Oh hello exceptionally HAWT man! Where did you spring from!?
Ladies, meet Tony Ward. Model, actor, fashion designer, painter & photographer. Yes, this man's talents are multiple.
Tony has modeled for designers Roberto Cavalli, Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana, Diesel, Fendi, Hugo Boss & high street fashion store H&M.
He's worked with photographers Karl Lagerfeld, Steven Klein, Steven Meisel & my new best friend Terry Richardson.
Can you believe this hot piece of man is forty eight years old!?!? Dayumn, men are definitely getting better with age these days!
The one disappointing aspect to this love affair, is Tony used to date Madonna back in the day (we're talking the 90's here). I hate Madonna. However, I'm prepared to glance over this indiscretion, this once.
If David Macklovitch is my husband, Tony Ward is definitely my bit on the side.
I have been hankering after a pair of Jeffrey Campbell Litas for a good long time now, I mean, let's face it, what woman worth her fashion salt doesn't own a pair by now!
However, due to saving for my travels, my funding for such love affairs had been lacking. I won't lie, they unfortunately still haven't quite yet recovered.
Regardless, I have been looking into snaring a pair (come hell or high water, I shall own a pair!) & although the black matte leather would be best, in regards to coordinating, I have found THESE babies & I am officially IN LOVE!!!
VERY reminiscent of Christopher Kane's infamous Galaxy Print!
I feel as though they could be an essential addition to my winter wardrobe!
Along with my lover Macklovitch, mrporter.com has also featured my favourite Belgians Soulwax in their Men of Note section.
In the piece David Dewaele gives a rundown of his favourite French tracks.
It's an interesting mix, let's just say that.
On the Soulwax/2manydjs subject, I recently downloaded their RadioSoulax app, which they have put out for FREE! I highly recommend it. It has an exuberant array of one hour long mixes, which I am steadily trying to get through.
I shall also be seeing 2manydjs perform at Shakedown Festival in Brighton on the 17th of September, which I am exceedingly excited about!
The lineup also includes:
Very much looking forward to seeing Kissy again, love him!
Have to admit, didn't even think Razorlight were still going!?
Last year I would have chewed your right arm off to see Example, but I find him quite dull now & what's going on with his hair!? Boy got fugz!
All in all, a seemingly good lineup. Tickets are on sale now. Early Bird £35, VIP £75.
I would naturally have ventured for the VIP ticketos, however, due to funding, I'm gonna be hittin' it with the muggles. Sad times.
Ugh, I am so incredibly besotted by David Macklovitch that, in the most dramatic of ways, I could honestly almost cry! It's rather embarrassingly futile, but I can't help it. I almost died of happiness just the other day, when Chromeo tweeted me a response to my tweet about Ladurée. (By the by, honestly the nicest Tweeters!)
Talking of tweets, I followed a link by Chromeo to my all-time favourite men's shopping website, mrporter.com, where Dave has been added to The Style Council. Well deserved obviously. Reading up on his biography, I was furthermore inspired to love him, when I learned he did a Ph.D. program in French & Romance Philology at Columbia University. He also taught French & French Literature at Columbia, as well as Barnard College. Plus he stated that his favourite vacation spot is Paris, one of his favourite cities. [sigh]
I mean, could he be any more parfait pour moi!? Seriously! This is someone who's tall, dark & handsome & knows his way around Dior (not to mention Yves Saint Laurent). I honestly believe he is my perfect man! I think he'd even appreciate my jazz happy days too.
I drove straight to the shops after work today for one very specific reason. The only problem being, by the time I arrived, I actually forgot that reason & got lured into Topshop instead. Thankfully I managed to control my shopping urges & escaped without a single purchase. Phew.
Thought I would head over to H&M for a wander, when I spotted WHSmith & was sparked into remembering the actual reason I went shopping in the first place: To purchase the September/October issue of Wonderland but of course!
In I walk, excitement abound. Spot Vogue, Elle, American Elle, Glamour...Start panicking. No sign of Wonderland. Excitement slowly dying. Look around in desperation & then, there amongst the men's mags, a shimmer of hope!
Kirsten Dunst. Kirsten Dunst. Kirsten Dunst. Aha! Alexander Skarsgård!
Walked out happy.
It's my day off tomorrow & it shall most definitely be spent in bed, Mr Piggles by my side, obsessively saturating myself with the contents of Wonderland.
