Totes and Air Force Blue
Write without a view, it’s a distraction.
Now thanks to events beyond my control I am presently, temporarily, sat at a desk with a view, staring, dawdling out on a different garden, at leaves, as those still left after this summer’s heat slowly dance and twist down towards digging rabbits.
The sky, at first grey is now back to that high contrast film stock Montanan blue of the past 4 months. But a nip, sweet and slight chill in the air, time is advancing, Autumn a’comin, look busy.
Look sharp.
I am Welsh, celtic outer and core, I love the thought of Summer and think I’ve got dressing for it sorted, but, my blood runs hot and as the weather cools my excitement returns.
Returns? Honestly, yes. I am bored to and beyond tears by much of the overly chummy, bland and sloppy ‘content’ that seems to wash over my eyes. Maybe I am too grizzled, or maybe it is all just nonsense, brain gloop that strains the neck and calcifies retinas.
Was it ever such? I am romantic, wistful, hiraeth’d up to the brim, but I feel like things used to be more interesting, dynamic and frankly sexy.
That said, I still have and will always have the bug, that interest, desire and perhaps obsession with product, because ‘that’ product, the proper stuff, the singular object is still great and driven by those who feel compelled to create and share their take on life, as such I have picked up some truly exciting kit for the months ahead, it’s just this summer I’ve been thinking about the little things:
Books, London Falling, Murder in Paris ’68, Lonesome Dove and Francis Bacon Revelations (again).
Lavender harvested from garden, dried and muslin sacks filled, to be handed out to family and friends.
A haul, following a process both meditative and soul kissing, which despite my best efforts and 40 bags filled, still left a few empty muslin bags.
Those straggler sacks filled sparingly (important) with handfuls from fresh 100g pouch of Santa Maria Novella Pot Pourri and then placed quietly in the ’89 Landy, now that is actually chic.
Talking of harvested and home grown, a summer of figs snaffled too quickly to be shot, just eaten juicily. A summer of various truck boots, or trunks, filled with chopped wood aided by cheerful soulmates.
Early this Summer, I posted a very certain sort of storied thirst trap, a just found, never used, small Real McCoys bag, not quite vintage, but from that golden era of London men’s shopping, Henrietta Street chic, where you’d stroll up towards Clifford Street then over to Mount Street and if me head back home to N16 via swift snack from St John Smithfield.
My like and comment count was numerous and for those interested, it has now gone to live in old Land Rover with a few other McCoys carriers of various sizes, a capacious and frankly indispensable Bremont tote and my beloved OG Connolly logo/hex print ‘the’ tote, perfect for food shopping or transporting my finds and things.
All used, used and used again, chic.
The blue theme followed along, Air Force Blue of Bremont Altitude worn to match the blue stripe of Double RL flannel, or maybe the other way round, driving along, arm out the window catching a breeze. Not daydreaming, but as seconds sweep not tick, wheel turns, clutch pushed, released and gear changed a sense of contented calm and elegant peace.
Then up and over hills, that time of year when it’s Galways always for the dog walk, and as we set off before the sun, a denim chore on back or rolled round neck, with washed until cashmere soft P44 pants or keep it heartbreaking; straight fits, white tshirt, spf and a smile.
Simple really and as it warms, just less of the above with task dependent Pimlico’s, 303 Newmarket’s, or maybe a pair of the made in Japan Wakouwa’s from Anatomica, initially broken in on Parisian streets and 14 years later still here, not perfect for showcasing rugby spin kicks, but what price style?
