidpu3fYw3fAtT4HZX0p1h-S7u65-ijwnDPTsADM8fkW9OiZmm-1WIe8KvtX04XolTLFpYpKQcPmkhcWrw90x4C-8CBMorTikxY_jXfvTqo1NvPhut2rQB30/s400/ear5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647912497676237522" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtznAY18jdIq2lqoZer09uUwQSFkoNNed78jtoAy_D1fb_k9upNjGdekaDtbJDJAlnadj9BDNGd_Nj8T0ai7X4KcV4bBKU0AHbbVVnTNvbRy-Z6Gq8zXMJJhyi54pVxMgXjx6CxfuHlb0/s1600/ear3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtznAY18jdIq2lqoZer09uUwQSFkoNNed78jtoAy_D1fb_k9upNjGdekaDtbJDJAlnadj9BDNGd_Nj8T0ai7X4KcV4bBKU0AHbbVVnTNvbRy-Z6Gq8zXMJJhyi54pVxMgXjx6CxfuHlb0/s400/ear3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647911743375938290" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHmmjnrtbx2gUddye0dKP_iMrGamUXiy_pmBnHXq9U7NYE9jwFuyRsBo4oOoce_rTS6RXXiY0c9nVj2p4HS3DVLvqzX-wmC2E-WOvQCAq6BPMAf_tZ5GlB4SEjZx2DeBP6utxydiTa9U/s1600/earrings2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHmmjnrtbx2gUddye0dKP_iMrGamUXiy_pmBnHXq9U7NYE9jwFuyRsBo4oOoce_rTS6RXXiY0c9nVj2p4HS3DVLvqzX-wmC2E-WOvQCAq6BPMAf_tZ5GlB4SEjZx2DeBP6utxydiTa9U/s400/earrings2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647911151002893266" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6xAS6jqvaa5DBQb7B-NjCFW6UZp3AZrmZGCIjmpQ8gTtKYneAN9FBDbT5oh1jSaumFE8_Mzx3zBuBIyN76u3nEgCpMRvA3m7i5T4iFczLH5t4bgs1YKdCgvs9j_ktl-_RbTzvU_kpYQ/s1600/earrins1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6xAS6jqvaa5DBQb7B-NjCFW6UZp3AZrmZGCIjmpQ8gTtKYneAN9FBDbT5oh1jSaumFE8_Mzx3zBuBIyN76u3nEgCpMRvA3m7i5T4iFczLH5t4bgs1YKdCgvs9j_ktl-_RbTzvU_kpYQ/s400/earrins1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647910265533183618" /></a>
<br />...visit Jewellery By Costume Drama <a href="http://www.blogger.com/<a%20href=%22http://stores.ebay.co.uk/jewellery-by-costume-drama?_trksid=p4340.l2563%22></a>">here</a>.<div>
<br /></div><div>This lovely lady has been supplying me with stunning hand made twenties inspired jewellery for a while. And she sells so reasonably; it's easy to treat yourself! </div><div>
<br /></div><div>These are a few of my recent purchases. I would recommend you visit her online store over at eBay for more designs - my collection is always growing. Fast friendly and fantastic service with earrings to die for - what more could you want? And they won't break the bank!</div><div>
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<br />Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-89006379504364351672011-06-22T15:45:00.000-07:002011-06-22T15:58:37.897-07:001925 Vintage Yrby Perfume Bottle "Mon Ame"A rather lovely Art Deco perfume bottle from 1925. I have never had the luxury of experiencing this perfume, but the bottle would be enough to adorn my dresser.<br /><br />Sadly, from a little research, it looks as though Mon Ame no longer exists in any form (although there is a tanning lotion in existence of the same name, which, with my pale complexion, is less than appealing).<br /><br />So it will have to be that the admiration of this bottle is all the choice we have. <br /><br />Perhaps you can treat yourself to one should you have a cool $2,700 going spare, as the link from Christie's suggests. Alternatively, there is currently one up for auction on eBay; and with six days remaining, it's currently at $152.50...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYuqp7SALkzjy58XUT9-OQLvOXTr5-XBjGXAw4ZqVEIOEkVmGqXUrDcvktD_fzx_5MSrhbk8VNxE2qFxVWt2isek7tEqYMthqXKBcK-YIlIm5kq4MbxbVl82uv_DorVLVAe-ykcei-SQ/s1600/eBay+Image+Hosting+at+www.auctiva-3.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYuqp7SALkzjy58XUT9-OQLvOXTr5-XBjGXAw4ZqVEIOEkVmGqXUrDcvktD_fzx_5MSrhbk8VNxE2qFxVWt2isek7tEqYMthqXKBcK-YIlIm5kq4MbxbVl82uv_DorVLVAe-ykcei-SQ/s400/eBay+Image+Hosting+at+www.auctiva-3.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621181196833991442" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKskfezhk0EnB5OZ5A0VvT92-a4GEBshl36uhnwFvGfAUU3qK_rMH0rSByTnTUlTfSuq09KZq8e95ITViMrFs4Ob4_lvpcW2ETDzg_q4mEixKRmdZ8yT5gc63voF6DV0te_NQCZ8V604/s1600/eBay+Image+Hosting+at+www.auctiva-2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKskfezhk0EnB5OZ5A0VvT92-a4GEBshl36uhnwFvGfAUU3qK_rMH0rSByTnTUlTfSuq09KZq8e95ITViMrFs4Ob4_lvpcW2ETDzg_q4mEixKRmdZ8yT5gc63voF6DV0te_NQCZ8V604/s400/eBay+Image+Hosting+at+www.auctiva-2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621181188708897554" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheIemz03HSD8tKhu28Rhx3C2JwrH7tfEVOi-cgYTPD1iDFL7VFSuwqINjILcZ8S3-42nTvBCmSugsQAuVGIYteWUQ8BlnMBGVqqjKCETncy9N08VlygR6ZBuOZu9v0Smha_Rjhl1BvZHQ/s1600/eBay+Image+Hosting+at+www.auctiva-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 296px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheIemz03HSD8tKhu28Rhx3C2JwrH7tfEVOi-cgYTPD1iDFL7VFSuwqINjILcZ8S3-42nTvBCmSugsQAuVGIYteWUQ8BlnMBGVqqjKCETncy9N08VlygR6ZBuOZu9v0Smha_Rjhl1BvZHQ/s400/eBay+Image+Hosting+at+www.auctiva-1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621181184106092386" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKiweX-dRVhGoL4w7yiJH_oEmBaErS2mVu0yAGI-x3G9t0Umk1OSAlg76prADGPToJbj8t2S9gDTiCuugX4z59Z05HMpB7eBlxV3to5XK7P0JK-Iz20fnHHUcqE5Rogl3NGOXVfxp-Ks/s1600/eBay+Image+Hosting+at+www.auctiva.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 346px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKiweX-dRVhGoL4w7yiJH_oEmBaErS2mVu0yAGI-x3G9t0Umk1OSAlg76prADGPToJbj8t2S9gDTiCuugX4z59Z05HMpB7eBlxV3to5XK7P0JK-Iz20fnHHUcqE5Rogl3NGOXVfxp-Ks/s400/eBay+Image+Hosting+at+www.auctiva.