Write it on my Dickie, with lipstick...

...Have a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

They have already ruined the croquet lawn

Tamsin Greig - The Twelve Days of Christmas by John Julius Norwich

25th December.
My dearest darling,
That partridge, in that lovely little pear tree! What an
enchanting, romantic, poetic present! Bless you and thank you.
Your deeply loving Emily.

26th December.
Mr dearest darling Edward,
The two turtle doves arrived this morning and are cooing
away in the pear tree as I write. I'm so touched and grateful.
With undying love, as always, Emily.

27th December.
My darling Edward,
You do think of the most original presents: whoever thought
of sending anybody three French hens? Do they really come
all the way from France? It's a pity that we have no chicken
coops, but I expect we'll find some. Thank you, anyway,
they're lovely.
Your loving Emily.

28th December.
Dearest Edward,
What a surprise - four calling birds arrived this morning.
They are very sweet, even if they do call rather loudly
they make telephoning impossible. But I expect they'll
calm down when they get used to their new home. Anyway,
I'm very grateful - of course I am.
Love from Emily.

29th December.
Dearest Edward,
The postman has just delivered five most beautiful gold
rings, one for each finger, and all fitting perfectly.
A really lovely present - lovelier in a way than birds,
which do take rather a lot of looking after. The four
that arrived yesterday are still making a terrible row,
and I'm afraid none of use got much sleep last night.
Mummy says she wants us to use the rings to 'wring'
their necks - she's only joking, I think; though I know
what she means. But I love the rings. Bless you.
Love, Emily.

30th December.
Dear Edward,
Whatever I expected to find when I opened the front
door this morning, it certainly wasn't six socking
great geese laying eggs all over the doorstep.
Frankly, I rather hoped you had stopped sending me
birds we have no room for them and they have already
ruined the croquet lawn. I know you meant well, but
let's call a halt, shall we?
Love, Emily.

31st December.
Edward,
I thought I said no more birds; but this morning I
woke up to find no less than seven swans all trying
to get into our tiny goldfish pond. I'd rather not
thinks what happened to the goldfish. The whole house
seems to be full of birds - to say nothing of what
they leave behind them. Please, please STOP.
Your Emily.

1st January.
Frankly, I think I prefer the birds. What am I to
do with eight milkmaids - AND their cows? Is this
some kind of a joke? If so, I'm afraid I don't find
it very amusing.
Emily

2nd January.
Look here Edward, this has gone far enough. You say
you're sending me nine ladies dancing; all I can say
is that judging from the way they dance, they're
certainly not ladies. The village just isn't
accustomed to seeing a regiment of shameless hussies
with nothing on but their lipstick cavorting round
the green - and it's Mummy and I who get blamed.
If you value our friendship - which I do
less and less - kindly stop this ridiculous
behaviour at once.
Emily

3rd January.
As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men are
prancing about all over what used to be the garden
before the geese and the swans and the cows got at
it; and several of them, I notice, are taking
inexcusable liberties with the milkmaids. Meanwhile
the neighbours are trying to have us evicted. I shall
never speak to you again.
Emily

4th January.
This is the last straw. You know I detest bagpipes.
The place has now become something between a
menagerie and a madhouse and a man from the Council
has just declared it unfit for habitation. At least
Mummy has been spared this last outrage; they took
her away yesterday afternoon in an ambulance.
I hope you're satisfied.

5th January.
Sir,
Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to
inform you that with the arrival on her premises a
half-past seven this morning of the entire
percussion section of the Liverpool Philharmonic
Orchestra and several of their friends she has no
course left open to her but to seek an injunction
to prevent your importuning her further. I am making
arrangements for the return of much assorted livestock.

I am, Sir, Yours faithfully,
G. CREEP
Solicitor-at-law

The end

Be careful what you wish for...

On the Festering Jukebox here at Dolores Delargo Towers

Bah Humbug.

Scrumptious as a cherry peach parfait

RIP, Miss Truly Scrumptious...

Sally Ann Howes (20 July 1930 – 19 December 2021)

Read my tribute to Miss Howes on her 90th birthday

Icy spears

I have remembered when the winter came,
High in my chamber in the frosty nights,
When in the still light of the cheerful moon,
On the every twig and rail and jutting spout,
The icy spears were adding to their length
Against the arrows of the coming sun

- from Winter Memories by Henry David Thoreau.