My oh my, how did I not know just how HAWT Armand Van Helden was!?
Dayumn! He is fine!
Can you actually believe he's forty one!? Crazy!
I would like to point out that I have always had a real hate campaign for Terry Richardson (don't ask me why, because frankly, it's been so long, I've forgotten), but after these pics, he's kinda grown on me, not gonna lie.
"It has been my philosophy of life that difficulties vanish when faced boldly." Isaac Asimov
I would like to address the individual known only as 'anonymous'; Should you think me such a c**t & my blog so outrageously uninteresting, then why do you insist on spending your precious time reading it & commenting on it?
Perhaps your time would be better spent reading something you actually enjoy, rather than critiquing something you don't.
You know how somethings you once loved become spoiled by certain events or people? Like how I now can't listen to Two Door Cinema Club, because the Super Stalker Ex-Boyfriend gave me the album. Well, my precious memories of seeing A-Trak in Cannes (I will do a post on the rest of La Grande Aventure at some invariable point, I promise) have now been spoiled by the once charming, now seemingly evil, hawt French docteur.
There's Ellie & I, high as kites & barefoot on the sandy beach of Cannes, surrounded by wall to wall HMs (Hot Males) & there before me I spot a rather tanned, well dressed, bespectacled man. Eye contact is made, we share a smile & then Ellie & I disappear.
Later we return to the scene of the crime, this time shouting 'Nath!' in our best Aussie accents (long story on that one) & manage to bump into said hawt, well dressed man. This time he's sitting on the water's edge, so we decide to sit with him & his ami.
Names are exchanged. French is taught. English is attempted. He's twenty six (parfait). Just qualified as a docteur (excellente). Lives near Cannes (pratique). He's also absurdly good looking & claims to be single. It was like all my little French dreams had come true.
We all got up to dance, kisses occurred & then, 'poof', he was gone. Dragged off by his friend to some club on the sea front. Perhaps mainly because Ellie had knocked him back. Or maybe because he's a massive cock blocker. Whichever.
I had his name & number. We texted. I added him on Facebook (always dangerous really). We invited him to come to Montpellier when we were back there in two weeks time. He agreed. Seemed keen. In Perpignan, a few days later, Ellie stated that said docteur was not to come to Montpellier alone. Spare wheel she did not wish to be.
Docteur & I corresponded via FB & text everyday for two whole weeks. There we were in Barcelona, miserable after Ellie's Mini got broken into & docteur texts me his condolences. He cannot attend precious Montpellier gig, as he has no ami to bring.
Alarm bells should have gone off then really. Who doesn't have a friend to bring!? Surely you'd have someone to bring! But no, apparently not. However, docteur was still keen to see me once again & invited us both to his abode in the south.
I was 'this close' to going to his house, literally 'this close', but after a rather unfortunate drunken hate campaign of a night, we instead drove straight to Chabanais.
Upon my return to England, docteur was still in contact. Invited me to come visit him in the south of France, at his home. He starts work in Paris in September & suggested I come visit him there as well.
There was me, off in my dreamy little world of French loving & then, the inevitable happened. I late-night Facebook stalked & I have to say, I am dayumn glad I did. Turns out docteur had a girlfriend the whole frickin' time!!! Since March in fact!
What is up with these men!? Even the seemingly hawt genuine, very keen ones are actually major a-holes!
I considered becoming a lesbian. But, to be honest with you, my trust is gone. Even woman are deceitful. Therfore I think I shall just be celibate. [sobs]
So to summerise, whenever I think of Cannes, I no longer think of Diddy, I now only recall meeting a lying cheating annoyingly good-looking hawt French docteur. This is also the case for A-Trak, who, as you know, I love, but who's image & mixes will now only bring up bad memories.
It's getting cold, this means only one thing, well, alright, a few things really. It means rain on my day off. Which in turn means playing a lot of Jazz, pulling on the cashmere bed-socks, returning to wearing my leopard print coat whenever I dare to venture outside & a lot of snuggles in bed with glossy magazines.
It also means watching series four of True Blood online & drooling over Alexander Skarsgård. [sigh] Eric would definitely be my ideal vampire lover. Bill can shove it, he's such a massive douchebag! Honestly, why did Sookie choose him over Eric for THREE series!? Pffft.
