REISS'S RUFFLES...

I've always thought of Reiss as being a bit too office-y for me. But the other day, on the never ending search for the perfect striped navy t-shirt (not too loose, not too tight, very thin jersey, thinnish stripes, very slight scoop neck) I popped in and found myself cooing over all the lovely ruffly goodness within. It seems, while I was writing Reiss off as a bit safe, it went and upped its game. Fierce shapes, completely fierce shoes (the ones I really liked aren't on the website) and a colour palette of turquoise, coral and lemon yellow (again, nothing on the website in yellow took my fancy) chiffon mixed with basics like paper bag trousers in a sheeny stone coloured linen that looked really "fresh" together - as they say in magazine speak. I really like how the skirts have a structure and quite thoughtfully designed ruffles instead of what everyone has been calling ruffly or flippy skirts; but are in fact the exact same ra-ra skirts I had in 1986. It all made me think of Carrie Bradshaw, of having fun with clothes again like girls started to back in the Sex and the City heyday. I wouldn't be surprised if I saw plenty of Reiss action at the cinema (squeeeee!) next Wednesday night (because you can't go and see the film improperly dressed without decent heels and a clutch bag can you?)

COMING AND GOING...

Going to bed too late and waking up too early. Too tired to sleep. Yesterday morning walking in hot sun on the beach in Dorset, looking out to sea; the promise of a perfect day. But I had to go to the dentist so I hacked it back up the motorway to London in four hours (the petrol cost more than my flight to Italy) listening to this. I was five minutes late for the dentist - shoving my way past dawdling Sloanes - shells collected on the beach that morning still in my pocket. The dentist showed his contempt for my lateness and let my teeth pay for it. Ow. A posh cyclist shouted at me for crossing the road and by reflex I told him to fuck off. The Friday before a bank holiday, the city buzzing with pent up aggression waiting to be released pint by pint. Wandering around like a zombie, wanting to sit down but not wanting to sit down anywhere there. At home, still not unpacked from Italy, washing waiting to be done, a to-do list too long to write, cats to be reassured I'm not leaving again. Siiiggggghhhhhhh...

p.s. I know some of you had bookmarked some of my Gridskipper posts (and those of its many other talented and good looking contributors around the world.) But now that Gridskipper has been turned into a travel guide about The Hamptons by its new owners, those bookmarks will probably get you an error message or a blank page. I meant to say save the posts to your computers/scribble the info on a piece of paper earlier but I didn't quite know how to phrase it; hence my previous cryptic post (rainbow's end / rainbows end. It all hinged on the apostrophe you see.) If you've lost Gridskipper posts of mine that you were hoping to use as a guide when visiting London, feel free to email me and I'll send you the info. Also feel free to email me if you happen to be in charge of hiring writers for a gig as cool as Gskip was. (Unlikely but worth a try.)

FEW OF MANY...

I took so many photos in Italy. I'll slowly be adding more to my flickr here. I wish I had been able to record the smells too. In the garden of the Villa Bardini up above Florence (Costa San Giorgio 2 - near Forte Belvedere) it was a mixture of lemon, roses, herbs, wisteria and all the plants combined. I wish I could have bottled that scent. I suppose that's why it's called Florence, duh.

EEK...JUST A QUICKIE...

I know, I know, I said I'd post loads from Italy but the time went so quickly I didn't get much of a chance. Now I'm home with loads of pictures on my memory card and lots of things to tell you but my internet connection at home is buggered. I'll be back once I get that sorted and have tidied up a bit (Lola also thoughtfully re-upholstered our entire flat with her fur while I was away. It was sweet of her but could cause problems for our asthmatic friends.)

Talking of maison Lola, there's a house tour of my flat over on Apartment Therapy. I was not at all convinced it was house tour worthy - and it feels a little like I'm inviting everyone round to examine my underwear drawer. Luckily for you I didn't take a photo of that, but the rest are here.

*p.s. Even more photos than anyone could possibly care about seeing of my flat here.

VINTAGE SHOPPING IN FLORENCE...

I wanted to check out some vintage stores here because when I lived here over a decade ago the concept really didn't exist. Okay, there were a couple of places you could buy pre-worn stone washed Levi's for the same price as new ones - and you could go to the Cascine market and buy a bag of old ladies' polyester housecoats for about a pound but that was about it.

A while ago I started to hear that there was great vintage shopping to be found in Florence. Even that English vintage shop owners were coming here to buy up mint condition stock and sell it at a huge mark up back in London. So of course I had to investigate. It's true that there are a lot of vintage shops here now and that the condition of the clothes is incredible. But as for buying cheap and laughing all the way back to London? I think not.

