what a lark

 "What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet (for a girl of eighteen as she then was) solemn, feeling as she did, standing there at the open window, that something awful was about to happen... 

For having lived in Westminster - how many years now? Over twenty, - one feels even in the midst of the traffic, or waking at night, Clarissa was positive, a particular hush, or solemnity; an indescribable pause; suspense (but that might be her heart, affected, they said, by influenza) before Big Ben strikes. There! Out it boomed. First a warning, musical; then the hour, irrevocable. The leaden circles dissolved in the air. Such fools we are, she thought, crossing Victoria Street. For Heaven only knows why one loves it so, how one sees it so, making it up, building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every moment afresh; but the veriest frumps, the most dejected of miseries sitting on doorsteps (drink their downfall) do the same; can't be dealt with, she felt positive, by Acts of Parliament for that very reason: they love life. In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June." 

 Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway

 Jessica Stanley

I loved what Jessica said about London on the Benah blog. Aside from writing a fantastic guide that is forming the basics (alongside Dead Fleurette's tips) for my upcoming trip, she touched on something that has always - to me at least - seemed so true about London. Having experienced it so often and so vividly in literature when I was younger, in everything from Peter Pan to Mrs Dalloway, Vile Bodies to P.G Wodehouse, my first visit to London was like going back to a childhood home or the summer holiday destination of your youth. Everything was familiar and then not familiar, everything seemed exactly as I had imagined - or had it imagined for me - and yet the city was still able to surprise me. I'd like it to continue doing that for as long as possible, and my upcoming trip seems like as good a place as any to start. So if anyone has any tips for London - places to eat, drink and be merry are most important! - especially in and around the covent garden/soho area because that's where I'm staying, please leave a comment or send them to hryee1@hotmail.com. I can't wait to see even more of this city that has always seemed to me like it could be, or become, a real home.

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escape

vanessa jackman

When we pulled up in front of the house it was dark, and it was cold, and we were tired. We had been driving all day, not because it was a particularly great distance, but because we had made so many stop-offs on the way - a chateau here, a market there, a lemonade stall by the side of the road... Anything would do. It was summer, it was France and it was hot. Didn't we have to sight-see, eat and drink? It's only natural.

So the next morning when the sun rose high over the hills we opened the shutters and saw everything. Saw the view of the seine, stretching out languid as a teenager before us, saw the town, just a few smatterings of ochre-hued roofs dotting the greenery here and there. And we saw chocolate cake. Triple-layered, tall and proud, filled with raspberries and chocolate buttercream, sitting on the kitchen bench like some kind of gift from the Gods. It turned out it was just a gift from the owners of the house, welcoming us to our stay and wishing us a pleasant journey, but my goodness, did it seem like something otherworldly that morning. We stood in front of it. We admired it. And we ate it. Literally, stood around the cake, forks moving with a vicious, competitive energy that knew no bounds, hand-to-mouth. It was delicious. It was shocking. Like fresh raspberries the size of a thumbnail from a marketplace in Provins, like going to sleep in darkness and cold and mist and waking up in sunshine and heat and the perfect country cottage house right on the river with a chocolate cake sitting in the middle of the kitchen.

Finding peace in the madness of modern life isn't easy. This isn't about a retreat to the pastoral - even though it may sound like it - this house could have been in the middle of the city and it would have been the same. It wasn't the green and the trees and the river, at least, it wasn't all about that. It was the wooden floors, the hand-stitched quilts, the wide windows, tea, books, crusty white bread with fresh butter. A week in a house with no TV and no computer was less about how to waste time than it was about how to spend time, and that is the tale of true escape. Distance, comfort and cake.

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gone fishing

Vaness Jackman

I'm off to the country again this weekend (man, I could really get used to these mini-break vaycays). And I actually need this little holiday. I can't wait to have big fry-up breakfasts, sit by the fire, catch up with friends and forget all about Sydney. See you soon! 

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the row

style.com

I'm not sure any of this technically classifies as Resort, unless I'm on a summer vacation to somewhere in England where it rains all the time, in which case I'll probably need some Hunter gumboots and a hat, and a really good book, and the Olsen twins are probably the only people in the whole world who can make a glossy fur hoodie socially acceptable, but hey, isn't that trench coat something special, and isn't that mossy green and rich navy combo kind of brilliant, and don't you just want to wear low-slung baggy pants and contrast-lapel shirts every day for the rest of your life? Or maybe that's just me.

The Row Resort 2013

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to catch a train

When planning my forthcoming European trip I have realised that I am going to live out a childhood dream of mine. To catch trains across Europe. I love trains - not the crowded, smelly city types, though. I'm talking about long train rides where you can take 3 magazines and 2 books and read them cover to cover and listen to some vibey tunes (or even, maybe not), and look out the window and marvel at a world rushing by in a watercolour blur. The train down the South Coast of Australia is one of the most spectacular I've ever been on. Amidst masses of countries - of cattle and sheep and spindly eucalyptus trees - suddenly emerges this azure blue sea, sparkling and shining. It's spectacular, to say the absolute least. I've always wanted to catch trains across Europe. To hop on the 8:00 at Gare de Lyon and end up in Geneva in time for lunch. It's that great brown land thing - it's remarkable to me that you can travel for 3 hours and end up in another country. In Australia you can travel for three hours and still be in the same state. 

