A ’50s yard-stick bought for a tenner, and my new Abercrombie & Fitch sou’wester.

I could write one of these posts every day of the week, but particularly after the lovely Saturday morning we had in our little neighbourhood today.

After rolling home just as the birds were beginning to chirp (one of those rare nights, believe me),  I surprised myself with an early morning start — perhaps my subconscious remembered that it was the first day of the annual Modern Movements fair, which sees a dozen or so mid-century antiques dealers’ stalls spring up around the art deco Brockwell Lido a few minutes’ walk from our flat.

There may’ve been a real reason for that sou’wester jacket (unlike previous years’ fairs), which was sad for the dealers eager to sell their lovely ’50s and ’60s furniture, but Jim and I still had fun poking around the wares. I picked up a ’50s yard stick for a tenner for Jim, and he bought a ’50s wooden boat (I should’ve really used the yard stick to measure the length of the boat for this post), which we got for a song for £25. (Here’s hoping we can fit it into our suitcase on our next flight back to Australia, for a present for my boat-mad dad. Mum and Lisa, you can keep a secret, can’t you?)

While we were browsing, we caught sight of local celebrity Jay Rayner, and I caught up with Dan from Modernish, a stall-holder I first met at the West Norwood Feast last year when Linsey and I (and again, with Kate and I) sold vintage clothes there alongside his lovely finds. Then along came George from Luna Cinema (formerly known as Nomad Cinema, the travelling cinema company that pops up around the country with big screens and classic films), alerting us to an upcoming screening of Anchorman at Brockwell Lido. Considering we had such a great time at last year’s Life Aquatic and Casablanca, we’ll definitely be going. And you should too!

Halloumi burger and fries at the Lido Cafe.

Afterwards, we had to stop at the cafe by the water, Lido Cafe, for some hugely-earned lunch. It’s tough work ogling bits of furniture. The food and service, as ever, was lovely, and on the way out one of our fellow friendly Herne Hillians enquired about my Kate Spade glasses — it seems to happen regularly down at the cafe, that someone will ask about something I’m wearing. Nowhere else, mind. *sobs*

Pea and mint soup with mini croque monsieur.

On our walk around the Hill’s various real estate agents (we’re still looking) we saw one of the nice Lomography ladies who also lives locally, and a couple other familiar faces too.

Is it all too obvious I adore our ‘hood?

A ’50s wooden boat, bought for £25.

Playing with an old doll’s house, like the child I am.

A flash of nail colour, for Laura LaRue. Please excuse the lack of make-up!

When the husband asked me a while back for ideas of where to shoot an upcoming product special for WIRED UK magazine, I said he should investigate the decaying location used in The King’s Speech (and, ahem, this porno); 33 Portland Place.

Fortunately, the prices were eye-wateringly high, which meant he had to go back to the drawing board — and in the process, found Castle Gibson’s The House Next Door. Castle Gibson has four properties in Dalston and Stoke Newington, all featuring crumbling walls and vintage props from the owner’s days as a movie props specialist.

I’m in love with each photo on their website, and if you look at their blog, you can see pics from weddings, parties and photo shoots held at the four locations. They’d make such an amazing place for a party — imagine knocking back martinis in all that faded decadence?

Jim’s sound & vision supplement is in the December issue of WIRED UK mag; out now. *Castle Gibson*

If you can rate a craft fair’s brilliance on the amount of stuff you purchase, then Renegade Craft’s London fair is easily the best I’ve ever visited. After reading enviously of Renegade Craft’s many US roadshows on blogs such as Oh Hello Friend and Unstitched, I was so pleased to hear the other month that they were visiting London for the very first time, promising wares from designers around the globe. In fact, I don’t think I recognised more than two or three designers on show there; refreshing after seeing the same old stuff at every fair in town.

Gift Wrap HQ‘s well-decorated stall.

How much fun are these cushions from Hazel Stark?

I bought waaay too many cute little purses and pencil cases from Kate Sutton. They’ll make such great gifts!

Mary Kilvert had so many nice things for sale, but I fell in love with her sheep print and couldn’t resist buying a teatowel. And some postcards. And some greeting cards…

Very sweet china mugs from Mary Kilvert that I have a feeling Laura LaRue would love.

The fair naturally attracted some very crafty ladies (and men!), causing me to get quite envious over their various accessories. I’m not usually a wrist-warmer fan, but I do love the wool used in these beauties.

Handmade goodies from Jess Quinn.

Honksville’s fun toys.

Held in the Truman Brewery (the very place where Jim and I got “amorous” for the first time, at, cough, an LG press party four years ago), there was plenty of space to walk around without fear of getting elbowed.

Cityscapes from The Drawing Machine.

Fun notebooks and jewellery from Mr. Nico.

Stamps by Kate Sutton.

