The Return Of The Hat...

Downton Abbey started it, don't you think? The hats on that show were so gorgeous they could have inspired their own spin off series. I don't know about you but I would have trampled over Mr Bates for some of the ones that Lady Sybil wore. (And I adored Mr Bates.) Even the Countess of Grantham made a hat look hot.

Then again, perhaps it's the elegant poise of the outfits at the world's most famous spring racing carnivals – Ascot, the Melbourne Cup, the Kentucky Derby – that has prompted people to dig out their old panamas, dust off their floppy straw numbers or recycle their racing garb? I don't quite know. Whatever it is that has inspired The Hat Comeback, one thing is for certain: hats are back. Suddenly, everyone seems to be lusting after a bit of brim.

I've always adored hats. Women look beautiful in hats. They carry themselves differently too. Backs are straighter. Voices are more ladylike. It's very difficult to act badly in a good hat.

I can't wear hats very well, although I should try as I have a forehead the size of New Mexico that could do with some discreet coverage. But lots of women look wonderful in headwear. And so I thought I'd do an an Homage to the Hat. Classic, sophisticated, flirtatious and fabulous, there is nothing quite like a classic chapeau.

Coco Chanel wore a hat almost every day of her adult life. Even when she was working in her atelier. None of her models or seamstresses ever saw her without one. For Chanel, a hat was part of her professional uniform. She would no more remove it in public than she would her knickers. {Via Douglas Kirkland}

Ms Isabella Blow. No one did a hat quite like Isabella. Her death was such a tragedy. I'm sure all the hats of the world wept that day. {Image by Miguel Reveriego}

There's never really been anything as beautiful as the hats of the Edwardian era. (Nor the gowns, for that matter.){Images from Downton Abbey}

The Hat Off. 

Hat Ado About Nothing...

The hat meets Africa. Greta Scacchi in White Mischief.

More hats in Africa. This time, it's Meryl donning a fancy number while playing Ms Isak Dinesen in Out of Africa. Still a classic film, even after all these years.

More of Meryl's hats from Out of Africa.

Lancome's compact, to celebrate the Golden Hat Foundation.

The classic cloche, modernised for 2012. Carey Mulligan in The Great Gatsby. NB This is Baz's eagerly anticipated version, which is currently in production. {Via Grazia}

Miss Audrey, showing how it's done in a Cecil Beaton-designed costume from My Fair Lady, possibly the beautiful hat-enhanced movie of all time. 

Here's some more Audrey-in-Cecil  loveliness...

[Images of My Fair Lady from My Fair Lady and the great blog classiccinemaimages.com. Image at very top also from Classic Cinema Images.}

How NOT to wear a hat. (Unless you're captaining a real ship.)

See Paris? This is how it's done. This is Audrey knitting. In a hat. Beautiful.

Milliner Darcy Creech's house on Nantucket Island, which I shot for a book on beach houses. Darcy is the name behind Peter Beaton hats, which grace the heads of Hilary Clinton and Martha Stewart, among others. Her house is beautiful, and rather like a top hat itself: tall and simple, with striking lines.

A cake made in the shape of a vintage Louis Vuitton hat box, created by a baker in Melbourne for the Louis Vuitton 120th Anniversary. So fabulous.

Best Illustrated Book in Australia Nominees, Part 2

I wanted to attach these lovely covers to my last post, but Blogger was being mischievous this morning, so I gave up. Hopefully it will behave now. These are the five nominations for the Australian Book Industry's (ABIA) Best Illustrated Book in Australia award, as per the last post. These are all beautiful books, so I do hope you'll pick them up next time you're in a bookstore.

I'm so, so thrilled to be included in this prestigious bunch of authors. I don't mind if I don't win. It's just lovely to be considered.

Lastly, a thousand apologies for not being active on the blog of late. It's been an intense few weeks for us. We bought a tiny investment property last week – a little Georgian house – so I've been running around doing the paperwork. (We ummed and ahhed for ages over a little terrace house in South Yarra. But the house was so tiny it wasn't worth the eye-poppingly high price. And RR and I would have had to share a workspace together – and you KNOW how damaging that can be for marriages!) I've also had to finish writing the Picnic book, and get ready to go to New York late next week. For a moment, I thought I might also have to fly to LA and Paris (today) for a week of work, but the idea of flying around the world four times in one month was making me ill. So I stubbornly stayed home. I know! How can a girl turn down Paris? Must be crazy...

But I promise to reply to your beautiful notes soon – and can't wait to catch up on everyone's blogs next week. It will be a lovely respite from sitting in Sydney airport thinking about 18 hours to NY in an economy seat...

Best Illustrated Book in Australia Nominees

I'm often told by my lovely publishers that I'm not as enthusiastic about self-publicity as I should be. This is because I've always thought that authors should not have to speak for books. If books are beautiful enough, they should speak for themselves. Authors are really the behind-the-scenes people; the wizards pulling the curtains for the Land of Oz that is literature.