I am very happy to see that Alexander will be gracing the cover of Wonderland's eagerly awaited return, which is due out on Thursday. My favourite read, combined with my favourite man shape. C'est parfait!
I think I quite like winter after all...(Yes, I am aware it's still August. Not that the English weather would let you believe it's still summer.)
"Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start & you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt, use it - don't cheat with it." - Ernest Hemingway.
I've come to the conclusion that life by the coast is not for me. I've never been particularly drawn to the seaside. I very rarely go in the sea, even when I'm abroad it's a hard push to get me in the water. I have a phobia you see, of well, everything really. The mere thought of a fish & I hyperventilate. If a whisper of seaweed touches my leg I run for the nearest grain of dry sand.
No, sea air in my lungs is not an essential requirement. I much prefer the smell of agriculture in the air. I prefer to look out of my bedroom window, or any window for that matter, & see field upon field of grass & crops & cows munching. The familiar smell of dung. What can I say, I'm a country bumpkin at heart.
I miss my three mile daily walks around the lanes, dragging a wheezing Mr Piggles behind me. Dressing up in my mac & Hunters, forcing Mr Piggles to avoid horse excrement & rather piscine sized puddles as we trundle along. I miss listening to my musik on the way round & having that time to escape the dreariness of general life. [sigh]
Here on the coast there are no country walks. Here there are sea walks. Nothing is private, nothing is sacred. If I take Mr Piggles for a walk around these parts, my main concerns are trying to avoid him seeing (& subsequently eating) people's leftover KFC on the streets & fights with other dogs (he has a complex, I believe it's called small dog syndrome).
Nothing is the same here. Nothing is quiet or beautiful. On a hot day down by the harbour, you could accept that it is not always so devoid of charm. However, since my return from France, warm weather has been rather lacking in the South East & my trips to the harbour have been null & void.
I recently returned to my homeland & it feels so natural being there, that it is almost crushing to have to drive the hour back towards the coast. Although, so much has seemingly changed there & the majority of my friends are now working in London & aiming on moving there too.
I suppose in essence all this country loving seems rather fruitless, when I too, in my heart of hearts, wish to venture into the capital. Although I feel the city will be somewhat more brutal than the coast, in way of skylines & space to breath.
What a pickle one seems to get oneself into. Twenty four years down the line & I still have not entirely worked out what I want. Perhaps with too many options in life, it's hard to actually commit yourself to just one thing, without the greed factor whispering 'why not have it all...'
Before I left for traveling, my friend Jason decided to pass this track my way. I liked it instantly, which is a rarity for me. I didn't get a chance to put it on my iPhone before I left & then stupidly left my iPod at home, so I couldn't listen to it. Then one day, whilst doing some illicit shopping in the H&M in Toulouse, it came on in the dressing rooms. It was a good moment.
I've come to the conclusion that living on the south coast of England, is not the same as living on the south coast of France. England is in fact merde. Sadly, during the last week or two of the tour, I started to forget this fact & became homesick.
What was I thinking!? I've been back all of three days now & the novelty has well & truly worn off. I am also convinced that my tan has faded, although, I was questioning this whilst still in France, so I could be getting paranoid.
Let's continue our La Grande Aventure recap, so that I may continue to be full of longing & sadness at the fact that I'm not there anymore...
After melting away in Paris, Ellie & I drove the (I believe it was about) four hours over to Dijon. The weather there was a bit grey on the first day, which was part relief & part disappointment. Ellie had somehow managed to injure her foot (the words broken & metatarsal were thrown around somewhat) walking in Paris, which meant that the blissful country walks we had in mind, were thrown out of the window. We decided instead to spend our first day in Dijon recuperating with lots & lots of sleep, after being told by the hotel's reception that the piscine was closed.
Thankfully by the next day, the sun had reappeared & the piscine was open! We arose relatively early & headed straight for a swim. This was our first bit of proper bikini-clad sunbathing...I immediately got burnt! All across my back & forehead. Great, naaat. Ellie & I nearly had our first fallout when I attempted to save a wasp drowning in the water & she nudged me out of the way & begun a hideous inflatable ball attack on it, trying to brutally murder said wasp...I may have randomly burst into uncontrollable tears. Très bizarre! We did however remain friends afterwards...
