I thought I'd post up a few pictures from this brilliant book that a friend lent to me. It's called Flea Market Style by Emily Chalmers and is definitely worth purchasing if you like things a little shabby. I particularly love some of the pictures in the section on children's rooms, but actually the whole book is full of beautiful pictures and inspiring ideas.
I love this girl's bedroom - they've created a patchwork wall covering behind the bedhead using off-cuts and scraps from different wallpapers. I think it looks fantastic and I love the idea of getting so many different patterns on to the walls - I remember the fabrics and prints from my own childhood vividly and so love to think that the child who sleeps in this bedroom might see a pattern or print in years to come that will instantly fill her with nostalgia and memories of her own lovely bedroom. Much as I love it though, it's not something I'd do in my own house as I like things a bit neater-looking than that (I hate this aspect of myself, but I've realised it may be an insurmountable trait, so have given up trying to change!)...
However, this picture on the right gives inspiration for something that feels like a smaller, more contained proposition. Each little cubbyhole has been backed with different paper and is the perfect way of displaying all the bits and pieces that children accumulate. I'd love to do this if I can find something suitable to do it to!
Anyway, onto the embarrassing story - this actually happened years ago, but I was reminded of it while reading Anna Maria Horner's blog this morning (which tells of her own embarrassing encounter with one of the band members from Counting Crows - do go and read it if you haven't already!) and so thought I'd share it with you!
This happened about 7 or 8 years ago when I lived and worked in London - I was walking down Floral Street in Covent Garden (which is a lovely cobbled road, that doesn't tend to get too much traffic down it) on a very hot summer day and in the distance I could see a man walking towards me in the middle of the road...even from a distance I couldn't help but notice that he was rather HOT! (Yes, the sort that requires caps lock!). Something about his confident walk, the half-open linen shirt, and the floppy hair...but the nearer he got the more familiar he seemed. I was frantically trying to place who he might be and failing, but it seemed rude not to acknowledge him when I was sure that I knew him from somewhere, so I pulled at the straw that I thought to be most likely and said: 'hello, aren't you a friend of my dad?' (they seemed a vaguely similar age and my father does occasionally seem to associate with men who have aged quite respectably, so it wasn't a completely unlikely suggestion). Anyway, he stopped walking and smirked slightly and said: 'who's your dad then?', and just as I was about to fill him in on my father's name, I stopped and realised that my mouth was gaping...I knew exactly who he was...and I somehow managed to slur the words: 'oh...you're Paul Weller, aren't you?'...he nodded, gave me a huge smile and walked away laughing, while I stood completely frozen to the spot, still with open mouth and feeling like I was about to die with both happiness and embarrassment (and I had never even thought he was good looking until seeing him in the flesh!).
Enjoy the weekend! x