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621181183205563074" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.christies.com/LotFinder/lot_details.aspx?from=searchresults&intObjectID=5404642&sid=c35d73b2-b9a7-4afa-86ee-4aa96d1a89b7"></a>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-82315099596294118442011-06-21T02:40:00.000-07:002011-06-21T03:54:12.150-07:00How to smell like the 20's<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFuuMQX3JRvlyNCsOlkx2EhvO0UNbcO-gKuk9GkMcHegSyPrN9NyEdbAWfnOSueyn_ncb-LVe-Hkq-E6hNO9RgKR5Zk9WjvYhQgMAUHthDIhYrCGcfUdZ4_uqX6cEuPOvpkCXdzw2uR8/s1600/Shalimar.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFuuMQX3JRvlyNCsOlkx2EhvO0UNbcO-gKuk9GkMcHegSyPrN9NyEdbAWfnOSueyn_ncb-LVe-Hkq-E6hNO9RgKR5Zk9WjvYhQgMAUHthDIhYrCGcfUdZ4_uqX6cEuPOvpkCXdzw2uR8/s400/Shalimar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620612070952310146" /></a><br />Today I smell of 1925. <br /><br />This may potentially conjure up an image of a musty, moth eaten silk flapper dress from an old attic, or rusting old Ford; however, cast your mind to a boudoir with velvet cushions, the seduction of swirling smoke from heavy incense, the heady heat of the East. Gentlemen; imagine a Sheba. A smokey eyed, scarlet lipped temptress luring you lasciviously. Ladies; a Sheik. A smouldering, tall, strong, dark Valentino about to take you in his grip and make love to you passionately.<br /><br />This is a scent of intrigue; deep, sensual, heady, romantic and mysterious. For the lady who wears it; think Theda Bara in a bottle, and this is Shalimar. It is the scent of vamps.<br /><br />Shalimar by Guerlain was re-launched in 1925 after having initially been created in 1921. The bottle itself is beautifully ornate; a midnight blue stopper with Guerlain Paris scrawled in gold, sitting atop a crystal urn shaped bottle on a footer, with a gold label in the centre displaying it’s name decadently. <br /><br />Apparently (so I have read in sources long forgotten) the perfume contains pheromones amongst the other dark velvet infusions; whether this is true or not, it was the first perfume to ever heavily use vanilla as its base note which Jacques Guerlain considered to be a powerful aphrodisiac, making it a perfume designed to intentionally inspire love and lust. So, when I say it is the perfume of vamps, it really is - it epitomizes the dark eyed, bee stung lipped, pale skinned beauty who peers out of a smoky screen and lures her lover into the darkness of her Eastern boudoir.<br /><br />It is exactly this heady exotic Eastern world that inspired the perfume. The name Shalimar means ‘Abode, or Hall of Love’ in Sanskrit, and is taken from the Gardens of Shalimar in Lahore in what is now Pakistan, built by Shah Jahan in memory of his wife, the love story of whom also inspired this perfume.<br /><br />The top notes in this scintillating scent are bergamot, hesperidies and lemon, with rose, jasmine, iris, patchouli and vetiver making up the middle notes. Vanilla, opoanax, musk, civet, leather, ambergris, sandalwood and incense all combine to give the velvety rich base notes which I adore.<br /><br />Sadly, modern versions of the perfume have been altered so that the deeper, darker muskier notes which were so apparent in the original have now been overpowered by higher citrus notes to adapt to changing tastes in perfumes. <br /><br />Earlier perfumes of the twentieth century most certainly follow a trend of the dark, intense musky fragrance as opposed to most perfumes of today; personally, I prefer the darker scents with this musky infusion as opposed to the lighter citrus notes that modern fragrances favour. The depth of Shalimar undoubtedly creates this warm, sensuality that modern scents just cannot match. <br /><br />What can I say; the lady is a vamp. Shalimar is a perfume that exhibits all the elegance, velvety purrs and feline grace of the panther, with a gentle wink that reminds the admirer of the hidden claws and teeth.Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-61698396648919406282010-03-30T11:11:00.000-07:002010-03-30T11:24:37.484-07:00Laughing to the MaxAlthough I had always been very much aware of Max Linder, I must confess I had never seen his work. And by saying I had never seen it, I mean I have never had the opportunity to. However, thanks to Paul Merton, on Sunday evening I was finally given the great chance to see this man in action, and I was thoroughly delighted at Mr Linder's talents. I shall certainly be buying up available DVDs to add to my ever increasing collection; although watching him it was intended on a huge screen in an early cinema will be sorely noted. <br /><br />And although Mr Linder's own personal story was no laughing matter - for which I bow my head, respectfully - I hope that somewhere out there, wherever he may observing from, he knows that he left us with the precious gift of bringing a smile to grace our lips because of his magic.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.cahiersducinema.com/IMG/gif/Linder.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 430px; height: 309px;" src="http://www.cahiersducinema.com/IMG/gif/Linder.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-49392471671965296942010-03-30T11:03:00.000-07:002010-03-30T11:10:50.284-07:00<a href="http://artswork.asu.edu/cec/CEC_big/flapper1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 385px; height: 450px;" src="http://artswork.asu.edu/cec/CEC_big/flapper1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-85666174487889469532010-03-30T10:35:00.000-07:002010-03-30T11:03:38.683-07:00Feels Like Home<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUqXdhWOKE6GA6_cBWgSN3JPQ5xsjtAg6LC-uPNacqpwb5-VjiicHORvLREZ0Lj2bkrb1OkkooQRF1gDNCKf3dn9CwMuSYRis0mlbxYjzYOHSrPYC7PHmNHy2rGxDL8uPAa6PcKD2Xws/s1600/!BpGgTd!CGk~%24(KGrHqEH-DUEuWlF3OBcBLp9cTZNrg~~_12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUqXdhWOKE6GA6_cBWgSN3JPQ5xsjtAg6LC-uPNacqpwb5-VjiicHORvLREZ0Lj2bkrb1OkkooQRF1gDNCKf3dn9CwMuSYRis0mlbxYjzYOHSrPYC7PHmNHy2rGxDL8uPAa6PcKD2Xws/s400/!BpGgTd!CGk~%24(KGrHqEH-DUEuWlF3OBcBLp9cTZNrg~~_12.