A Life Less Ordinary

Lyndylooloopops

 

To Lyndylooloopops on the 33^rd anniversary of becoming a mum…

You…

• Gave up more than I will ever know, including your career as a textile designer, to raise and give us both the best start in life possible.
• Spent hours teaching me how to read, by patiently recreating sentences using home-made ‘flash cards’ from cornflake boxes.
• Promised yourself when I was born that you would always tell me I was beautiful and would never criticise me. This has given me unparalleled self-confidence and only hope I can instil the same confidence in my own children.
• Inspired and encouraged my interest to pursue a career in fashion from an early age. And because of you, I knew exactly what I always wanted to do from the age of eight. Not many people can say that.
• Know me better than anyone else and continue to teach me important life lessons. The most recent being that ‘people are more important than things’.
• Bought me my first Prada bag when I was 18. And have even more shoes than me (an impressive collection).
• Should be welcomed by Fidel Castro every time you go to Cuba, considering you’re probably their most frequent visitor and investor in local tourism.
• Are still my first phone call when I have any news. And my first text when I land in a foreign country.
• Have already insisted that your grandchildren must never, ever, refer to you as ‘Granny’. Even though the mere hint of any grandchildren is a long way off.
• Always stood by me, giving me the confidence to believe in myself and rise above the bullies who made secondary school a miserable place to be.
• Had to he held back by dad from dropping everything and rushing to our side when we had our car crash in Arizona. Instead you arranged for us to convalesce at Lucy’s in Miami (safe in the knowledge we were at least with family).
• Taught me how to be frugal and economical when it came to day to day purchases, and instead save the cash for the things that are important in life; nice houses, holidays, shoes and handbags.
• Have extraordinary organisational skills and love to host amazing parties. Be it catering for a summer garden party for 50 or one of your many festive lunches in the run up to Christmas. Huntingdon Road parties are known to be legendary due to the effort you and Dad put in (especially when you get a noise pollution complaint from the council).
• Have a wonderful collection of original Biba that you saved up for as a teenager and are slowly donating to my own mini collection.
• Never minded that your home became the weekend ‘drop in centre’ for noisy teenage sleepovers and late night post-clubbing munchies all the way through the 90’s.
• Taught me from an early age that being different was a good thing. This was a tough lesson; no one wants to stand out when you’re a young teenager, but thanks to you, I’d sooner stand out in the crowd than blend in.
• Know more about fashion and the latest trends than I do, even though my career means I’m immersed in the industry and always working 12 months ahead.
• Always make sure we have an amazing Christmas, ensuring the fridge is fully stocked, the champagne is flowing and the beds made for the constantly changing guests, waifs and strays you welcome into your home every year.
• Selflessly put your life, including your job, on hold for nearly a year to move in with and look after Granny when she had cancer. That time you spent with her meant more to her than we will ever know.
• Are a caring, generous and deeply loyal friend. This sometimes means you get hurt, but you have always taught me it is better to be generous with your time and love than to be selfish.
• Are beautiful, very intelligent, have a wicked sense of humour and an adventurous spirit that I like to think I’ve inherited.
• Maybe don’t know this, but all my friends think you’re the coolest mum (and I do too).
• Are someone I would have loved to have met before you were my mother.

You are an inspiration to what I can only hope to be one day.

All my love, AD xx

 

 

 

Dear Daddy...

  

 

You…

• Were a bit of a rebel in your youth and got expelled from school, yet still went on to become a very successful businessman (and dad…)
• Took over the family business the year I was born and since built it up into a mini empire that you should always look back on and be incredibly proud of.
• Have always worked so very hard to ensure we had the best life, in turn installing a strong work ethic in both of us (I don’t care if you worry you worked too hard when I was little; it made the time we spent with you even more special).
• Never really got angry with us, even when Ed spilt a cup of coffee over the VCR and flooded the house by bringing the garden hose into the living room.
• Were always so very patient when I was learning how to read, write and do maths, even when you were tired after a long day at work.
• Always organised imaginative and wonderful games at our birthday parties that had us squealing with delight, and me having a tantrum at some point because I didn’t win all of the prizes.
• (Appeared to have) a relaxed attitude to me going out with my friends aged 15, you imposed a curfew and instead taught me that it was about having a two-way trust. I never abused that and only hope I can be as fair on my own teenage daughter.
• Were apparently very nervous when I went out on my first date, but never let on, meaning I felt independent and not smothered. And home by 11pm!
• Taught me to drive on an old airfield when I was 16, even though you held onto the handbrake all the time.
• Were very disappointed with me when I had a mini-car crash aged 17. And since then I have only ever wanted to make you proud of me.
• Had tears in your eyes as you waved me off at Heathrow on my gap year and wrote me an email every single day, with a different song title in the subject each time. Being 8,000 miles away from home, especially when Grandma died, meant more to me than you know.
• Know more about music than even Stu does. And still love to go to gigs and discover new bands (PS: bagsie the Wurlitzer!!)
• Have more energy than anyone I know of even my age, still row with the same crew you did aged 16 and still hold the best parties.
• Gave me the twinkle in my ‘eye’ for art and design and inspired my love for Pop Art.
• Always inspire me to stand back, reflect and look at things from other people’s point of view, as well as ‘not eat an elephant whole’.
• Taught me it is always better to leave a party (and anything in life) before the end. Something I always try to do.
• Always offer calming, well thought-out and considered advice when I’m worried or stressed.
• Say its better to travel hopefully, than to arrive.
• Gave me your eyes, strong jaw and high cheekbones, but thankfully not your hair…

