Sunday morning brought excellent news of the press misbehaving. Hurrah! Not exactly punch ups and bitch slaps, but put a journalist near a freebie and they do tend to get a bit feisty. And that’s exactly what happened at Vauxhall Fashion Scout at lunchtime as the over eager spectators launched themselves at the free Champagne. However, as dramatic and brilliantly pathetic as it sounds, it wasn;t even them that caused the camotion. It was a rather innocent but amusingly clumsy young journalist who’s laptop swung round and took out the entire table, reducing the deliberately stern male models to a fit of girlish giggles. You can lead a journo to free booze but you can’t make them behave. Tssk!
However, Sunday afternoon had me ducking and diving under the any umbrella and cover I could find with its oscillating combination of heavy rain and short bursts of glorious sunshine , leaving me exceptionally pleased at my choice of head gear (bowler hats are practically a small umbrella on your head, I promise you.). After the fascinating Cristina Sabaiduc show in Covent Garden, I hot footed back to Somerset House for the much anticipated Fred Butler SS12 reception (drinks ahoy) high above the BFC tent in the Portico Rooms where I had only recently watched Craig Lawrence.
A reknowned and rather fabulous maker of the wildest accessories available, and friend to a favourite of mine, Patrick Wolf (who created a sound installation especially for the event), Fred Butler was the place to be. Overlooking the damp grounds and sour faces below, we inside found ourselves in a rainbow world to mark the celebration of her first ever on-schedule presentation, after quite a few seasons of exhibiting off site. Colour pop and volume was paramount. And the shoes! Tonal platform stilettos adorned with shell like circles helps evoke ideas of under water fluorescing marine life leaving me feeling rather bland in comparrison. On such a drab and dismal day, this was just the thing to liven our spirits.
The original musical score (provided by a favourite of mine, Patrick Wolf) and even more original designs were only let down by their sponsor, sodastream. A neon under water esque party this may seem but those bubbly drinks tasted like something right out the sea. Eck! And of course, anything but drab herself (himself?) , Pandemonia made an appearance in a outfit covering every inch of skin including using rubber to look like skin. However, this blow up Barbie Doll talking through rubber lips was enough to make me think of every kind of vile horror film in which faces are implanted onto innocent, screaming teenagers….so I made my exit.
‘Until next time…
Miss C. x