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454489075710068162" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipUuNCcbYd69wQR0uw3KN29GFa4sLeTzAnrOhdRC3OBHwxTWGL3cuo3Dr9Yg6jmsTEJG9ny5RVtdFmNvTS2REvKAZxwnnTE3ZPps6p_HEkoF-nXFV1YE6RYphk0iMGnJqlKPZj5fco5Q0/s1600/!BpGgGmgBGk~%24(KGrHqYH-C!Eum4fTbFsBLp9byfFWQ~~_12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipUuNCcbYd69wQR0uw3KN29GFa4sLeTzAnrOhdRC3OBHwxTWGL3cuo3Dr9Yg6jmsTEJG9ny5RVtdFmNvTS2REvKAZxwnnTE3ZPps6p_HEkoF-nXFV1YE6RYphk0iMGnJqlKPZj5fco5Q0/s400/!BpGgGmgBGk~%24(KGrHqYH-C!Eum4fTbFsBLp9byfFWQ~~_12.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454488985940371362" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGH_mpEJK3-M9xZ4HbzAeD4MVJTpBKH5R4EYP7U2Fh8th5e4MrHri55AU_IMTqhBUB3PoN9tAG9cSJ-MN79JhQYXD47X-5gMulqJ6BjBxC-4fV5eD8DKfRPpLTp9OFWgUGU_aa1iRIbc/s1600/!BpGfj%2BwBWk~%24(KGrHqUH-CEEumu4CURoBLp9,UUh8w~~_12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGH_mpEJK3-M9xZ4HbzAeD4MVJTpBKH5R4EYP7U2Fh8th5e4MrHri55AU_IMTqhBUB3PoN9tAG9cSJ-MN79JhQYXD47X-5gMulqJ6BjBxC-4fV5eD8DKfRPpLTp9OFWgUGU_aa1iRIbc/s400/!BpGfj%2BwBWk~%24(KGrHqUH-CEEumu4CURoBLp9,UUh8w~~_12.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454488888090346546" /></a>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-54775630424972610832010-02-23T07:17:00.001-08:002010-02-23T17:36:20.828-08:00Of an interview, a passion, and of hope for good news.Today I was fortunate enough to attend an interview at a local firm of solicitors. The building was the first thing to make an impression; after the succession of tiled steps which led up to a brightly painted front door, I found myself standing in a huge hallway under the austere gaze of a man painted in oil and framed in ornate gold. I was shown to the waiting room. It represented perfectly what I had always wanted in a house of my own one day; antique deep red leather chairs, with varying hues across the seat and arms from years of wear, and a towering oak cabinet with glass windows filled with dusty law books, all red and green bound, and with gold writing gleaming on their spines. <br />The silence of the building hung as gracefully as the painting in the hallway; and, such is the same within many Courtrooms and Solicitor's offices, the dark oak, the red leather, the oil paintings and the smell of dust all amalgamated so as to inspire me to sit up straight and improve my posture considerably for the sake of some unseen disciplinarian. In an environment such as this infused with venerableness - in which I have found myself working in at various times of my life -one could be forgiven for thinking the year 1710, 1810, or 1910; and this is one of the little lascivious things I cherish about the Legal profession, at least in terms of the offices I have worked in. In my opinion, one is very lucky to work in an atmosphere such as this. <br />The rich and detailed history of Law are inescapable, especially in such surroundings; and, very much like the gentleman watching from the confines of his golden frame, one is humbled by the grace, regality and time-honored traditions of such a fine art.Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-28611104855850656122010-02-18T06:18:00.000-08:002010-02-18T06:46:03.649-08:00All the goings on in FebruaryIt has been a while since I wrote. <br /><br />On reflection, it occurred to me that the reason is partly down to lack of ideas for content, and by this I mean the relevant content in connection with a 1920s blog. Which is of course, what this is. I have always been one to have something to say, which pleases some and is a source of great annoyance to others (although none dare say so; and if they do, they say it with a twist of jest drizzled on top so as to sweeten with subtlety and avoid any bitterness), but my problem is that it is not always strictly in relation to the 1920s. If only it were. And so I face this problem, where in my opinion if I have a 1920s blog, then it should be filled with 1920s related things, and 1920s related things only. This would of course all be very achievable if I were in the decade itself. Sadly, and very bitterly, I may add, I find myself light years away from it, and surrounded by the recent echoes of the noughties and the new decade stretched out ahead of me, still filled with plastic celebrities and cheap perfumes stamped with their names; of supermarkets in a constant attempt to take over the world and fight each other to the death by way of advertising and marketing and cost-cutting, meaning that our dear local home grown independent grocers and butchers and bakers are all dying a death. And the list of course goes on to include all manner of politics, and society, and all the ills that pain me of this age. But that is for another time.<br /><br />So you see, it becomes entirely distracting at times to write constantly about an age one does no longer live in.<br /><br />So it came to me this morning that perhaps I should be less strict with my blog; and allow the content to be flexible and free so that it doesn't sit unattended for weeks and months at a time. I have come to the conclusion - one which is rather silly, being so completely obvious that I feel an idiot for stating the revelation here in writing as though it were some life-changing discovery - that I can, and will as a course of my own nature, write things here that will always undoubtedly contain an element of the twenties about it. No matter what it is. Whether I write about Cheryl Cole, or Lady Gaga, or Rudolph Valentino and Constance Talmadge - it will always be with an air of twenties-ism that is as ever-present and thoroughly instilled in me as the ways of an old Etonian will still always be an old Etonian, even if they decided to run away and join a circus, or some such unrealistic (I assume, but could be wrong) set of circumstances. <br /><br />(If anyone knows of an old Etonian that did this, I have to say I will now be intrigued to know about the gentleman's fate).