Happy father’s day, Daddy-O; you rock.

All my love, AD xx

 

 

 

A Tractor For All Generations

 

Last Saturday my oldest friend C took advantage of a holiday vacated home and held a final hurrah at the house she grew up in; Farmfield. Her father, the legendary Bobby G, sadly passed away last summer and her mother, the glamorous Parisian Françoise, has accepted that Farmfield is too large for just her to be rattling around in and is shortly moving to a smaller home on the other side of Cambridge.

Farmfield is a stunning Georgian family home, with a beautifully landscaped garden, a koi carp pond and fields of barley to look out onto. It was Bobby G’s castle, his manor, his life and work, and, aside from the girls, his pride and joy.

The selling of Farmfield is not only the end of an era, but a poignant moment; Bobby G and Francoise were life long dear friends of my parents and I split my time growing up with C and her little sister N, between both our houses which were only a few hundred meters down the road from each other.

The most fun was had on the dirt track at the back of the house across the barley fields, where we would spend hours recreating Hollywood blockbusters with Bobby G’s camcorder. I’ll never forgive N for recording over ‘TopBike’ and ‘GirtonVille Horror’, if only to have been able to embarrass C and show them at her wedding.

C was obsessed with Jaws, and other shockingly bad 1980’s horror movies such as Amityville Horror. Before we discovered boys, insecurities, calories and cellulite, we would hole up in the den most weekends, scaring ourselves silly watching terrible special effects, indulging in pizza, homemade waffles and tubs of Häagen-Dazs.

As we grew older, the irony of C’s catholic school upbringing was never lost on me and to this day we will never know if Bobby G suspected, or even knew of, her scaling the ivy at the back of the house late at night, to meet Alex Baggaley and co. at the bottom of the garden for midnight walks… and the rest…. Or the party that ended up in a squirty cream fight and frantic industrial cleaning the next day before C’s parents returned from France. I like to think he was secretly proud of her adventurous spirit, thinking she was a chip off the old block, even if he would never admit it himself.

In more recent years, festive drinks at Farmfield always guaranteed a headache on Christmas Day morning, with the perfect hosts; Françoise bustling around the kitchen magicing up incredible canapés and Bobby G making sure everyone had a bottomless glass of champagne. Bobby G loved his music and early on in the evening, everyone would be dancing in the living room to anything from The Killers to The Kinks on his iTunes, way before digital music was accepted by anyone of his generation.

Sitting around my parent’s kitchen table the night after last week’s party, nursing a sore head of my own, we were swapping stories of Farmfield, my parents tickled at the thought of us now enjoying the same experiences they had a whole generation earlier; drunk adults dancing in their stilettos around the living room and ignoring the kids peeking through the banisters. Which lead to my dad confessing one particularly memorable evening the night before we were due to go on a family holiday to Cornwall. The red wine was flowing in excess at Farmfield and the next morning, after no doubt staggering back down the Huntingdon Road at some ungodly hour to release the babysitter, my poor mum ended up having to drive the six hours to Cornwall, with a very hung-over dad (who, by my calculations, couldn’t have been much older than I am now) and two kids in the back.

But what I most enjoyed about The Last Party, was watching C’s two children; E (7) and O (4), whom Bobby G doted over, enjoying the same run of the garden as we had all those years ago when C’s husband M reversed the small garden tractor out of the garage and the kids squealed with delight piling in the back of the trailer and being driven around the garden. At a top speed of say, 2mph.

