Sunday, August 03, 2014

Dazzle Me

Jessica McCormack

After my wind-up jewellery box featuring a tutu-ed ballerina and a sound track straight from the  local ice cream van was brutally manhandled in a burglary last year I spent several months sourcing sparkling trinketry. My major pieces which whizzed out the door included my engagement ring, my wedding band, my eternity ring and a much adored family heirloom. 
After much ado I decided that I wanted just one ring to replace them all - I'll hold off on that LOTR cliche. I fell in love with a beautiful vintage piece from Joseph Bonnar in Edinburgh but my diminutive size 3.75 ring finger ( that's width, just over a UK I) proved to be a bit of a problem, the only solution was "off with its head" and the addition of a brand new diamond encrusted band which I felt would steal the soul of the flapper who had once worn it. 
I let it go and sulked all the way to Bond Street where I fell into the arms of that filthy rich cad,  Harry W and went on to chink glasses in Tiffany, Cartier and Boodles. 
Now that I have just one piece from what was once four, it feels a little bit too much both on my finger and geographically. 
(in Beverly Hills it would be  a mere bagatelle) 
For one who was never really interested in  fine jewellery, I have been unable to give up rummaging in the magpie's nest  and have just discovered the most wonderful  jeweller in London: 
 New Zealand born, Jessica McCormack whose bijou scintillating emporium is  nestled  just across from The Connaught; all the better for sparkles after sparkles.

( Her favourite wine is Stolen Kiss Rose - have any of the Antipodeans whet their whistle upon it?) 

One day I would love to have her make me a more wearable every day piece, something unusual with a vintage feel. 
Cheque books at the ready...

all pics courtesy : Instagram.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014


Poppy Delevingne

If anyone is entitled to tall poppy syndrome it's Ms Delevingne, no not the puckish Cara but her ethereal sister Poppy.
Currently London's reigning  It Blonde, she can go from glacial to pretty, sophisticated to playful, wanton to innocent, in a swish of snowy mane. 
Some are born blonde, some achieve it through artifice but The Blonde remains one of our most beguiling archetypes. 
Painters have clothed her in oils, poets have wreathed her in words and Raymond Chandler didn't want anyone other than her to walk into a smoky bar trailing trouble not far behind. 
Like most northern Europeans I was blonde up until the age of three, one day I may just go back. 

Monday, July 28, 2014


81 year old Joan is on - I want it.

St Tropez - our very own LA, where age is just a number.