I’ve eyed Robin & Mould‘s cushions up on Etsy before, but they were even better in person.

Gruesome severed leg catnip toys from Life With Tigers.

Very sweet felt farmyard animals being sold on the Selvedge magazine table.

Deborah Withey of Cheese + Pickles Studio was doing gyotaku workshops, which involve painting a fish and pressing Japanese rice paper onto it to make prints.

Withey, pressing the rice paper onto the fish.

Finished prints, which sell for around £400 when framed.

Pretty sure this is Roxypop’s stall. I’m such a sucker for a twee suitcase full of goodies.

More crafty fun from Kate Sutton.

The Make Lounge had a felted animals workshop which proved to be quite the hit!

Jennifer from The Make Lounge, in front of some Jane Foster cat kits.

Effie, lounging on some of my purchases, and playing with her new severed leg.

If you want to see more photos from Renegade Craft, wander on over to my Flickr.

“Riots are about power, and they are about catharsis. They are not about poor parenting, or youth services being cut, or any of the other snap explanations that media pundits have been trotting out: structural inequalities, as a friend of mine remarked today, are not solved by a few pool tables. People riot because it makes them feel powerful, even if only for a night. People riot because they have spent their whole lives being told that they are good for nothing, and they realise that together they can do anything – literally, anything at all. People to whom respect has never been shown riot because they feel they have little reason to show respect themselves, and it spreads like fire on a warm summer night. And now people have lost their homes, and the country is tearing itself apart.”

Stay safe, Londoners, and if you can get involved with the clean-up efforts in your area, please do. *Penny Red via countless tweets*

Photo by Maciej Dakowicz, whose work can be viewed at the Street Photography Now event

Some dates for aspiring photographers’ diaries: anything on London Street Photography Festival’s website, basically. Running the whole month of July, our fine city will be playing host to many events, workshops and galleries — but these following events have caught my eye:

• On Street Photography: A Woman’s Perspective

Brixton Village, shot on an LC-A+ with 800 ISO film

Side-step 15 minutes from my village of Herne Hill, and you have the 15 million boutiques and brunch-options available to the yummy mummies of Dulwich. But walk just 15 minutes the other side of Herne Hill, and you land in Brixton.

Brixton, the south London hide-away gem that with every step closer to it makes you feel more and more like you’re on holiday. It could be the piles of tropical and foreign fruit, veg and fresh fish piled high in the snake-like roads and arcade rows; the wafts of incense as you walk past stalls selling oversized calculators and bejewelled phone cases; breezes of chilly aircon as you enter an African wax fabrics store to fondle yards of brightly-coloured material; snatches of Caribbean music as a car screeches to a halt at the traffic lights; greetings from the fishmongers as they whistle along to a pounding dance track; the incredible amount of eateries spread over the bustling mini-metropolis, each offering a different oral and aural experience you’ve not tried before, or maybe it’s the meandering locals and visitors who never seem to have anywhere pressing to go.

Franco Manca pizza, shot on an LC-A+ with Fuji Velvia 50

It was a rare day off that led my feet Brixton-way today, first to Franco Manca for a sourdough pizza and frosty apple juice as I read my book all on my lonesome, and then on to The Bread Room for an iced coffee and a catch-up on some laptop work. Perhaps it was the mild heatwave and high humidity London experienced today, but my summery feeling is always heightened the further down Railton Road/Atlantic Road I walk.

Federation Coffee, one of the more permanent pop-up shops/cafes in Brixton Village, shot on an LC-A+ with 800 ISO film

Over the last couple of years there’s been an obvious gentrification of Brixton, but I don’t think the heart and soul of the area has been lost — if anything, it’s encouraged more local businesses to spring up (particularly thanks to the Space Makers’ work); along with a thriving creative industry. This has obviously driven house prices up and brought along the trendies (which may explain why I only seem to wear my coral pink jeans on trips to Brixton), but with it has brought a new lease of life to the public spaces of Brixton, such as Windrush Square and in the future, a revamped Raleigh Hall.

Jim in the new Windrush Square; shot on a Diana Mini

The people of Brixton and those attracted to Brixton always put me at ease — at least, on the backstreets behind the high street, around Atlantic Road, Electric Avenue, and of course Brixton’s two indoor markets, Brixton Village and Market Row. There’s a slight smugness, or just plain ol’ togetherness, that you experience in Brixy — where stall-holders and waiters recognise you, and other locals almost do a head nod in the style of Larry David’s secret bald-man’s group. Everyone’s in on the secret, and woe betide the North Londoners who pass Brixy off as being “too South London.”