C has promised to dig out the exact same photo of her 7^th birthday with the four of us piled in the back; the biggest grins on our faces and our whole lives ahead of us. I can’t wait to see it again and relive those happy times.

Bobby G; a legend in your own time. You gave us these memories, this one’s for you.

Living on top of London

Last weekend was a strange, and a little unsettling, weekend. I am still undecided as to why it was quite so unsettling, maybe because I have spent the weekend with various friends; all at very different life stages to myself and it made me think a lot about where I am in my life.

I have realised I am guilty of being too reflective and spending far too much time looking around at everyone else, evaluating their life, comparing it to my own and wondering why our lives are so different, rather than considering what is right for me to be doing at this moment in time. Although that on it’s own is easier said than done.

Friday night I met up with a dear friend who is now happily married to a wonderful guy and living in suburbia. Her life is a stark change to only a few years back when we cruised the bars of SW11, dancing on tables and stumbling home with a bag of chips in one hand and our high heels in the other, then spending the morning comatose on the sofa, watching Hollyoaks, sipping Lucozade and munching toast. Our most recent meeting was unfortunately a quick one, due to her long commute, and consisted of a few glasses of wine whilst we dissected various aspects of my love life, then laughed hysterically at stories of ovulation tests, demands put on husbands during attempts to get pregnant and the various sexual positions one has to get oneself into, to aid fertilisation post-coital activity.

Saturday I met another wonderful friend for coffee, which turned into a very long brunch, followed by more coffee. This time we dissected her love life. Selfishly, I admit this friend is my constant; the one I can rely on, the one I consider myself to be most similar to, and someone who really does understand me. She ‘gets’ the momentary freak-out’s, the feeling of the ticking of the clock, the questions I ask myself in the dead of night, yet at the same time we share the same pickiness and have both confessed that we actually quite like our beautiful flats, perfectly done the way WE want them and have admitted that having someone else around would only get in the way. And, besides, there is no way we’d give up half the wardrobe space.

Saturday evening and I was invited to my first house party in years, by my new friends. I love making new friends, especially in London where it is so hard to meet interesting people. As yet, we’re not used to seeing each other in ‘proper’ clothing or makeup; we meet most mornings to throw ourselves around Clapham Common at 6am, in what has affectionately been coined ‘bootycamp’. I was clearly out of practise in the ways of the house party; turning up in ridiculously high heels, leather miniskirt, silk tank top (white – big mistake) and a bottle of champagne. Safe to say I’m a little more used to bars these days, although it was still fun to queue for the loo in the corridor, chatting to 27 year old boys, who thought I was 25 (joy!), trying to impress me with their junior positions in advertising agencies, not realising what I did for a living, then being stunned to silence when I confessed my career of choice, and age.

I have to admit, I did a bit of snooping around upstairs, and with fond memories, realised something I had long forgotten since owning my own house. When you flat share you have little choice but to squeeze all, or most, of your worldly goods into your own bedroom, whilst shared areas are vacant of any personality and are simply, common grounds. It reminded me of my fresher’s year at university; six girls sharing a fat, each bedroom totally unique in interior design. Whilst sadly, the living room, where we spent most of our time, was totally void of any character or flavour.

Sunday lunchtime, a good friend said goodbye to her flatmate of two years as she loses her to a boyfriend. Long gone are the lazy Sunday afternoons where all three of us didn’t manage to leave the comfort of her sofa, unless to venture to M&S (45 seconds walk away) in our PJs (yes, it has been done), to buy more supplies of Percy Pigs. When I asked if she was going to miss her flatmate, she said she was sad, but being the landlady, she was also looking forward to ‘getting the place back to mine, getting rid of all the crap and surveying what I have’. I think safe to say, my above observation re common ground, didn’t necessarily resonate in this particular flat share.

Sunday evening I was invited for a roast at my oldest friend’s temporary dwelling in SW12. He is living a transient life right now due to various projects on the go, so to economise as much as possible, he has opted for a shared house in Tooting with five others. Whereas I admit to being a little jealous of the fact he’s doing something about that pesky wanderlust a lot of us seem to harbour, what I don’t envy are the foibles that come with so many people in one shared house; never knowing who is stealing your butter or arguing over who needs to buy the loo roll. I’m a little too old for that.