Yes, it's Midwinter's Day, the Winter Solstice, the longest night... everything gets better and brighter from this point on.

Or so they say.

Cottaging, Kabuki style

Probably the weirdest thing you'll see all day year!

[click any gif to scroll l-r]

I've done just about everything except juggle, and I'm working on that

Ninety years old?!

Never...

Me with Rita

"People say that when you get to a certain age that you start to mellow. I have no idea what these people are talking about."

"Retirement is just not in my DNA."

"I love being on stage, I love getting applause, and I love the love that comes across the footlights. It's so much a part of what I do and what I've done most of my life."

"I'm one of those performers who has done just about everything except juggle, and I'm working on that."

"I deliberately state my age because it keeps me honest. I think lying is a bad idea. Sooner or later, someone's going to catch you."

"Bigger than life is not difficult for me. I am bigger than life."

West Side Story, The Ritz, The King and I, Carnal Knowledge, The Rockford Files, The Muppet Show - she's done it all! The first Latina to win an Oscar; she was also only the third person (after Richard Rodgers and Helen Hayes) to complete the set with a Grammy (1972), a Tony (1975), and an Emmy (1977), to become what is frequently referred to as an "EGOT".

She's an icon, and a Patron Saint here at Dolores Delargo Towers.

Many happy returns, Señorita Rita Moreno (born Rosa Dolores Alverío Marcano, 11th December 1931)

This weekend, I am mostly dressing casual...

...like the fabulous Madame Grès!

From influential fashion writer Carine Roitfeld's CR Fashion Book site:

Madame Grès is quite possibly one of the most important - yet elusive - designers of the 20th century. And to a certain extent, it seems as though she would have wanted it that way. Aside from her talent (she was an unparalleled technician when it came to couture) the thing Grès was most known for was secrecy. Her tight-lipped approach to her techniques and concealment from the public eye earned her the nickname "The Sphinx of Fashion."

Despite rarely giving interviews, there are some details we do know about Grès’ life. For starters, she's credited with convincing Cristobal Balenciaga to open his couture house. She was among the few designers during the Nazi occupation of France who was granted permission to remain open. But, in an act of defiance, she refused to create dresses for them and instead chose to make patriotic, French-themed designs. (She was shut down.) Grès had celebrity fans like Marlene Dietrich and Greta Garbo, and in 1970, she became the president of the Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture, couture's governing body.

Marlene Dietrich in a Madame Grès creation

One thing that remains shrouded in mystery is her technique. Most known from her oeuvre were her Grecian dresses, though these were not simply column-like gowns. Like Mariano Fortuny before her, her work was filled with intricate tucks, folds, and pleats. Much of her approach to design can be credited to her art background. “For me it is just the same to work with fabric or stone,” she once said. It helped that her looks were considered timeless, as she continuously produced similar styles. Unlike Yves Saint Laurent, who seemed to change his aesthetic every season, Grès could be counted on to show the same things again and again. It's hard to say if critics were amused or bored with this, but one thing is for sure: her skills at draping and sewing were so unparalleled that her own atelier workers had trouble dating dresses in her archive.

Timeless fashion, indeed:

[top row: 1950s, 1970s. bottom row: 1930s, 1970s - click to enlarge]

The indomitable Madame carried on working well into the 1980s before retiring, but The House of Grès suffered without her - it was purchased by the corrupt businessman Bernard Tapie (who only died earlier this year), and ended up in liquidation - and a disastrous business deal concerning her parfum Cabochard [which translates as "stubborn"] personally bankrupted her as well. After six decades of hard work to build her fortune Madame Grès found herself homeless, and it was only with the generosity of fellow couturiers Hubert de Givenchy, Pierre Cardin and Yves Saint Laurent that she was able to rent an apartment.

In a bizarre twist at the end of the tale, after she ended up in a nursing home, where she died just short of her 90th birthday, her daughter kept her mother's death a complete secret for a year, and when the Museum of Modern Art in New York mounted a major retrospective on Grès, she even corresponded with the press and others masquerading as her!

An enigma to the end.

Madame Grès (born Germaine Émilie Krebs, 30th November 1903 – 24th November 1993)

On the Jukebox this Weekend at Dolores Delargo Towers