Glossy Obsession

It's not just working for a magazine that keeps me interested in the magazine industry. Lavishly-produced glossies are the Staple of many a menswear blog, and not only serve to inspire, but also, enjoyed properly, become an act of defiance, a way of harking back to an earlier, pre-internet time when journalism only existed in a print form, and the most commentary you were likely to get was a letter printed on the following day's 'Dear Editor' page. It's a fact that the magazine industry is still in rude health because the quality of what's being produced is increasing, and the realtime Twitter/blogosphere/comments page only serves to increase the lust for something permanent, concrete and unchangeable. Over the last couple of weeks, I've been fortunate to have a few hours of chilling out time in various places (my new flat is pleasingly without a working telly), and been able to sit down for an hour or so and digest an entire magazine. Reading Man About Town on a Shoreditch roof terrace with a glass of rosé in hand was one of the most civilised things I've done recently, and this evening's settling down on my sofa in my flat with a mug of tea and a copy of Ten Men was a pretty equal second. The immersion into another world and the feeling of calm that this generates is incomparable; I justify the purchase of weighty magazines because I equate them with books. Yes, there's advertising, and yes, there's a lot of it, but just because the content is trying to sell you something doesn't mean that it can't be enjoyed on an aesthetic level. Editorial in my favourite magazines now is irreverent and inspiring; Charlie Porter's piece on the escalator at St. John's Wood station in the latest issue of Fantastic Man is one of the most inspiring articles I've read recently, because of its beauty-in-mundanity approach combined with the effect that Mr. Porter's calming prose has on the reader. I can't recommend searching out a good magazine and devoting an hour of the day to it; time spent reading is nothing if not a Staple. Other Staples this week:
Devouring a whole magazine in a single sitting
Capri-Sun orange juice
Spending a day messing about on the canal on a barge
The Diner in Camden Town
A nautical, navy-and-cream-striped thin knit cardigan
Goat's cheese from Neal's Yard dairy
Disco Discharge compilation CDs

A Country Mile...or 8

I've blogged before about my love of getting out of London; for I am a country boy at heart (and in years gone by). So last weekend I was rather pleased that the fantastic Alvin had arranged a daytrip to everyone's favourite commuter town in the Buckinghamshire countryisde, Tring. Now he's organised a few before, and I've always meant to attend, but an 8am rendezvous at Euston on a Saturday morning is a tough target to hit. However, this time, I made it and I'm SO glad I did. While the environs of Tring may not offer the panoramic vistas I've seen in the Cairngorms, Alps or Rockies, it's a million miles away from the concrete cityscape of London. I even dressed up in my country gent outfit of black wellies, cream jeans and green military coat. It was utterly glorious. We did an 8-mile loop, with the Ivinghoe Beacon forming the centrepiece. A brief climb up to the top and the view was, by all accounts, pretty spectacular. As the weather was bright, you could see for MILES. And the wander was enhanced by some brilliant company, and a fantastically invigorating wind that blew the cobwebs away - just what you need on a Saturday morning. This was rounded off with a visit to the aptly-named Valiant Trooper pub in Almondbury, where I polished off a three-course pub lunch (deep-fried brie; fish pie; brownie), three pints of Honeydew beer and an Amaretto. I've not been that satisfied in a long time. It's so good for the soul to get some miles under the feet and a pretty vista in front of your eyes; I've been taken on walks since I was a little kid, and it's something that is easy to dismiss on a mad weekend in town, but it's so accessible (the fast train gets there in 25 minutes) and totally free. Delicious. Hopefully we'll be able to organise a few more in the coming months (I'll post details) and maybe even a trip to the Lake District...Other Staples this week:
A lovely walk in Tring on a Saturday
Gmail's smileys (only discovered these today!)
New issue of Fantastic Man
The Camden Tup
Aqualung's album 'Still Life' (rediscovery of old CDs continues)
Warburton's Hot Cross Bun Loaf
JG Ballard's novel, 'Kingdom Come'

Stapler's Voyages - Berlin

This time last precisely a week ago, I was in Berlin, napping, preparing to go out for the third night in a row. There's something about that city, where nothing seems to close, every other person is an artist and there's always room to move that gives you a sense of possibility. The wide open boulevards, huge construction projects and pop-up shops and galleries are testament to this. Wandering around, the atmosphere is similar to my favourite city, Paris; relaxed, chilled and Just Right. Obviously a weekend of crazy clubbing in another city with a big group of brilliant mates is going to be pretty special, but splicing in drinks at the Fernsehturm, the amazing AquaDom, a bit of aimless wandering and a very quick trip to the shops (another Acne tshirt; I must seek help) really made it extra-good for me. On returning to London, the crowds of people crammed on the Tube had me down; Every time I come back from a European city, it always reminds me just how high the quality of life is in Continental Europe. Yes, this is through the rose-tinted haze of brilliant weekend, but simple things like having enough - and relatively inexpensive - taxis, really makes me think that it's time to move. I've been in London for 6 and a half years now, it's my city, but I think the dream of a Parisian balcony, a Berlin studio, or a Milanese apartment needs to be explored. If I don't do it soon, then am I going to do it at all? Anyway, enough whimsy; Berlin is amazing, go now while the flights are cheap, and the beer cheaper...