In saying that, it's easy to understand that people like to get to know the names behind the titles. I confess to following the blog of Justine Picardie, who seems to be as much of a lovely person as she is a great writer. And if Hemingway were alive and he had time to pen one, between fishing in Key West, punching out bestsellers and bedding beautiful women, I'd been following him too! I've also been slightly awed when I've had the good fortune to meet writers such as Jan Morris, Frederick Forsyth, Jeffrey Archer, AA Gill, Herbert Ypma, and Bill Bryson. (I interviewed the latter in his South Kensington flat: when I arrived at the open front door he was derriere-up, cleaning the bath. I've always liked an multi-tasking author!) Another writer friend told me she was similarly open-mouthed when she met J.D. Salinger. (Her mother neglected to tell her she'd been having a weekly luncheon with his wife for 20 years.) For the most part, authors adore meeting other authors – especially if The Other Author is stupendously famous and rolling in royalty cheques. (That's when we ask what their secret is.) Authors also adore seeing good books achieve success, even when those books belong to publishing houses that may be their competitors. The publishing world is not a hockey game. It is actually rather civilised. Why is why I've always liked it. (And hated those who play dirty within it.)

The Australian Book Industry Awards (ABIA) are the Oscars of publishing in Australia. It's where
a panel of long-time booksellers and publishers judge and nominate their favourite books each year. I always take a peek at what's nominated, because it's always intriguing to see which books are pricking up people's ears. It's also intriguing to see which books are in the Best Illustrated Book category, as these books are often the most beautifully designed.

This year, it was a huge surprise to receive an email from my former publisher, Mary Small of Pan Macmillan/Plum letting me know that my book Paris: A Guide to the City's Creative Heart has been nominated. It's the first big industry award I've ever been nominated for, after 6 years and 18 books, so I was both touched and thrilled to hear the news. In fact, just as when my friend met J.D. Salinger, I was quite speechless with shock! The winners are announced at the Sydney Writer's Festival next week, when we're in New York. But I don't mind if I don't win. It's just lovely to be considered...

Here are some of the other nominees – and a link to the full PDF here. And here are some of the pages from Paris: A Guide to the City's Creative Heart. Oh – and if, like me, you love illustrated coffee-table books, then I'd like to let you know that I'm working on a gorgeous New York book this month, and then a beautiful new Paris book in June. Will give more details here in coming weeks.

Best of luck to all those nominated for the ABIA Awards! I'm really thrilled for all those authors.

Buying a House in France ... For A Pittance

A few years ago, I sat next to a lovely woman on the Eurostar from Paris to London. She was Scottish but worked as a French/English translator in Paris. We were the same age and had shared similar lives. I liked her immediately. I liked her even more when she told me where she lived. She and her French husband had just purchased a castle in Normandy, she said. They'd bought it three months before, for the same price as their two-bedroom apartment in the Bastille area of Paris. She was still incredulous. "May I ask how much?" I politely enquired. €300,000, she replied, still delighted by the price. Then she told me the extras. A carriage house, a gate house, a grand estate of 10 acres, stables, a parterre garden and river frontage too. Okay, so it was a little run-down, but they'd bought a hammer and drill too. All this for the equivalent of $380,000 Australian dollars. You can't buy a smart apartment in Melbourne for $380,000, let alone a chateau with a charming carriage house.

As the train rumbled along, I thought of the A$400,000 I'd sold my one-bedroom apartment in South Yarra for the year before. I thought of the building, and how a prostitute had moved in next door. And then I thought of the chateau, with the gatehouse and estate. Thinking of these stark difference in property prices between France and Australia made me sick for the rest of the trip.

I would have forgotten this amazing story but for a couple we met the other day. They own a store in High Street, Glen Iris. My partner and I were window-shopping for an investment property in the area when I noticed they'd arranged their window display around one of my French books. So I thought I'd pop in to thank them and say hello. We chatted for almost half an hour. They revealed they were only doing "the retail thing" for another year, and then they were off to France to buy a little chateau. "You can pick them up for a pittance!" said the gentleman. The sentence was starting to have a familiar ring.

I'm not going to tell you the conversation my partner and I had in the car on the way home, but I think it had the word 'pittance' in it about ten times. And there were exclamation marks too. Lots of them. "French chateau' and "pittance" in the same sentence has a lovely ring to it, don't you think?

Intrigued, I trawled the Internet tonight, looking for chateaux of my own. I have a little money. I thought I'd see what I could buy.  This is what I found. I tell you, it was lust at first shutter. Even if it's derelict, it still beats a call girl yelling out her clients' names at half-hourly intervals right next door.

Now my partner's already set his heart on relocating elsewhere. He hadn't thought of France as a potential home.  He doesn't even like wine. So it might be an uphill climb to get him to reconsider a little chateau. But looking at these makes me wonder if we're looking for property in all the wrong places?


(PS The manor above, which is also described / pictured below, has had a price reduction from 492,900 Euros to 430,000 Euros. Bargain, I say.)