Young Brixy dog-walker, shot on an LC-A+

It’s on the backstreets that people have time to chat with you as you mop up some garlic olive oil with stretchy sourdough crusts, or as you reacquaint yourself with an ex-local hairdresser who now moonlights in a cafe, and passes along the contain details of your old local bikini waxer (Gemma — you’ll recall my story of this infamous waxer!) and her new salon. Or wait patiently and kindly as you dawdle over which cupcakes to buy as a treat for dessert that night. Or offer cooking advice for that random fillet of fish you’ve bravely bought on a whim. Or hum along to an unknown, made-up be-bop song behind you in a queue as you buy some organic cashew nuts and rye bread in the wholefoods shop.

I simply love Brixton, and the way I feel when I’m there.

Anyone who’s ever seen the Spice Girls’ video for Wannabe should recognise that staircase as the very set of stairs the five girls pranced around on. In fact, the St. Pancras Renaissance hotel is steeped in history, with many period dramas having been filmed there over the course of its lifetime. From 1873 to 1935 it was known as the Midland Grand Hotel, but like many businesses of that time, closed as it became too expensive to run.

Having been damaged in the war, it was the failure of a fire safety regulations test that closed it — though not for good — in the ’80s. Luckily some bright spark saw it for what it is, and took on the mammoth job of restoring it. Reportedly he pumped most of his own personal money into the project, and walking through the various floors as I did recently, you can really tell a lot of care and attention to detail has gone into the job.

You can actually take a tour of the Victorian hotel for £25 with a historian, or if you’re a guest, receive a complimentary tour. I was lucky enough to tag along with a friend who was eyeing it up for an event, and managed a few quick photos as we were whisked through the various conference rooms and floors.

One of my favourite spaces was the Hansom room, which lay just behind the Main Function Room (really just a lobby.) As you can see from the photo below, it’s an airy room with exposed steel beams and large warm lights:

You can just catch a glimpse of the Hansom room behind the Main Function Room here, with the Booking Office bar/restaurant to the right.

Many original features still remain in the hotel, though they had to cover up one of the nine floor-to-ceiling murals on the first floor as “restoration technology hasn’t advanced that much yet,” and replicate the peacock paintings on the same floor — though you’d be hard-pressed to tell the difference between them and the one original left.

Further down the corridor, you soon come across the UK’s first-ever elevator! Apparently several people had no concept of how to use an elevator when it was first installed, and actually opened the doors and stepped out into…nothing :(

The Ladies’ Smoking Room was the first public room where women were allowed to smoke back in the day. With an outdoor terrace, it’s the perfect feminine room for a cocktail event or even a wedding reception.

Sat between the Booking Office and the Hansom Room, this lobby-area actually used to be part of the original driveway, with cars parking under the roof for the monied guests and visitors to embark from.

Some of the hotel’s best suites overlook the Eurostar platforms, and as you can see, having a view of the Olympics sign should be a draw for visitors next year.

After our little tour, we had a couple of cocktails in the Booking Office bar, which anyone who’s read this far should definitely do. It’s got a really lovely, classy feel to it, with old-fashioned style cocktails and free vegetable crisps to nibble on. Oh, to be wined, dined and bed-in for a night of luxury at the St. Pancras Renaissance and then whisked off on the Eurostar for a weekend of bliss in some European city…

There were many powerful messages on display, and I felt proud to be there amongst everyone. Some of my photos are here (below the jump), but to view the rest you can click on over to my Flickr. Otherwise, check out the Guardian’s photo-gallery.

An accidental light-leak makes the Oxford Circus bonfire seem almost bloody.

This was one of the several bonfires lit around central London by protestors. A sign struck up between traffic-lights told people to “keep warm, burn the bankers.”

I love the way the 800 ISO film I used on this day gives the photos a delicious grain — considering fashion’s suffering experiencing a ’70s/’80s revival, a lot of these pics could’ve come from that era, I feel.

A row of policemen protecting Topshop from paint-hurling protestors hell-bent on “destroying” capitalism. Or something. Truth be told, there were a lot of varying messages at the March 26th protests.

Two girls used one of Regent Street’s electrical cupboards to hoist themselves — and their signs — to greater heights.

More signs held up to the grey London sky.

“David, cut your balls instead,” screamed the sign of two military-clad men.

I really like the grain of this photo — and the Apple store looming in the background.

The day brought out an eclectic mix of people. Old and young, different races and religions — every minority was there, screaming to be heard.

Many of the young lads wore scarves around their faces or even balaclavas. I suppose they thought their identities would remain shrouded to the police and CCTV’s eyes, but as the media’s photos showed the next day, no-one was invisible.

A line of police in riot gear, with some Robin Hoods galloping beside.

An old punk leaning against the Oxford Circus tube station sign.

An above-the-head shot of Regent Street, and a few of the 250,000 – 500,000 people (counts differ depending on which paper you read), who partook in the March 26th protests.

