Fab gear

I don't think I was quite old enough

to be a smart young chick in 1964 

and I certainly couldn't afford a Tuffin and Foale dress,

but the article was right,

Habitat did reach out into suburbia

and I was able to get my fix of

stripped golden pine and chicken bricks eventually.

I still have the butcher's block

and the soup tureen, 

although lately I have been planting hyacinths in it

as transferring the French Onion Soup into it from 

the Le Creuset is just too much trouble.

In the rather sparsely labelled exhibition,

The Way We Live Now at the Design Museum,

they were marking Sir Terence Conran's 80th birthday.

What a busy man he has been.

See here for his own not quite comprehensive list -

he omits to mention writing his many books.

His cookery book is well thumbed on my shelf.

Elizabeth David was his guiding light.

He opened a restaurant in Neal Street, 
Covent Garden in the early 70s
 and we went there for our lunch on our wedding day.

The new Habitat catalogue was eagerly awaited

and pored over. 

Cork mats, bean bags, duvets

and cheery enamel coffee pots

were all so wantable.

There was, as the article said, 

'a feeling, particularly among young shoppers,

that they want to make shopping for the home

an impulsive, gay affair.'

If only I had been consulted,

I could have helped them with the curating of this exhibition,

and not only with my pertinent reminiscences.

They displayed one of his original fabric designs for

David Whitehead,

and I just happen to have a copy of 

House and Garden from April 1953

in which it is advertised.

Comfort zone

China tea, the scent of hyacinths, 

wood fires and bowls of violets -

that is my mental picture of an agreeable February afternoon.

Constance Spry

Her house was lovely.

It was comfortable in a way that was not as usual 

in 1910 as it is today.

For instance, there were several bathrooms,

invariably provided with delicious essences 

for softening and scenting the water

which was always hot.

The beds were soft and sheeted with the finest linen.

The Rising Tide - Molly Keane

and from Agatha Christie's The Hollow,

Midge a shop assistant,

 on being told she would understand the class struggle better

if she were a worker:

'I am a worker. That's just why being comfortable is so attractive.

Box beds, down pillows -

early morning tea softly deposited by the bed -

a porcelain bath with lashings of hot water -

and delicious bath salts.

The kind of easy-chair you can really sink into...'

Midge paused in her catalogue.

'The workers', said David, 'should have all these things,'

...'I couldn't agree with you more,' said Midge heartily.

Our daily lives are full of stress,

much of which is unavoidable.

I believe that if our homes cannot provide 

some kind of refuge or respite from that stress,

both physically and emotionally,

then they have failed in one of their most critical functions.

From supporting the body at rest or during relaxation -

physical comfort at its most basic -

to most elemental pleasures that put people at their ease,

comfort provides a necessary sense of renewal.

For me, comfort is neither mindless luxury 

nor suffocating indulgence:

it is the essential breathing space 

in which we can simply be ourselves,

surrounded by the things we really like

rather than things we think give us status.

Sir Terence Conran

I shall cleave to these 

images as the house is

colonised again by the electrician

in pursuit of The Fault

and the builder  eliminating the cause of

The Mould.
P.S Can you still get bath salts?

Spring cleaning 3

From Superwoman by Shirley Conran (1975)

shooting from the hip with a hefty side order of resentment,

this book opens with the line,

'What is a home? A home is a myth.
 A home is the Forth Bridge, one damn long, never ending cleaning job, 
which nobody notices unless you don't do it.'

and in case her meaning wasn't clear,

'No one's going to strangle you if the mantelpiece is dusty. 
Your man doesn't love you because you can tell the difference 
between whitest and whiter-than-white.

 Your children won't remember you with love in twenty years' time because 
your floors had such a fantastic shine...On the whole, 
nobody except you cares how the place looks.
If somebody does, then press him into service. 
Always, charmingly, press any critic into service:
 they either help or stop criticizing, 
or, ideally, both.

I had forgotten how angry she sounded.
Nevertheless, do not be deceived, 
she proceeds to offer 193 pages of advice 
on how to do it all anyway.
Plus ça change.

So, spring cleaning the Shirley Conran way:

'Spring cleaning is rarely necessary if you stick to a good weekly schedule. 
(That is  dealt with separately with a suggested daily routine 
and two chapters called 'How to be a Housemaid' and 'How to be a Laundrymaid.) 
But one day when you are feeling strong and rich enough 
you could finger through the yellow book and get a professional carpet cleaner 
to estimate for your carpets...If you still use open fires call the chimney sweep; 
send all your curtains to be cleaned... 
Look at your list of things to be mended, 
things to be bought and things to be overhauled.
I do this in the first week of January. 
It's anti-climax time and the weather is horrid, 
so you might as well do the nasty jobs and try not to do anything else 
for the rest of the year. Nobody seems to notice... 
Not everyone agrees with me but,
 temperature permitting, I believe that the best, private, 
spring-cleaning outfit is a bikini. 
Spring clean with a friend (who doesn't talk too much) to spur you on, 
cheer you up, patch you up or wipe you down and - ideally - 
complete the job for you when you get stuck or bored.'

In her section on planning a methodical campaign she says,

'Tell your nearest - who won't even have noticed that you are spring-cleaning - 
that you'll expect him to provide a night out, say next Monday, 
and you'll be having a bubble bath, and going to the hairdresser beforehand.

Tomorrow - because I'm on a roll,
spring cleaning from 1998.

After Proust...

On my last trip to Paris, I visited the Louvre, 

and daunted by the prospect of so much great Art and so little time to view it,

 I settled on a plan to visit only one gallery - 

that which housed the works of Jean-Baptiste Chardin. 

What I hadn't realised was that this was the plan devised by Proust, in an essay, 

to quieten the feelings of envy felt by a young man of modest means but expensive tastes.

'After an encounter with Chardin, Proust had high hopes for the spiritual transformation of his sad young man... He would learn that metal and earthenware could also be enchanting, and common crockery as beautiful as precious stones... Proust promised:

" when you walk around a kitchen, you will say to yourself, this is interesting, this is grand, this is beautiful like a Chardin." '

From 'How Proust Can Change Your Life' by Alain de Boton.

John Lane calls this savouring the ordinary.

'The painting Glass of Water and Coffee Pot 

says almost everything I'd like to say...about simplicity, probity and calm.'

From 'Timeless Simplicity' by John Lane.

'Proust was demonstrating how happiness and contentment can come from learning a new way of looking at ones surroundings... Proust believed that by studying the everyday objects depicted - " bowls of fruit, jugs, coffee pots, loaves of bread, knives, glasses of wine, slabs of meat " the discontented young man would realise he was already surrounded by beauty.'

From Easy Living by Terence Conran.

 I can never look at this painting without thinking how exactly she looks like I feel, 

when I get home from Sainsbury's. 

And it's high time she took those bottles out to the recycling bin.