My first stop was Elio Ferraro - invariably described as "expensive, but the best" and I'd have to agree with that description.Touted as more of a one of a kind gallery, they had delicate chiffon dresses from the 1930s that looked like they'd never been worn, clutch bags with lucite handles, the linings of which were as perfect as the outside. There was a big pile of vintage Gucci luggage that I didn't dare to go near, having already clocked the prices of everything else. Think an average of 300 euros for a shirt - not exactly the place to strike a bargain; but a beautiful shop with friendly staff who obviously love their vintage calling.

I went on to Pitti Vintage, in a little street called Sdrucciolo dei Pitti - Sdrucciolo apparently means slippery slope and I could see how that could work if you spent too long browsing in the shop.I really liked this one. They had a few of the requisite labels: Hermes, Valentino etc; but it was really the unlabelled pieces that were a great representation of their eras in terms of cut, fabric and colour that did it for me. Oh, and the cute dog...There was also a large men's section which is quite rare. Still, I balked at the prices. I think also I'm used to thinking of Italy as being really cheap and since the euro was introduced it's really not. It seems to have been a case of doubling the prices and adding a bit more for good luck when they had the changeover from lire.

Near to Pitti Vintage at via dei Serragli 26/r is Ceri Vintage, which was much cheaper but not notable for much except bolts of vintage fabric for 10 euros a meter and some buttons and trimmings.They also had a dog but I didn't take a picture of it. It seemed pretty popular though (the shop, not the dog) so maybe I wasn't in enough of a rummaging mood, but the clothes I saw looked more "old" than "vintage".

More to come, much more. I ran my camera battery out yesterday - mostly taking photos of old Fiat 500s and those little tuc tuc trucks. It's lovely to be here and strange too, but also in a good way. I am a different person to who I was when I lived here; no doubt about that. You just don't get to notice that very often. Last night: fireworks over the river outside the Palazzo Corsini felt like they were for us. Florence is still magical. I'm so happy to be here and catch up with friends. But I must say ciao for now (harhar) and get out and about again. Venice tomorrow.

CI VEDIAMO IN ITALIA...

(That is me, but alas, it wasn't my Fiat Cinquecento. Maybe I could fit one in my suitcase?)

This is one of those new fangled scheduled posts, so right about now I should be eating an overpriced sandwich on an orange plane. But all I can think about is being able to sit at a restaurant terrace, eating a plate of thinly sliced tomatoes with a few leaves of basil scattered on and a bit of olive oil.

p.s. I'm going to try and post as much as possible while I'm in Italy...

ABOUT THE BEACH I'M NOT GOING TO...

I've had a spray tan. It's not like me to do such a thing but I'm going to Italy tomorrow. When I heard that for some of the time we would be at the seaside I panicked and booked the tan. If I was going to be the only out of shape, slightly flabby, not wearing a matching Roberto Cavalli bikini, chiffon kaftan and bejewelled gold high heeled mules English person on the beach then I at least wasn't going to add pale to the list of misdemeanors. Going to the seaside in England is a cinch. No one gives a shit what you look like, everyone displays their beer bellies without a care in the world and after drinking too much booze with lunch you fall asleep in the sun - turning your pallid skin the colour of lobsters before the day is out. The beach I'm talking about in Italy is where people arrive in Lamborghinis and there's an Armani shop right by the beach, where in England there'd be a chip shop or somewhere selling fake Crocs and fishing nets. I haven't been to Forte dei Marmi for about ten years, so the last time I went was before the influx of Russian oligarchs.

If before it was like something out of a Fellini film, now it seems it's like something out of a Fellini re-make with costumes by Cavalli. Anyway, the last time I went to my friend's house there it was Easter weekend. It was wonderfully hot but when we got to the beach there were people, I swear to god, wearing fur coats and enormous sunglasses, or full on black Prada or Gucci suits with high heels (this was the nineties!) sitting in deckchairs sunning themselves. To say I stuck out like a sore thumb with my shorts and sunburn would be something of an understatement.

It is really beautiful there though. The beach is huge and you have the mountains behind you - even the beach huts and parasols are chic. With the tan as a disguise I'd really got into the idea of going. I don't think we're going there now though, so my standing naked for half an hour in front of the woman who spray tans Kate Moss, striking a variety of ridiculous poses and finding my body image issues pulled into sharp focus was perhaps slightly unnecessary.