<br /><br />So with that in mind I hope, very much so, to go forward discussing all manner of sorts here, past and present (and possibly future); but as ever, I will always be humbly your<br /><br />Girl GatsbyGirl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-23038727877225128162009-12-27T19:25:00.000-08:002010-07-26T08:26:15.361-07:00AfterthoughtLove; I do believe<br />That you have tricked me and deceived<br />You do not soothe; you only vex<br />I should have only stuck to -<br /><br />(c) 2009Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-8200289926305203872009-12-13T15:42:00.000-08:002009-12-13T15:51:11.631-08:00New Years Resolutsch and all manner of excuses for absences...It has been on my mind for some time that I not managed to post anything here for quite a while; and it was this evening's post from Icy Sedgwick that made me kick my butt into gear and finally get the hell on with it. Yes, I am aware that my Burgh Island 'review' of sorts has not quite been accomplished yet, but I hope to have that finalised at some point! My excuse is the more I write about it, the more I think about it, and the more I long to go back...<br /><br />Now the real focus, espesh of this evening, is that I absolutely must get back into my writing. Lots of things distract me from this once simple pleasure of mine; life on the stage singing, hard liquor and hard men (ahem), oh and all sorts of divine distractions that have led me astray. The main thing being the good old nine to five, which always manages to drain the creativity from one's soul and if one isn't careful it will dry you up forever. Creative juices must be kept flowing.<br /><br />So, ahead of 2010, I have at least one resolution set. What will the others be? I still have two more weeks to decide on those...<br /><br />GGGirl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-80027087397028423222009-09-16T17:49:00.000-07:002009-09-16T17:49:14.761-07:001920s Black Beaded Violets Silk Chiffon Flapper Chemise Over Dress XXL by hautecountryvintage on Ets<a href="http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=131486900838&h=6nSHx&u=mU89t&ref=share">1920s Black Beaded Violets Silk Chiffon Flapper Chemise Over Dress XXL by hautecountryvintage on Ets</a>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-65911465789626377312009-09-16T17:47:00.000-07:002009-09-16T17:47:24.544-07:001920's Antique Vintage Metallic-Daisies Elegant Gold-Lame Lace Couture Rhinestone French Wedding Fla<a href="http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=133930599428&h=xdbP6&u=NZ59n&ref=share">1920's Antique Vintage Metallic-Daisies Elegant Gold-Lame Lace Couture Rhinestone French Wedding Fla</a>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-21867290733824940152009-09-16T05:09:00.000-07:002009-09-16T05:56:28.290-07:00The Man I Can Charleston With<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPFmSvMuLAUti4-dfs2bScGcoZf8d9zXxKGUjzCuUM7fCvCmtlHXKbJu5eErzo5Pv8Rs_FxOMxQrm6NQ4_aVeut2R4kWwfIylXhgpOSeLdth7TWuVU_D6gOwzafmn6kXMN3KdubPi7ag/s1600-h/charleston.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 307px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382047856591399074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPFmSvMuLAUti4-dfs2bScGcoZf8d9zXxKGUjzCuUM7fCvCmtlHXKbJu5eErzo5Pv8Rs_FxOMxQrm6NQ4_aVeut2R4kWwfIylXhgpOSeLdth7TWuVU_D6gOwzafmn6kXMN3KdubPi7ag/s400/charleston.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSB85vxK9dn01mBH_TcA25oBiNgLv1dZVqwbSQIdEsvxmvdtpWWQ83TSDEOeqVblE31ESTLelqJJOQi8zhfWlDQJ8tSDRCEDnHULhfaZxkQY6vC7ewqndwhtv0Ly9L7UqxYPpVO7nMK4g/s1600-h/charleston.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div>There is a man - I'll tell you about him:</div><div>He's fairly tall, has great panache,</div><div>Slicked black hair, pencil moustache,</div><div>Neat and dapper, handsome, smart,</div><div>A gentleman after my own heart!</div><br /><div></div><div>A side parting, yes - and moving on,</div><div>A smile that outshines the sun.</div><div>Brown eyes has he, with visions deep</div><div>And soft lips that are mine to keep.</div><br /><div></div><div>My man wear boaters, blazers, ties</div><div>Wears Oxford Bags (he's so fashion-wise)</div><div>The occasional monacle for his weak left eye</div><div>And a pocket watch to keep track of time.</div><br /><div></div><div>And do you know - it's such a shame</div><div>I have to play this lonely game. </div><div>But there's nobody I can blame</div><div>For my lack of gents to claim</div><div>To fit the description of my beau -I guess that I'll just never know</div><div> </div><div>The man I can Charleston with.<br /><br />©1995</div></div>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-66053715573028998342009-09-14T03:00:00.000-07:002009-09-14T03:26:14.368-07:00Rolf Armstrong, 20s glass hoops, and other ebay losses<blockquote><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUB3Jap9FcFGsiqxq7e1ePVARVwvFOWOgXc2F1wUfKOmJpn8_RYOoxbUHI2yOftILXb1qqyrkl7lwY_Hh6fxGSSuvS0S4JnWr9PX9yxxkZ5D6i-UIrOAytP6VmaUptbOzWEs1hR1Nb2wM/s1600-h/!BYtgGvgBmk~%24(KGrHgoH-CsEjlLlzPB1BKjByCk9bQ~~_35.