Sweet Nothings

Sweet nothings: not far off what i took away from this play at the young vic, really. Adultery, naive love, hopeless yearning, promiscuity, teasing, decadence, flirting, betrayal, claustrophobic social expectation and decorum - such things are sweet whisperings, sure, but for me they amounted to nothing and i came away hollow, disappointed, unengaged.

It's turn of the century Vienna (though costumes are fin de siecle via topshop, and the first act's set has more than a dash of 1980s brashness in its 'slick' rather than stylish red and black decor), and four beautiful, decadent youths gather for a party. The privileged boys are in the dragoons, the less affluent girls copy musical scores and sew for money or look after their siblings. One boy, Fritz, is engaging in an adulterous affair, which he fears may be about to end/be exposed or challenged by the elder woman's husband. as the revelry becomes more drunken, sexually charged and raucous (unconvincingly if you ask me - cringingly there's nothing so excruciating to watch as a party scene that falls flat), the married woman's husband turn up and challenges Fritz to a duel.

The second half shifts to the flat of Christine, a party girl from act one and a girl hopelessly, genuinely in love with the dashing, socially superior Fritz (Tom Hughes, gorgeous and compelling scene stealing in Ricky Gervais' otherwise forgettable film Cemetery Junction, out April, but somewhat less charismatic here, sadly, oscillating confusingly between nervy adulterer and confident tease). In contrast to the lasciviously scarlet flat of the flirtatious and promiscuous Fritz, Christine's simple abode is pure and white, and rather than decadently living alone, watched over by no one, waited on by servants, she lives with her ineffectual violinist father, and every move is scrutinised by nosy, gossiping, puritanical neighbours (epitomised by Katherina, played by the fabulous Hayley Carmichael from Told by an Idiot). Fritz represents the glamour, daring, exoticism that is outside Christine's world, and more importantly, escape from it. sadly her affections are misdirected, and probably not deserved as Fritz is really just a bit of a cad. One who will disappoint her in the worst way, taking routine tardiness for their engagements to a darkly bleak limit.

Luc Bondy directs this 'sex tragedy', a translation of Arthur Schnitzler's 1895 Liebelei, and though it ends badly for all, i wasn't terribly moved, failing to be captivated or convinced by the initial hedonism, left cold by the strains of supposed genuine emotion and unthreatened by the looming shadow of death which hangs over the play, a punishment, presumably, for such sexual and loving excesses.

Ruski

I h.e.a.r.t this. It's by Kate Garey and basically fuels my RUSSIAN DOLL OBSESSION. i like to think it is me returning to my Babushka roots. My Grandmother, Eva Tartakoff, would have been proud. Other things i have got my eye on are... cards by Gwendolen, this solid perfume by Estee Lauder (a snip at £250!) and cushions by Andrea Williamson, plus a necklace charm by Les Nereides from Labour of Love on Upper Street.

Lust list

Apparently, some people might be interested in the ludicrously overpriced things i am currently coveting... as for me, how nice to dress my fantasy self... How FUCKING cool would i look in these shoes?! But, man their price is a piece of work.

Love?

Giorgie and i popped into Dover Street Market yesterday to snoop round its subterranean Love In, which is set up in honour of the launch of stylist Katie Grand's new mag Love. less of a love in, more of a bed with expensive shit on it if you ask me. a consumers orgy. Loewe leather cushions sit plumped up on shiny D&G sheets that adorn the mattress of an iron bedstead wrapped in grimy black tape. all merch totting up to enough money to bail the country out of its economic crisis. still, quite fun, i guess, in a ludicrously lavish sort of way. Love magazines are stacked up all around said bed, and the effect is one of flagrant decadence and fuck-you luxury, which is quite like the mag itself in a way. A first flick shows it to be hyper, hyper glossy with a luxurious, weighty feel. i absolutley love the cover. such voluptuous milky white flesh exuding such confidence. this image of Beth Ditto and the ones in the feature inside remind me of the Opium adverts Sophie Dahl did all those years ago - soft, voluminous, sexual curves. it's less shocking to see second time round though, although just as sensual on the eye. makes you wonder why it's not done more regularly. inside the mag, after a tsunami of adverts, Katie's frank, unpretentious ed's letter is followed by an A-Z of things the Love creative team love (musicians, models and designers mostly). their choices seem by turns obvious, curious, hilarious and misguided. W is for walnuts, X for X-factor winner Alexandra Burke, Y for Yasmin le Bon, and Z for shoe designer Zanotti. Letter people are asked questions like who, what, and what love song do you love most, but its more about the images than the words i think and some answers seem a bit lacklustre - this is a launch issue after all, show some chutzpah people, goddammit! after the A-Z there are both written through and solely image profiles of 'names' including Courtney Love, Angelica Houston, Iggy Pop, Lilly Allen, Duffy, Pam Hogg, Kelly Brook and Kate Moss. each is the love object, in a creative or cultural way i guess you could say, of whoever has worked on their piece. there's something brilliantly unpretentious about this. the content isn't desperately trying to be new, edgy, esoteric or pointedly awkward like that of some magazines. It feels, at least at first glance, quite genuine, although i'm not sure how original that makes any of it, plus there's a danger of it trying to appeal to everyone, which may of course mean it pleases no one. but i think that their wide casting of the net is a canny move. i like the idea of hooking readers in with someone familiar to them and then introducing them to people they might not otherwise have heard of. for those who like the exclusivity of niche fashion mags though, hmmm. not many surprises, so 'nothing particularly new' would be my guess as to their reaction. for my part i'm enjoying it, visually at least... i have yet to really get into the meatier features (or the ones that seem that they might be) so for now, i'm reserving judgement. my Love letter is in saved drafts.

