Stockholm syndrome

I've caught Stockholm Syndrome.

Forgive my blog-sence. Absence with a 'blog' pun.

For my sins, I recently have abandoned you bloggers, without a sniff, a word, a priceless nugget of wisdom. I apologise. I blog-ogize.

Enough now.

 

I've missed you.

 

Anyway, after the madness I immediately fled overseas as all the best royals do. And good Lordy it was good. Lordy.

Sweden is one of my favourite places. If we're talking colours, it's a big, burning plate of green, blue, yellow, pink, with a few bears to boot. It reminds me of another of my bests, Oregon. They are the Jess Stams, the Angela Lindvalls of land-mass. They are just too beautiful. And it makes me want to cry/kiss them.

So Stockholm it was. You gotta go. We stayed in a Design Hotel next to the Moderna Museet. Every morning I breathed in cool. 

And it's Stockholm Fashion Week. Acne. Carin Wester. Rodebjer. Mini Market. 

 

Älskar.

Acne Resort 2011

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whyred A/W 11-12

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Acne Pre-Autumn 2011

Channelling Chanel

I'm a little bit in love with silent film actress Dorothy Janis. 
 



And oh how we all love Marlene.

Meine Damen Dietrich could very well step right on to any catwalk. 

She is a true androgynariun.

Yes I made that word up.

 

Chin up lads, but she was on it years ago. 

On that note...
Chanel adverts win, every time.

Spa days

I am one lucky lady. Friday was a mega day. I was treated by my boyfriend to an afternoon of luxury at the Agua Spa in the Sanderson Hotel. 

A full-body massage & Eve lom facial later, and I feel sublime. 

Both treatments evocatively saunter towards the 'no pain no gain' side of beauty, but who cares when the results are this good. 

I feel like a new-born lamb.



Damien Hirst, Away From The Flock (1995)

Ceiling to floor white curtains create the different areas - I soon get over the overwhelming desire to pick up pace and flail like a nymph through this ethereal maze of dreams a la Labyrinth, but instead settle down in my white chaise longue for a post-pummel rest. 

Silence wafts through this curtained land. None of us bold enough to utter a sound.

 

Boyfriend and I (he has come along for the ride) float towards the steam room, then recline in our very own cubby hole with TV. We opt for some female wrestling. And the cheese board.

 

On our way out the hotel bar is buzzing. Oh, and if you decide to treat yourself here, take the lift. The interior is, basically, space. Yes. Space. In 3D. A 3D space lift. My inner-child: released. Home we go.

www.sandersonlondon.com