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUB3Jap9FcFGsiqxq7e1ePVARVwvFOWOgXc2F1wUfKOmJpn8_RYOoxbUHI2yOftILXb1qqyrkl7lwY_Hh6fxGSSuvS0S4JnWr9PX9yxxkZ5D6i-UIrOAytP6VmaUptbOzWEs1hR1Nb2wM/s1600-h/!BYtgGvgBmk~%24(KGrHgoH-CsEjlLlzPB1BKjByCk9bQ~~_35.jpg"></blockquote></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381264877236172034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUB3Jap9FcFGsiqxq7e1ePVARVwvFOWOgXc2F1wUfKOmJpn8_RYOoxbUHI2yOftILXb1qqyrkl7lwY_Hh6fxGSSuvS0S4JnWr9PX9yxxkZ5D6i-UIrOAytP6VmaUptbOzWEs1hR1Nb2wM/s320/!BYtgGvgBmk~%24(KGrHgoH-CsEjlLlzPB1BKjByCk9bQ~~_35.jpg" border="0" /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKbauRLgWWBoq3BJQVTsJ2ldsWEtbngnrz_vHsIujbuZxIC_U5neS1tB4h4gAJF-76Wi0-6P0BNUi-52H1aj9cgI-GYIfrULnFdSevleFV0-zQtnshPYVt2R1VMcDig5XqFhf8v11ozA/s1600-h/!BYqo4JgCGk~%24(KGrHgoOKikEjlLm,nRlBKiwnNkgS!~~_35.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381264811901395218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 241px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKbauRLgWWBoq3BJQVTsJ2ldsWEtbngnrz_vHsIujbuZxIC_U5neS1tB4h4gAJF-76Wi0-6P0BNUi-52H1aj9cgI-GYIfrULnFdSevleFV0-zQtnshPYVt2R1VMcDig5XqFhf8v11ozA/s320/!BYqo4JgCGk~%24(KGrHgoOKikEjlLm,nRlBKiwnNkgS!~~_35.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGik81fWxnEWtLt_Tfh62l13ot8bOgrUym4nJ5eSfr8P21DknsOw2_MzoxIyALVZaGFRs5ZXlJehCUVm8v2Udii6OFtfGA1l7QDmlJvxdXrTH09tg2wFu9WHB5dXaH52gWsbMBmfayFw/s1600-h/!BZTuusQ!mk~%24(KGrHgoH-EMEjlLlt44QBKmDF4StYQ~~_35.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381264471997975986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 206px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGik81fWxnEWtLt_Tfh62l13ot8bOgrUym4nJ5eSfr8P21DknsOw2_MzoxIyALVZaGFRs5ZXlJehCUVm8v2Udii6OFtfGA1l7QDmlJvxdXrTH09tg2wFu9WHB5dXaH52gWsbMBmfayFw/s320/!BZTuusQ!mk~%24(KGrHgoH-EMEjlLlt44QBKmDF4StYQ~~_35.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTN3xmKt1uuppJp4RyA7h7xc_sr3cz1mOir_chbeZOJBEho7JDE4RMygqnXjb08VsLTLQJlWRnX4osud2noeepqF5snoFRuMpH0PuqKBUEuPsrOLTbkoXQlVBsw1p-JxynDcqwm4YAVFg/s1600-h/299252812_o.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381264287026162338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 248px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTN3xmKt1uuppJp4RyA7h7xc_sr3cz1mOir_chbeZOJBEho7JDE4RMygqnXjb08VsLTLQJlWRnX4osud2noeepqF5snoFRuMpH0PuqKBUEuPsrOLTbkoXQlVBsw1p-JxynDcqwm4YAVFg/s320/299252812_o.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YhyJgQdLwSSRIz4sk2dDggVdDYFEBzqViQXGJ5aXXZst3_NS8ZADck82ykv_U_oICQr-urwiXOxTGiG_0akhtSCDMHTlHZFCQlGgDuU50aSA6_cJ54XuSjofJCykMxGCmYLF-HFmAPI/s1600-h/3702516141016464_1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381264208897919362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 67px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 87px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YhyJgQdLwSSRIz4sk2dDggVdDYFEBzqViQXGJ5aXXZst3_NS8ZADck82ykv_U_oICQr-urwiXOxTGiG_0akhtSCDMHTlHZFCQlGgDuU50aSA6_cJ54XuSjofJCykMxGCmYLF-HFmAPI/s400/3702516141016464_1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3xkaFTElszCxuYbUpVhBN7yRmaErWJ-ZFlfCXGTORSojVqluqL3TlpVrQAsvVIjph25FeC2pt-PiDqoUtjA6O8cejZbdzLcs5Ve_x6lW3ypAjjb6uF80VKXU4N3ZEYgB3Bn7aX8rEFKw/s1600-h/2303742557106464_1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381264127611512482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 57px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 64px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3xkaFTElszCxuYbUpVhBN7yRmaErWJ-ZFlfCXGTORSojVqluqL3TlpVrQAsvVIjph25FeC2pt-PiDqoUtjA6O8cejZbdzLcs5Ve_x6lW3ypAjjb6uF80VKXU4N3ZEYgB3Bn7aX8rEFKw/s400/2303742557106464_1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>It really can be quite hideous when one finds something to die for on eBay and gets pipped at the post or finds it just at the wrong time when funds are low before the paycheck has arrived, and subsequently one loses out on things so deliciously magnificent it causes one to despair in ways that are, unforgivably so, the depths of depression caused by materialistic want, and nothing more. Of course, I can survive without these - but, I ask you, do I HAVE to? Really? But they would make life so much better!</div><br />Everything you see here are original 1920s items. Unfortunately for me the seller of the Rolfe Armstrong pictures disabled the photo's after the auction, so I have only managed to salvage these small thumbnails. They were just too too divine, and I am a sadder lady today for not having won them! </div><div></div><div>But ho hum. I did manage to find a 1930s deco wardrobe at the weekend for pennies, so all is not completely lost!<br /><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div> </div></div></div></div></div>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-64679439271731212342009-09-08T13:29:00.000-07:002010-02-24T05:08:33.181-08:00Of Burgh Island, Part IISo; we get to the Burgh Island Hotel, and the Burgh Island Hotel is divine.<br /><br /><br />We were led, as I remember it, in a sort of strange calm gentle busy flurry, like late leaves being blown in by a sudden unexpected gust of wind through an open door in the fall, with the soft frantic bustle that just as quickly is at peace once set down by the wind. And so there we stood. If eyes could talk they would have been all a-stuttering in their broken gaze, distracted again and again the second they tried to focus on just one thing; another source of distraction clicking its invisible fingers out from the corner of our eyes to demand our<br /><br />"Good afternoon" beamed the receptionist, and at last my eyes settled on the reception area. I nodded and smiled. "Would you like tea brought to you in the morning?" she asked. Smiling, and nodding, and saying 'yes please' before taking the large clear plastic keyfob with the name Noel Coward etched in it in frosted writing; two deco seagull styled "m's" hovering in one corner. There was movement; I turned to see a smartly dressed porter standing behind me motioning to my steamer trunk. "This all you have?" he asked. I was too much in awe of the building to repeat the small child reference. I nodded. And smiled. "Thought it was part of the hotel" the Porter exclaimed, and with that, he directed into the elevator with the trunk, whilst he turned to ascend the stairs.