MANOIR / MINI CHATEAU, NORMANDY

Manor house / mini chateau set in mature grounds, also suitable for business such as a boutique hotel. 5 bedrooms, 8 acres of land, views over the valley, landscaped gardens, bluebell wood, stables, heated swimming pool. Price reduction from €492,900 to €430,000 (Euros). (A$547,000)

HISTORIC PRIORY, NORMANDY

Historic 18th century priory set in its own 8,000m2 (2 acres) park in a small village. 8 bedrooms, each with ensuite, large kitchen, scullery and landry room, and 2 salons with views over the garden. Also comes with attractive outbuildings, including stone built barns, two of which have recently been re-roofed, which could provide further development potential. €655,500 Euros / $A830,000.

HISTORIC PRIORY #2, NORMANDY

Historic 18th Century Priory, built on the site of a 14th-century monastery, located on an elevated position overlooking its outbuildings, houses and land. Also comes with a 3 bedroom detached house, formal gardens, and agricultural land, which is rented to a local farmer. €659,000.

And a few more, all of them within "a pittance" budget. I like the middle one. But I'd be happy with the last one too.

Why We're Suddenly Lusting After Sex Novels

Remember the novel The Bride Stripped Bare? It was Nikki Gemmell' literary tour de force, originally published under the nom de plume 'Anonymous' because its chapters were too scandalous for the author to admit to.

Bride was a huge bestseller. Huge. Women read it under their duvet covers. Men read it on commuter trains, where they hid it behind a big hard Hemingway hardback. Even grandmothers were seen sneaking into libraries and borrowing it out with their copies of Danielle Steel. It was dubbed as "an intelligent and accomplished exploration of female sexuality". Exploration was right. There was a scene with taxi drivers that was so revelatory, it made me question what cabbies do when they're not, er, picking up rides.

Basically, the plot is about a lonely housewife with a desultory sex life. The new hubbie is lovely, but boring. And his bed skills are less than satisfactory. That's the thing when you marry Boy-Next-Door types. You sacrifice the erotic for the safe; the dangerous risk-taker for the trustworthy do-gooder. Anyhow, The Housewife grows bored with vanilla sex and sets out to find something pulsier. That's when she meets The Spanish Guy Who's Still A Virgin. (There's an oxymoron right there). From then on, she proceeds to educate him  in – you guessed it – the art of pleasure. To use a ladylike word. There are hotel rooms, orgies, taxi drivers and what one critic described as "erotic, Houellebecqean-style encounters". (I'm not sure what that means but I think I'll have some if they're on special, thanks.)

Now I have to confess that I liked the book. I did. It was entertaining. Fresh. And clever. (Although I still can't look taxi drivers in the eye.)

Basically the novel was a watered-down Catherine Millet. Sex for respectable readers, if you like. And because of it, the book sold hundreds of thousands of copies. It also spawned a whole new genre. Whose name I won't reveal here. (Just think of the nickname for knee-high boots and then insert 'books' where the word 'boots' should go.)

Unbelievably, it's been 9 years since Bride was published, and even more curiously, it's been a while since a good, old-fashioned sex novel hit the bookshelves. So it was only a matter of time before one was thrust into the bestseller lists. So to speak.

Enter Fifty Shades of Grey. Written by E.L. James,  this book is everywhere at the moment. EVERYWHERE. If you haven't seen it advertised, you've perhaps been hiding under that 1000-thread-count sheet too long. Tantilized by the marketing I bought a copy on the weekend. I read 252 pages in one evening. The prose was so dense though, that at 2AM I had to put it down and go find a Nurofen.

The writing isn't on a level with F.Scott Fitzgerald – it's probably not even on a par with Playboy. In fact, some of the sentences are so breathy and overwrought, it made me feel 16 years old again. Also, if you're going to write a book about sex – an adult books about sex – for goodness sakes use some proper words. Using the word 'sex' for a woman's private parts is about as amateurish as you can get.  I mean, we're no longer eight years old. I think we can handle a dirty word or two.

In saying this, it's interesting that this book has caused such a storm. Like Bride, it's hit a nerve with women everywhere. Female readers are devouring it, and only coming up for air when they've turned the last page. It says a lot for the sad state of our collective sex lives that we have to get our kicks from literature rather than real life!

The thing is, I like a good debate. And I love it when literature prompts it. I'm particularly excited that the current debate is over sex, and how much it really does mean to women. But what I don't get excited about, so to speak, is a book where the main female protagonist is forced to be submissive. I know it's a fantasy of many, but this book takes it a whole new level. And it's not one I care to go down to.

I finished the book dear readers, but only just. And then I had to go and have a cold shower. Not to calm the palpitating heart, but to feel clean and 'normal' again. Fifty Shades of Grey is certainly grey. In fact, it's as grubby as a dirty, thumb-stained girlie magazine in the communal toilets of an all-boys' boarding school.

There are apparently two more books in the Grey series. But I think I'll pass thanks. If you've read it, do drop me a line to let me know what you thought. I'd be interested to hear!


{Images of brides stripping bare by by Renam Christofoletti for Vogue Brazil Brides}