All-out on Fleurs

Playing host to Valentino Garavani  in 2010, at the Gallery of Modern Art, Brisbane,

was a lovely time for the House of Flora. 

His frocks arrived for four months, all the way from Rome.

The workers and I did an excursion there, too.

They said to me, it was the best time they'd ever had.

We ate a couple of macaroons each in the 'specially set up fashion cafe,

and flicked through expensive imported magazines.

That part of the trip wasn't quite linked to the curriculum.

When Valentino and I broke-up it was difficult, as he moved out on the day before my birthday.

Frocks packed up, ready for someone else to fall in love with him.

Not a care in the world.

Another bittersweet memory is the time I discovered Maison Guillet fabricant de fleurs, astonishingly accepted the general public, at Viaduct des Arts, Paris.

But they were closed for the New Year break, the time of my visit.

But on my next trip to Paris, I was devasted to find out Guillet had moved fleur production outside-the-peripherique,

the ring road circling Paris. Horrifique.

And was now only open to the high-end of town, YSL, Chanel and Dior, et al.

I'm going all out on fleurs, this week.

Nothing's going to stop me, not even a call from Philip Treacy.

Trying not to get distracted by these.

Philip's millinery meets strappy stilettos.

I'm focussed, head down.

Remember that pure silk organza?

It's found a new life.

Here's the before.

Here's the corsage, against a hand-beaded arachnoid, there's no end to some people's magic.

On a more important note, my boot camp trainer, who usually sends lovely, gentle and encouraging emails to keep us keen,

has released an alarming statement, declaring that,

'There's no need to wear fancing clothes to excercise'.

And that exercise is a simple thing to do.

Personally, I'm offended.

This diamante puma is not going to leave me anytime soon.

Got my lovely friend E, coming over soon, have all the necessary elements to make this beauty.

A Tarte Tatin.