<br /><br /><br />In the silence and privacy of the elevator, I softly squealed in my instant and intense adoration for the place; the elevator stopped with a soft bump and the door was pulled open by the Porter. He gestured for me to go before him through a white door which led us into a softly lit hallway, at the end of which was a huge Art Deco unit with a marble clock on the top. I bit my bottom lip in furious excitement at the sight of it; and finally, a left turn brought us walking towards a full length mirror. The mint green door adjacent to it featured the framed sepia toned portrait of Noel Coward. So, here we were.<br /><br />In a moment where I thought I would scream out loud, I managed to stifle any such extremity of emotional delirium and instead funnelled it into a small squeak as the door opened and the sight ahead of me was revealed for the first time. I walked through into the small hallway, past the granite bathroom, and into the lounge and dining area of the suite. Alone. At last.<br /><br />The sea was a soft, muffled roar beyond the panoramic windows. A circular geometric rug sat amongst the purple art deco leather suite; blonde walnut side units – one of which a bottle of Bollinger sat awaiting it’s mass consumption - and a dining table with chairs featured glorious acorn shaped shades. I ran my fingers down the curtains; they were thick and heavy, the embroidery on them like Braille under my fingertips.<br /><br />The bedroom boasted more blonde walnut in the shape of a 30s dressing table whereupon I instantly decided my Shalimar would sit. The rest of the room consisted of a complete art deco suit which would fulfil any deco lovers dream; but especially a girl’s; perfume, shoes, bags and make up storage were abundant, and all in such style!<br /><br />So the bubbly was opened, and after all this excitement we decided to be decadent and order a Devon cream tea. It arrived with bells on; the scones were still warm from the oven. Champagne, tea, and a clotted cream tea all in sumptuous art deco surroundings once inhabited by Noel Coward are all very much things that you cannot, in my opinion, very much top.<br /><br />And so it came to pass that before long we would start the delicious process of getting dressed for dinner, which is something that in this day and age hardly bears any comparison to it used to be (and should be) done.<br /><br />The tuxedo was donned, and the dress - my 1920s lace dress, bought especially for the occasion, was set to make its debut at Burgh Island. After the last checks in the mirror had taken place, we departed the suite to join the other guests for cocktails and canapés in the Peacock Bar; the sun had appeared, the rain had stopped, and as we made out way down the stairs, the sunlight burst through the little panes of glass that make up the trademark long window of the tower of Burgh Island. Piano music trickled up to us, loudening with every step down we took, and into the Peacock bar we strolled; the ghosts of Josephine Baker, Noel Coward, Clara Bow and Agatha Christie all whispers of our previous neighboring guests, and who had once sat underneath that glorious domed rainbow of glass above us.<br /><br />To be continued…Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-46746250996168250902009-08-19T12:53:00.000-07:002009-08-19T12:56:36.568-07:00The Ghost of HimIf I had had a choice in the matter, I would never have fallen in love with a dead man. The truth is, I did not seek it, nor did I simply see an opportunity and knowingly dive right in. I was fourteen years old and before I could really decipher what love was, he had already flung it over me, like a huge net, which he has proceeded to tug me around in at his feet every day since for the last sixteen years. When I told a friend of mine of the tears shed over this unhappy get glorious, hopeless yet inspiring love affair, and all the things he’d said to me, and all the things he’d done, she said “Tell him to go away.” I told her I would rather cry like a baby every night and be in a permanent state of depression over him, now buried in a cemetery thousands of miles from me, rather than him stopping coming to see me. <br /><br />I suppose it all sounds very strange. It is very strange. I have always known that. I have always known that most people, when they see his picture, do not break down and cry, or turn away when they see his old house because I don’t want them to stare at the hot salty tears that roll delicately down till I taste them on my lips; nor when they sleep do they hear the things he comes and tells me, or the things he does to me. And I can’t tell them, because they wouldn’t believe me. And even if they did, I cannot bring myself to share such intimate things. I don’t think he wants me to tell of it in any case. So I don’t.<br /><br />I suppose I could really be sectioned if one were to look deep enough into it. Maybe I have gotten so used to him and the situation I find myself in with him now that I no longer realise how peculiar it is. Luckily I have managed to disguise crying in public over him by pretending it’s from laughter, or if outdoors, a sharp breeze; and even more luckily, it’s often in a dark enough room in the evening whereby no-one would be able to tell anyway. But there has been the odd occasion where not hell or high water could stop the tears; and I cannot explain myself when asked, and so I wonder if I will ever really be ble to be in the same room as someone who by chance mentions his name for fear of furrowed eyebrows that turn my eyes startled and afraid,with my hands to my lips to hide their downturning and trembling, and again those waters that come with the sound of his name. And I do not cry easily. I am made of harder stuff. But not when it comes to him.