After copious amounts of sun worshiping & having made new English friends by the piscine side, we decided to head into town & actually see some of Dijon. It is actually very beautiful, very French & very much in the countryside. People had planted vineyards in any spare bit of land they could find. I even saw a teeny tiny one.
So here we are in this beautiful region of France & what do we decide to consume for dîner? Oh yeah, Pizza & pasta. Yep, we went for an Italian. Classic. Oh & did we sample the vin of the region...Of course not silly, we drank Coca instead. Pffft, what do you people take us for, cultured!? Nope not us I'm afraid. We're far too young & incompetent.
I really liked Dijon. I felt like we didn't see anywhere near enough of it though. I feel a revisit is in order & next time there shall be countryside walks! I may even eat the local cuisine & try the vin!
Five weeks after I departed I am finally back, along with an extra five lbs, half a new wardrobe & a few extra digits to add to my growing credit card debt. My once Costa Rican tan feels as though it has faded, which makes me exceptionally downhearted. I think the last week spent in the cooler western region of France, along with the distinct lack of cocoa butter application is what did it. Although, for the very little sunbathing Ellie & I actually did, I think we managed a pretty decent bit of tannage.
We arrived back last night, after blowing off Paris (lack of funds you understand)& it felt like we only left last week. [sigh] Looking back through the photos this morning (over a thousand, so I didn't do too bad), I was reminded of the times we had in Paris, over a month ago! I may have become a little weepy. By the time we were in La Loire, I was starting to feel homesick, now I'm back, I'm starting to feel Frenchsick.
So much has occurred in the past month that I honestly don't know where to begin! I guess the best place would be where it all started...Paris.
I had ideas in my head of how our time in Paris would be spent. Unfortunately, I did not anticipate the forty degree weather & my inability to acclimatise. Here's me thinking it would be fashion shoot central, snapping away at the pair of us looking très chic, smoking our YSLs, reading French Vogue & sipping coffee...The reality was us sweating one out, looking très fugs & me wincing at my first sips of espresso.
I told Ellie that finding Ladurée for our first taste of macarons was absolutely essential, so she brought up a map on her phone of where they were & we went off in search. We chose one that was near to where our hotel was, thinking this would essentially make our lives easier...A good forty minutes were spent trailing up & down the street looking for Ladurée & those infamous macarons. We asked a few people, who all seemingly had never heard of the place. Then, we finally asked someone who knew what the fuck we were going on about & he pointed us in the direction. Off we went. Got lost some more. Then, FINALLY, we found Ladurée. Which was pretty lucky, because I was on the verge of giving up.
Sadly it wasn't one of their actual tea rooms, it turned out to be their concession in Galerie Lafayette. I no longer cared. At that point I just wanted a bloody macaron! We bought six (three flavours each) & left to go swimming.
We met this really nice French guy Thomas, whilst cooling ourselves by a water feature one day. He told us about a swimming pool, situated on a boat in the Siene, we could go to for a swim. Considering the weather, we thought this was probably the best idea we'd heard all day. So off we go after our trek to Ladurée, swimwear all bagged up & there before us is the precious boat & there infront of the boat is a great big queue.
I think everyone else probably had the same idea as us. It was like a one in one out job. We waited in the sweltering heat for a good half hour until we began to lose our patience, with sweat trickling down our faces. We completely gave up on the idea though, when we saw that you had to wear a swimming hat. That was breaking point. I haven't worn a swimming hat since I was at least ten years old!
We left the burgeoning queue & went to sit down nearby & eat our macarons. Unfortunately, the holy macarons had begun to melt somewhat in the heat. I tried my first one, framboise. Not entirely what I was expecting. My other choices were not the best; pistachio & rose (what was I thinking!?). Ellie chose much better flavours. Our favourite being the salted caramel. Bar that one flavour, I would not eat macarons again.
Out of my Paris list of things to see/buy/do, I think Ladurée was probably the only one I actually managed to do. Which is somewhat depressing, considering I didn't even like the bloody macarons! I did not take up drinking coffee. I never found YSL cigarettes. We never partied down at the Social Club, or went for a drink at Le Baron. I didn't even buy French Vogue! Although I did eventually purchase a copy in La Loire (thank God!).
Regardless, I still had a good time in Paris, even if it was a sweaty one. I may revoke my ambition of living there though...Unless I can have mobile aircon at all times!