Whenever I think about trains I think about this editorial from Vogue UK December 2005. It was the first editorial that I ever loved, the first one that I ripped out and pasted on my walls, the first one that I looked at and thought - this is what fashion is all about. Telling stories, conjuring up moods, exotic locations and that aspirational quality that takes fashion beyond mere photography. When does a photograph of a girl in clothes become a fashion one? When you see that girl and you want to wear those clothes, be that girl. I wanted to be Rie Rasmussen - oh! I really did - and travel the trans-siberian express and eat caviar on toast every day and wear scarlet head to toe and play football with kids during a cigarette stop. Who knows where I'll be getting trains from when i'm in Europe this february - or where to. Maybe Venice, maybe Zurich, maybe Florence, maybe Copenhagen. To tell you the truth, it doesn't really matter. Because the minute I stand at that ticket booth I'll know where I want to go. And the train will take me there with just enough time to sit and think on the way.

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shop skip jump

zara

Seeing this only gets me even more excited for my europe trip in February. Knowing me I'll manage to squeeze in a spot of shopping in between tearful friendship reunions, squealing over the Eiffel tower and sampling the very best of french cuisine. And one of the first places I'm heading - after COS and Isabel Marant, natch - is Zara. Spoiled for high street choice in Europe, I just can't wait to get my hands on the Zara stuff of dreams. Glorious things like caramel coloured neutrals, cropped cigarette pants, sensible a-line skirts and fire-red suits. I'll be the envy of all my friends with my, "oh, i got it in europe" wardrobe and my (high) street cred. Lovely!

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about time!

Ah august. What else do you have to recommend yourself other than windy weather and the start of university? That's right. September Issues. Let them roll in - the good, the bad and the downright ugly - air freight them and slap a $25 price tag on them if you must. All I know is I just need to get my hands on Vogue UK ASAP. Also, for those interested, I have the Harpers Bazaar Australia with Elle McPherson and it is a bloody good issue. Ever since they snatched Georgie McCourt from Vogue Australia the value of their fashion features has sky-rocketed and this issue is no different. I revelled in front of book content that was so, so good. 

And when you pair them together like this it is somewhat comforting to think that Australia is in touch with our UK older sisters. Sure - it might be Cat McNeil and Elle rather than Kate and GisELLE (Kate/Cat, anyone? anyone? oh whatever), but I think our Aussie mags have captures a lot of that fashion spirit from february and have channeled it into very worthy covers indeed.

This is what I wait all year for! Can't believe it's here already. Ah August - how do I love thee? let me count the ways.

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Bird of Britain

I'm back from Melbourne, and what should greet me but a new Alexa cover? It seems like the fashion world is just popping these out like no tomorrow. We are having a bit of a love affair. This Official cover is lovely in that slightly hazy sixties way - how most people who were actually IN the sixties remember it, one imagines - and totally gorgeous. It's nice to see Alexa in a way that we don't usually see her. There have been hundreds of covers with schoolboy jumpers and mini skirts, but a bouffant and frosted lips? now there's something you don't see everyday. I've heard good things about the editorial, and am eager to make my first official L'officiel purchase since Clemence Poesy was on the cover. Something about girl crushes makes me want to buy this magazine. 

In this month's Vogue US - the Age Issue with Gwyneth Paltrow on the cover - there is an excellent article about Alexa written by the ineffable Sally Singer. I adore her writing, it is equal parts intelligent and humorous, both imaginative and clear. The article doesn't really "interview" her per se, but examines the "cult" of alexa, which is far more interesting in my eyes. I've read enough about what she thinks is the best eyeliner, what she does on the weekends, what she thinks about chanel bags. I'd like someone to take a deep hard look at what exactly makes us LOVE Alexa so much, and Sally Singer is the person to do it. She puts her finger on the pulse of my thoughts about Alexa - that even though she is everywhere and marketed like a turkey at christmas there is something endearing about her. You don't hate her. You just can't. Sally Singer says she is "cooler than the sum of the parts of her resume". That even though she is at times model, tv presenter, journalist, it-girl, DJ, artist, photographer and now, designer, you get the feeling that it isn't a self-serving, over the top kind of "fingers in all the pies" approach of something like Jessica Simpson or Paris Hilton. It never comes across as forced. She does what she wants, I suppose.

"Oppos-It Girls" Is what L'Officiel termed it. Sally Singer mused that it was a trait particularly aligned with the Brits, whose hard work ethic and flair for rock and roll cool makes them great style icons. I'm still not sure the reason we really love Alexa. perhaps it is because she is real, that she seems like the kind of girl who you could actually have a natter, a laugh, a beer and a burger (although, perhaps not the latter, really, if she's vegetarian haha, but i was going for alliteration) with. She's too NICE to hate. And if we can't hate her, then we have to love her. 

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