<br /><br />I suppose what I am trying to say is that I miss him. I miss him every single day; and today is one of those days when the sun is beating down, and for some reason when the sun is so hot on a day like this, I miss him even more. Something, lost somewhere long ago in the mists of time, comes alive again in the sunshine, and I feel him with me, like smelling a familiar smell, or feeling that someone is following you, though you know you are alone.<br /><br />But there is no solution, no cure, no remedy. The ghost of him walks; and so it will be, for I’d rather have that little echo of him than nothing left at all.Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-28089761272239172942009-08-12T04:04:00.000-07:002009-12-27T19:04:13.560-08:00Part I: Of Burgh Island, Singapore Slings and dancing till midnight<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5ytkpiVZ2Z0wS5A_rtCsFAHdb_TasyEixXLKyC4sy2yXbDkeR3rgljawXhTJjgS4r8YCpR5klPTLiyIcGrupakgV1uKDzURyIBr6qDLQGXhJ2RFUt9Kwuf4ChRKNfCmZhl5epXbofqg/s1600-h/DSCF0922.JPG"></a><div><div>The rain was so heavy and cumbersome that it slapped down on the windscreen like flat open palms. The wipers couldn't keep up; other cars weren't visible, nor were hedges, or road signs. So our journey down to Burgh Island hadn't been the sun-kist voyage I had first imagined, which explained my 'arrival' attire of dainty white summer gloves, a huge wide-brimmed black straw hat, silk sleeved thin woollen top, and cream three quarter-length trousers. "We'll have to carry the trunk across the beach to the island", grimaced the man in the trilby hat next to me, which elicited a small squeal from me as I down-turned my lips and narrowed my eyes at the attire-ruining weather outside of the car. When one goes to somewhere like Burgh Island, one cannot turn up looking anything but as immaculate as the perfect, smooth white lines of Art Deco that it itself portrays, and so the thought of being beaten black and blue by the unforgiving weather scuppered my dreams of arriving looking like I had stepped right out of an Agatha Christie novel.<br /><br /><br />Down windy little lanes we turned; through puddles that would come to one's waist should one have tried to walk through them; and through quaint little seaside hamlets that consisted of just a shop, an old fashioned garage, and a handful of white houses, we drove until we came across the golf club where we had been instructed to call the hotel from. Mobile 'phones at Burgh Island receive almost no reception, thank goodness, and so it was back to using the british telephone box to my delight. My own experience of mobile 'phones is that they invade those quiet moments that I in particular treasure; what I call as 'not being in'. Where once upon a time if our landline was called and there was no answer, the caller would assume that you were out, away from home, or not in a position to answer the 'phone whether that be in the shower, the bath, eating or cooking dinner, out in the garden, or generally indisposed of, and would perhaps try you again later or, if they were sensible enough, would have previously have arranged a time to talk. Which is how I like it. I prefer an old-fashioned, pre-arranged time to talk. It means that I can dedicate my time to the caller, having ensured that there will be no interruption, or loss of signal, and most importantly on a landline no 'hot-head' which is something I detest mobile 'phones for all the more - and it also means that a conversation I am having with someone else also isn't rudely interrupted by another person 'butting in'.<br /><br />I don't want a call halfway through dinner, or in the middle of a conversation with my husband about how the day has been when he has stepped in from work; but should I dare not answer my mobile 'phone when it rings, I am left angry messages by frustrated callers who demand to know why I haven't picked up. In their opinion, mobile 'phones should be stuck to our ears and answered automatically no matter what, no matter where you are or who you are with. Technology has made us all, in this modern day, people who expect you to drop everything to take their call, urgent or not. Well, in my opinion, the situation has not changed from yesteryear where sometimes it is simply not convenient to talk whether I am standing at the Grand Canyon and happen have my mobile phone in my pocket or whether I am at the local supermarket. If I don't deem it convenient, I will not answer. And for this reason, I have nearly thrown my mobile away as an act of protest to having my peace disturbed every five minutes.<br /><br />But I digress.<br /><br />On receiving our call, the receptionist at Burgh Island informed us of the code we would need for the electric gate when we approached the car park, and told us she would have someone come over in the landrover to pick us up. I sighed; relieved at the revived prospect of me arriving less drenched, and more like the art deco glamour I had envisaged. We subsequently arrived at the gates of a prestige looking block of apartments, where we entered the code to allow us to enter, and parked where the reserved signs were for the hotel.<br /><br />My old steam ship trunk was loaded into the back of the land rover with the question that would be asked another three times during our stay - "Is that all you've got?" - my response being yes, and how these steam ship tunks could easily fit a small child, so naturally would take sufficient items of belongings for one night.