Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Saturday, 31 August 2013
At least it wasn't red
I was about to say that compared to the previous post, this one will be about lighter things, but I'm not sure that would be appropriate.
Choosing a wedding dress is always difficult - not that I have ever had to - and since they are usually only worn about three times these days, the bride has to make as big an impact as tastefully possible, the design a delicate balance between displaying the maturity and worldliness which is desirable when entering a contract of marriage, and the virginal modesty that the groom looks for in a wife. I wonder if the back of this dress has been cut-out and replaced with a veil of thin lace?
A business woman in Bath was on the front page of our local paper last week, standing in the kitchen of her '£1 million' home (that's just about any home in Bath these days) which she has furnished entirely from discarded articles found in rubbish skips. She says in the article that she has - somehow - made a 'chair' from her wedding dress, as she couldn't bear to leave it in a box in the cupboard after only one day's use.
Being our pretty useless local newspaper, there is no photo of the wedding dress chair, so I don't know how she did it. Being a bit of a practical sculptor, I have an image of the fabric, soaked in polyester resin and stiff enough to support someone sitting on it, even if they do cut themselves on the razor-sharp edges of resined lace.
Talking of being stiff enough to support someone sitting on it, I am off to the Somerset Levels again today, to attend a one-off exhibition in which H.I. has a few paintings, in the house of a friend of ours.
The show has been put up by her son and daughter who, I am beginning to suspect, have left it far too late to make a success of it. This is the first art exhibition they have ever organised, so I expect it has been a steep learning-curve (to use an irritating idiom) for them, and I hope that they will make a more professional job out of the next one, if there is a next one.
I may be pleasantly surprised, but I had my doubts when I noticed that the daughter - in an email flyer she sent out three days before the event - had spelt her own name incorrectly in the email contact details...