I H.E.A.R.T Amsterdam

although i wasn't exactly fleeing London, exactly, i was sort of side stepping it for Valentine's weekend. a move which in the end turned out to be rather fortuitous, as a new love blossomed in foreign lands. the Netherlands, in fact. ho ho. now, this might sound quite naff, but i sort of think my relationships with cities are a bit like with men - Paris and London are lifetime loves of mine for example, Dublin a failed marriage and (very) messy break up, Venice a familiar lover, frequently revisited, and Vienna and Berlin memorable flings that somehow never led anywhere. you get the picture. anyway, a weekend trip to a new city always feels a bit like a first date. you know a bit about them, people have given you their opinions, you may have seen pictures (films even) and if you're interest is caught, you want to get to know them more. such was it with Amsterdam. all i can say is this: my heart is lost. totally. how could it NOT be? It's like someone thought: "what are all the things that Bea loves, and why don't we put them all in ONE PLACE FOR HER?". There may not be anything original in what i am about to say, but still, it's what i thought. first up, cycling. i love it, but i hate it in London. i'm terrified - it's like a death trap and i frequently find myself stuck the wrong side (the left) of a 4 lane road when i want to turn down a little lane to the right. but in Amsterdam, cyclists seem to have priority and motorists are suitably cordial and respectful. SERIOUSLY: it's cycling nirvana. the cycle lanes are wide and never fade out at tricky traffic spots only to reappear after a giant crossroad, the bicycles are beautiful upright ones in bright colours - none of this leaning forward business that i hate. and everywhere is so FLAT - hurrah! no need for gear changes or putting in too much effort, which means several things, the main one being sartorial: dresses, high heels and umbrella holding are all easily accommodated, nay celebrated! and no need for unsightly helmets - yay! second: vintage shops everywhere in central Amsterdam... EVERYWHERE: on every street, shop corner and alley (almost). it was like i'd died and gone to secondhand heaven. plenty of things purchased including a very cool black and white 1950s evening dress. thirdly, richly coloured, enormous bulbed and CHEAP tulips - one of my most adored flowers. 50 sold for 10 Euros. normally i pay £5 for 5. FIVE. which is tantamount to daylight robbery. Fourthly, mint tea - boy they know how to serve fresh mint tea - in tall glasses with stems and stems and leaves and leaves poking out the top. and everyone drinks it all the time - bliss. fifthly, sweets. boiled, mints, lollipops - you name it, it comes with EVERY bill. for the sweet-toothed, sugar-craving me this is like food porn. i can't get enough. sixthly, hundreds of low ceilinged, atmospheric, wood paneled, effortlessly cool and INDEPENDENT cafes, and no, not the 'special' sort, just lovely cafes serving delicious food and cakes, which have their own characters and who would probably laugh in your face if you said "skinny, mochacino extra hot with a vanilla shot". and lastly TALL MEN. i have a well documented, much commented upon weakness for them, and let me tell you, Amsterdam is FULL OF THEM. o my god. i was like a pervert on the loose, ogling, drooling and generally almost crashing my bike into the canal or walking into lamposts shamelessly gawping at the armies of slim, toned giants wandering about, manipulating their long limbs with true grace. Apparently the Dutch are the second tallest nation in the world. whether this is true or not i don't know, but good god i loved it. LOVED IT. So, will i be going on a second date with Amsterdam? Hell, yeah.