<br /><br />The driver made polite and entertaining conversation; at least the other couple in the car conversed with him. I managed little words here and there - quite unlike me - but truth be told I was all agog with excitement almost to the point of feeling quite ill, so, lips pursed, eyes wide, I hmm-ed and laughed in appropriate places during the conversation.<br /><br />The gates greeted us like a wide, white smile; teeth all bared in a broad welcome that made me realise right away I wouldn't ever want to leave. If I had thought so before coming here, it was permanently confirmed by the art deco gates swinging open, and there Burgh Island sat ahead of us, a white, gleaming pearl set against the still grey, steely sky.</div><div> </div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/girlgatsby">http://www.flickr.com/photos/girlgatsby</a></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-91256368646195306382009-07-25T15:06:00.000-07:002011-06-21T04:19:38.503-07:00Modern Times<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Nbu8zqO6HKgIQnPpms9Vwyj78ZhyI1-DHjRCHYq56BrPABG6vLOWY5ppIkJJYPpcPe5EOCr5EhlbH-KanwghVk0KTqUIEbCIRaEE8dZPZp94nXHAyjGA_k02eWpDpfQMOJS_53jZwiY/s1600-h/front-door.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362769299427594482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Nbu8zqO6HKgIQnPpms9Vwyj78ZhyI1-DHjRCHYq56BrPABG6vLOWY5ppIkJJYPpcPe5EOCr5EhlbH-KanwghVk0KTqUIEbCIRaEE8dZPZp94nXHAyjGA_k02eWpDpfQMOJS_53jZwiY/s400/front-door.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkCm27a41HNmC5t-cCfXIVJFXIzW8xPBu9F5Qrz35klaWEeHS05d8bEbelNnUx1fJ5boTMTm9Dd_GMQKfqqi0_4r6GquFigFYeWM2Q9kF-OhdpCL5_sujH3GBjIjTOvnhpTD_D-WYyTI/s1600-h/dressbi.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 225px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362761579704974034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkCm27a41HNmC5t-cCfXIVJFXIzW8xPBu9F5Qrz35klaWEeHS05d8bEbelNnUx1fJ5boTMTm9Dd_GMQKfqqi0_4r6GquFigFYeWM2Q9kF-OhdpCL5_sujH3GBjIjTOvnhpTD_D-WYyTI/s400/dressbi.jpg" /></a> 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.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>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. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>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.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>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.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>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.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpRfkkDxwT90PU4IbEtdHFybqrp-T4PATm1p-AjqS0_qNStUiTUlJJNSwoAFM8ECU7SG66IMqw-H5OqPVrVbCIQFSkC374JLwnBDriG_68zx8xMMIpNX6HnBqLND2zF93pkl9CD46lRg/s1600-h/dressbi.jpg"></a></p><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-83982661174214181602009-07-04T17:47:00.000-07:002009-07-04T17:59:15.308-07:00<span style="font-family:georgia;">By chance, this evening on my return from visiting a friend, I came across a copy of the Sunday Pictorial dated May 4th, 1924. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">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).</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">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). </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">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: </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"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."</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><em>"Nuts And Wine: Gossip For The After-Dinner Hour."</em> </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"The suggestion that titles should be taxed has not been acted upon. From that quarter there will be no Sir-plus." </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"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." </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"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?"</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">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:</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"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. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Opportunity is rather different. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">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! </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Remember that! </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">You wait for opportunity, but you must also seize it the instant it appears."</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Thank you, Mary. One of those kick-up-the jacksie and 'remember to keep working hard at your goals' speeches. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">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. </span>Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153203699149546578.post-20182805372968779352009-06-26T16:52:00.000-07:002009-06-26T16:54:41.979-07:00DueI'm due to fall in love again -<br />My senses tell me thus;<br />My mind is not my own again<br />My soul is full of fuss<br />Between my sheets I turn and twist,<br />In dreams my torment keeps<br />I cannot stand for consciousness<br />I do not want to sleep<br />My limbs are fire; thoughts run trill<br />My heart is sober, still,<br />Until -<br />My eyes start misting at his name...<br /><br />I'm due to fall in love again.Girl Gatsbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09679526271330068199noreply@blogger.com0