La vie Parisienne

So owing to some uninteresting hardware issues here, I've unfortunately not been able to blog quite as much as I might have liked. Sat here in the Eurostar terminal (on the floor, bien sur - chairs are obviously not aesthetically pleasing enough for Gare du Nord), I'm struck once again by a love for Paris. I still can't place my finger on exactly what it is, but if pushed, I'll say the atmosphere of civility. There's something exceptionally correct about working a legal number of maximum hours (35 per week) with a legally imposed hour's lunch break, having your company pay for your lunch, having a reasonable amount of paid holiday and a healthy respect for how and how not to work. Added to this is the idea that an afternoon spent in a cafe en bavardant is an acceptable weekend activity, and not spending every waking hour not in work down the pub (though don't get me wrong, I love doing this, it can be a little heavy on mind, body and wallet) makes for a particularly serene experience. Yes, this was more of a holiday than a business trip, but it just feels right here. It feels like priorities are in the right place in Paris, and as I sit here surrounded by British tourists fretting about passport control, the time, the weather and how to spend those last damned Euros, I find myself wondering if I should just stay after all. Parisian life is the epitome of a Staple - not just parties and gigs (though that's there if you want it) but a more fulfilling, pleasant and civilised way of spending your days. Paris, je t'aime.

Weekend bliss

My weekend is never complete without a copy of the Guardian. It has become an integral part of my Saturday morning, waking up, throwing on my woolly hat, jeans and a comfy jumper and heading down to the Hades of Tesco to grab a copy of it, together with a box of croissants and maybe some fruit juice or a bottle of San Pellegrino. Then a hasty retreat back to the safety of the duvet, casting off the street clothes and tearing open the polythene wrapping which contains the newspaper. I go for the Weekend section first, and check on how my favourite columnists have managed with their variously calamitous weeks. Then it's the Travel section for some inspiration and morning reverie; the Guide for more columns and a look at what my ideal week might involve, entertainment-wise; the Work section out of habit; then I gradually work my way through the rest of it, cherry-picking the best pieces, the bits that appeal. An article on Jacques Demy, Diana Rigg's diary, a Sebastião Salgado photo-essay. All whilst dropping croissant crumbs on myself and slurping a cup of tea. In my very humble opinion, there's no more civilised way to start a weekend. And there's no more civilised ending that blogging about it either. Sometimes I do think I have a civilised life. It's terribly nice. And so to this week's Staples:
The Guardian on a Saturday
Mariah Carey's 'All I Want for Christmas'
Aveda for Men hair products
Having a good clear-out
Steven Poliakoff dramas
Black M&S cotton socks
The Crown on New Oxford St.

L'agrafe

It's only recently hit me just how much affection I seem to have for Paris. Any time I see an image of la belle ville, or cast a passing thought back to my year there, I think to myself 'Oh, Paris!' Of course it has its drawbacks, and I had a very goodtime/badtime year there, but there's something so alluring about that city, still, 2 years on. I suppose it's the same sort of sensation I used to get when I first moved to London, strolling through King's Cross listening to the Libertines en route to Camden, and though I still get that to a certain extent, its much less than it used to be. Paris' - or indeed any city's - allure is completely subjective, but I think that the unhurried and thoroughly civilised pace of life, combined with a classic elegance in both architecture and fashion, nouvelle vague references, and in my case a thorough knowledge of its geography makes Paris very irrestible. It was while on the train back from Leeds that I realised (although reading the Observer's Paris special issue probably helped) that I have such affection for a city. I think the way I discovered it, as a povertylicious student-flâneur probably helped, but Hemingway's quote from his memoirs of his time there sums it up best: "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." I can't wait for the new, quicker Eurostar link to open literally under my feet. This week's Staples are:
Spending leisurely time in Paris
Moleskine notebooks
Grey leather lace-up shoes from B Store
Reading literature on the Tube, not 'Metro'
Lemon fairy cakes with buttercream icing
Pink champagne
Jeremy Warmsley's album, 'The Art of Fiction'