All of this got me thinking about my own flatmate. Whereas his lack of ability to understand how a dishwasher should be loaded, the constant pile of shoes next to the front door, the clothes, keys, wallet, pens, Oyster card and laptop, that are dumped somewhere in the living room and the kitchen the minute he steps through the front door, and the endless glasses of water I always find under his bed always amazes me. I realise on the flip side, having a flatmate who is also my younger brother is great; there is no bickering about who buys the butter or loo roll (I do), we have the same outlook and morals, I can borrow his food, he makes me dinner when I’m dog tired, we know when to leave each other alone, but best of all, I can boss him around. Or call Mum if he doesn’t do what he is told… ;-)

 

 

Lessons to be learnt

Notes to a 10 year old me

• You don’t have to finish everything on your plate; despite what Mum tells you. This is a lesson easier to learn sooner rather than later.
• Don’t eat too many sweets. Seriously. You’ll end up with a big bum for the rest of your life.
• You might want to start being good at sports at school – this goes back to the 'not eating too many sweets' lesson.
  
• It’s always better to be different, no matter how hard it is at school. Be proud of your Mum, she really is amazing and anyway, the other girls are only jealous their mothers aren’t as cool.
  
• Don’t take any notice of the nasty girls at school, I promise you they will all be pushing prams by the time they’re 18; whereas you have a life of adventure and excitement ahead of you.
  
• Spend more time with Grandpa Max; he won’t be around for much longer and you’ll miss him more than you realise when you’re older.
  
• Don’t be so mean to Ed. He is the best brother in the world.

Notes to a 16 year old me

• Listen to Mum and Dad; they’re pretty smart and will be an incredible constant source of inspiration and support through your life.
  
• Don’t cut your hair short; despite everyone saying it’ll look thicker, it doesn’t suit you. Oh and go blonde earlier. That does suit you.
  
• Wear mini-skirts for as long as you have the legs - whatever age you are.
  
• Don’t drive Ed’s go-kart after drinking three glasses of champagne this summer. You will go through the garden fence and end up in A&E for three days with a piece of wood lodged into your skull.
  
• That guy you’re going to meet next year isn’t ‘the one’. So please don't waste seven years trying to figure it out.
  
• Always use sun screen, don’t wear too much makeup and don’t over-pluck your eyebrows.
  
• Go travelling when you finish university, don’t wait two years or let your boyfriend hold you back. You’ll have more fun when you’re younger. Having said that, if you do go travelling when you’re 24, you will have an incredible experience and will come back a more confident and stronger person. Just make sure you say a proper goodbye to Grandma before you leave; you won’t see her again.
  
• Make sure you always stay in touch with Christine; she will be the most constant and honest friend throughout your life. You will be her bridesmaid, godmother to her son and she knows you better than anyone.
  

Notes to a 21 year old me

• Your twenties will be a hot-bed of insecurity, worry and pressure; but don't worry, everyone else is going through the same issues.
  
• Your thirties will be more relaxed and fun, but be warned everything really does start to sag and wrinkle.
  
• The good news is that you’ll be a marketing manager for an international fashion brand before you are 28; travelling the world and meeting fascinating people. The ‘bad news’ is you won’t be married, a mother or even be engaged by the time you’re 30, but neither will most people around you. You’ll be having too much fun to worry about that anyway.
  
• Don’t rush to find a boyfriend. But when you do meet someone, make sure you’re with him for the right reasons and remember to listen to your initial doubts; they will eventually become the reasons for breaking up.
  
• Don’t be in such a rush to get to Arizona from Las Vegas on the day after your 25^th birthday. You will be involved in a serious car crash on Route 101 and nearly die. Oh and don’t get Ed to call mum to break the news, call her yourself.
  
• When you meet Luke Perry at the Superbowl party, be cool. Don’t gush about how much you have fancied him since you were 11. This is not cool.
  
• Brush up on celebrities before you work at Selfridges; in particular Dustin Hoffman. You don’t want to refuse him entry to a party just because you don’t recognise him. Again, this is not cool.
  
• Make the big step and buy that house in London. As scary as it may seem at the time, it will be the best investment of your life to date. It will open up your life to new social circles and you will have the best few years of your life living there. 
  

Notes to a 30 year old me 

• It’s better to be over dressed than under dressed.
  
• Don’t try to please all the time. But always stay true to what you believe in.
  
• When it comes to friendship, always go for quality rather than quantity.
• Don’t expect too much from your friends, some will hurt you and let you down. But those who don’t are true friends.
  
• Always try to understand what makes people behave a certain way.
  
• Believe in yourself, you are stronger than you realise.
  
• Always know when it's time to move on and listen to what Dad says; "it's best to leave a party early, rather than hang around to the bitter end."
• And finally, stop worrying; it’ll all work out in the end.
  

 

 

 

Ed's Two Desserts at The Wolseley

A magic time!

Champagne at Claridges