Icy Christmas

 

A few years ago, before I started this blog, I went home for Christmas (very much like I am preparing to do right now as a matter of fact) and when I got there, the weather was off the scale. The whole island was covered in ice – even the tide line, salty as it is, was frozen into sharp little shards of ice that crackled and cracked as the waves churned them about. 

As E.B. White, whose 1950s New Yorker Christmas writings I like to read at this time of year, put it: 'Everyone has one Christmas he remembers above all others, one blindingly beautiful occasion.' And I think this one is mine, in terms of on-the-surface beauty at least. 

While I'm half glad that it is not meant to freeze this year, as it makes driving the length of the country a bit of a roulette, the fact that the island won't look like this this Christmas (or perhaps ever again!) is a little sad. So I thought I would post these to remind myself, as E.B White also writes in a different Christmas essay: 'Rememberance is sufficient of the beauty we have seen' which is a thought that I quite like.

Seascape

There's such escape in a seascape. They're mesmerising. As L.S. Lowry explained his fascination with painting them: 'It's the battle of life – the turbulence of the sea – and life's pretty turbulent, isn't it?' 

Seascapes are blank space with lots of little details – the colour of the water, sometimes white horses, sometimes a mirror shine. When I go back home to Islay, I can't help but photograph it in all its moods – I'm especially sad to be missing all of the drama of the autumn storms that will be coming in the next few months.

I like certain clothes for similar reasons: I've never been much of a one for bold, bright, blocked patterns – something small and intricate suits me best; soft draping reminds me of waves and unpredictable tides, and muted blues and greens are all I ever really want to wear. 

The view from the ferry across the sea to Islay on a darkening night.

1. Topshop Colour blocked pleated dress; 2. Scotch & Soda pea coat; 3. Toast two-tone oxford; 4. Scotch & Soda cardigan; 5. A.P.C. Mary Janes; 6. Alexander Wang metallic pants

A Lowry seascape 'The Sea' (1963) hanging in Glasgow's Kelvingrove Art Gallery.

1. Topshop Boutique Asymmetric silk dress; 2. Apres Ski Arquitecrture #11 necklaces (they look just like little boats, I think); 3. JCrew Betsy Sweater; 4. JCrew Saunter Shorts; 5. A.P.C Ecru Bracelet; 6. Band of Outsiders Bancroft Blouse; 7. Charles Anastase Lula Dress; 8. Swedish Hasbeens Lace-up Boots.

Below: The view from outside my Islay house the morning I left.

Duffle

I've never been a duffle coat girl. 'Too much Paddington Bear, not enough shape' says my inner monologue. Sometimes though (often, actually), my inner monologue needs to be a bit more open minded, and this, to a certain extent, is one of those occasions.

Despite all of that, this is not my duffle coat, borne of a sudden change of heart after years of duffle-aversion, but my mother's, from NW3 at Hobbs (the young trendy Hobbs collection – she's neither old nor serious enough for the Hobbs part yet, she says – I agree).

The coat and I are on the rocks just outside my mother's house on the Isle of Islay. I think every child who has ever grown up in the village grew up mostly clambering and scrambling over them. My sister and I used to decorate carefully-chosen rocks with things we found on the shore, and play house; sending letters to each other via slates and chalk. When it was stormy, we'd go down and marvel at the high tide. On calm days I'd sit and watch the ripples quietly ripple in. I'm quite attached to these rocks, as it happens.

The coat's best feature, in my opinion, is the part that makes it less a typical duffle coat and more of a coat that comes in at the waist (my preference) – the lovely cut at the back. The lining is also very pretty, and the coat itself is probably the cosiest one I've ever worn. All in, I think I like it, although probably not enough to buy one for myself.

I've topped off my largely borrowed outfit with my sister's Christmas present – the vintage looking leather laptop bag, which I'm a big fan of. It's a little bit Mulberry-esque, I suppose. The gloves belong to me (a Cath Kidston Christmas present), as do the riding boots, which I got from Islay's only charity shop.

Every time I go back to Islay, I wonder if I could live there – life always seems so much simpler. Lots of peat fires, long walks on beaches and cosy whisky. I'd like to some day I think, but not soon, and not forever – it's a hard place to live in the winter when the newspapers don't arrive and the mail is cut off because of a fierce storm. On the other hand, fierce storms and stormy seas are kind of exhilarating, and who needs newspapers really?

Duffle coat: NW3 at Hobbs
Jeans: Topshop
Boots: Charity shopped
Gloves: Cath Kidston
Bag: Atwood

A Happy New Year

I've had a bit of an internet holiday this last week – I've swapped it for snowy driving to Wales for Christmas and more snowy driving to Scotland for Hogmanay. The west coast of Scotland is positively springlike compared to English temperatures, and I'm not looking forward to returning to my chilly flat on Monday.

In Bristol, the Christmas Steps are Christmassy all year round, but I always find them especially pleasing in December. I ended up going up and down them far more than I expected before Christmas due to some emergency present buying. In the end, Benjamin and I decided instead to bake chocolate and hazelnut biscotti and put them in a little bag with a ribbon around the top as little gifts for the people we forgot to buy for. They are super easy to bake and make for much-appreciated presents – the recipe we used is here, if you're interested.

My Scottish New Year has been catching up with my feral turned 2011 house cat, Muesli, falling off my mother's new horse, drinking gin made in the distillery across the road and taking long New Year's Day walks along the beach with Ben, my little sister, and Jock, the Westie who loves to run in the sand. He steals the show some. Now for some apple tarte tatin, and a viewing of a home video of my mother and grandparents in the 1960s to round off a perfect New Year's Day.

Wishing you all the best for the New Year! I'm looking forward to seeing what it has in store.

Windswept

Islay is extremely windy today. The wind whooshes right off the sea and swirls around the house making the trees look stressed. I worry that they might lose all of their lovely green leaves a little prematurely. They are more used to the wind than I am though, so they seem to be surviving. You don't get wind like this in the city. For some idea of the atmosphere, you can garner a sense of it from this Russian animation. The sun is shining on Islay though, which makes the whole thing very difficult to dress for.

The beach is always windy, and well used to it. The reeds on the sand dunes dig in their roots and wave around in the swirls. This beach is Kilchoman, yesterday, when it wasn't so windy. It is said you can sometimes see a mythical island on the horizon, if you are lucky. I was always convinced I could see one when I was little, although I rather suspect myself of wishful thinking. We walked Jock, the very photogenic Westie, all the way to the end of the shore – he was exhausted afterwards, especially as he has a fear of water – he's very sweet.

I think you have seen this skirt before, but it has been reprised. I like how 1940s rationing this outfit looks. Woollen jumpers and floral skirts – the 1940s are a favourite decade of mine, although I think it has more to do with the can-do attitude and the general atmosphere than the clothes necessarily. The jumper is a Ralph Lauren boys' one that a friend of mine fortuitously (for me) shrunk in the wash. In fact this is probably one of the most high class 'labelled' of any of my outfits, although it is almost exclusively from charity shops.

Skirt: Handmade, thrifted
Shirt: Yves St Laurent, thrifted
Jumper: Ralph Lauren, shrunk in the wash