Some may argue that film is as dead as the poor souls buried in Nunhead Cemetery, but I’d have to disagree–obviously. Last Sunday Jim and I rambled through the sprawling cemetery grounds, picking our way between the overgrown tombstones and reading the ye olde names.

Old headstones dating back to 1840; shot on an LC-A+ with 800 ISO film

It’s funny I’d willingly choose to spend a spring-like Sunday doing that, when I was the kid who not only held her breath whenever we drove past a cemetery (for fear of breathing in the spirits), but also encouraged her sister and two cousins to adopt her silly game also. It ended when their Mum, likely sick of our antics, stopped at a petrol station facing a cemetery and made us end it there while she filled up.

This derelict Grade II-listed chapel stands in the centre of Nunhead Cemetery. Shot on an LC-A+ with 800 ISO film

Anyway, back to Nunhead Cemetery. It was opened in 1840 as one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries which ring London, and is the second-largest at 52 acres. Highgate Cemetery might have more notable people buried there, but Nunhead Cemetery is credited as being the least-known but most attractive of all.

Jim, hanging off a broken branch. Shot on an LC-A+ with 800 ISO film

Tucked away in zone two in Nunhead/Peckham, part of it is a nature reserve — something you’ll notice if you visit, as it feels less of a cemetery and more of a park. Many of the headstones and graves have toppled over or buckled, but that just gives it more of a charm.

A looming headstone, shot on an LC-A+ with 800 ISO film

We visited in mid-March, but I’d love to go back in a few weeks’ time, when more daffodils and the unmistakable white flowers of ramsons (wild garlic) have bloomed. The Friends of Nunhead Cemetery hold a guided walk on the last Sunday of every month, meeting at the Linden Grove gates at 2:15pm.

It’s definitely worth a trip south, and afterwards you can sit by the roaring fire and dine on a roast at the wonderful Rye Hotel pub just down the road.

PS: Yes, I know I quoted some Morrissey lyrics from a song that admonishes plagiarism, but considering Morrissey himself borrowed in that song, I think it’s ok, non?

Perhaps it’s because I’ve always quietly been a soppy sentimentalist, or maybe it’s due to settling down and getting hitched this year, but I’ve been thinking a lot about Christmas traditions recently.

In my (almost!) 25 years on this planet, 18 years were spent eating Christmas dinner on Christmas eve night (38 degrees is about 15 degrees too high to eat hot food during the day), and then polishing off cold leftovers with fresh prawns and marron straight-out-of-the-dam for lunch the next day.

Since 2004, I’ve spent every Christmas fighting my way onto crowded trains, sodden with snow. The last two Christmasses have been in Wiltshire/Devon with Jim and his family, but we did make it back to Australia in 2008. That was a brilliant year, seeing Jim — who’d never spent a single Christmas away from his family — adjust to 38-degree heat and cold beers on the verandah. He adjusted well, you could say.

What was particularly exciting for me was introducing him to our family’s traditions. Jumping in Dad’s ute, beers in hand, as we chainsawed down a pine tree from the side of the road (they grow like weeds in Australia, so everyone finds their Christmas trees by railway tracks or at the back of someone’s farm). Decorating it with all the family present, silly festive hats planted firmly on heads as the very same Nat King Cole cassette tape I bought in Bali when I was six years’ old plays on Dad’s stereo.

Cold eggnog consumed; the tree gets decorated with baubles handed down from generations before us; primary school art classes (nothing gets thrown out in our household) and assorted others, until we flop on the sofa to enjoy the lit-up scene.

Here’s a look at 2010′s London Christmas tree:

Our tree was bought for 30 notes at the Herne Hill Christmas market. Which was really good fun! It’s great to see our local area come together and be so community-minded. I think Herne Hill is pretty good for that generally, but I’d love a monthly farmers’ market to occur.

Jim decorating the tree, as Effie cowers behind it.

A new Christmas decoration, bought from Selfridges. Pull the snowflake, and his legs and arms bob up. Proper old-fashioned fun. As part of a new tradition I’ve started since leaving home six years’ ago, I buy a tree decoration and send it home to Mum and Dad each Christmas, so they can think of me when decorating the tree. I bought them an identical snowman this year, as I liked him so much.

Effie loves Christmas. Especially pulling all the baubles off the boughs (we try and put our least-favourite ones on the lower-branches, but somehow this handmade one from Mum snuck on there. Oh dear…)

Another new decoration, this one from Monsoon of all places. I just can’t resist a robin.

Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without a photo of a terrified kitten being cuddled by a Kat dressed up as George Michael, circa-Wake Me Up Before you Go Go music video (we were on our way to an ’80s party).

I’m enjoying creating new traditions with Jim immensely, and seeing how his family does Christmas too. Opening half the presents on Christmas Eve? What a lovely tradition, she says, as she eyes up a jewellery-box sized present under the tree…