Belgravia August 2015 by Runwild Media Group

BELGRAVIA

A particular take on property

2015

Resident’s Journal A U G U S T 201 5

I SSU E 0 39

Step inside your local office for a copy of magazine Market leaders in Knightsbridge and Belgravia

The Belgravia Residents’ Journal is published independently by Runwild Media Group with regular editorial contributions from Belgravian residents. We would highly value any feedback you wish to email us with: belgravia@residentsjournal.co.uk; or telephone us on 020 7987 4320.

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08/04/2015 10:38

Dear Resident

Even in the midst of summer, one of autumn’s greatest country pursuits, shooting, gets its foot in the door. On page five, Henry Hopwood-Phillips celebrates the Glorious Twelfth by heading to West London Shooting School. Flowers are still in full bloom though, which is something Bethan Rees celebrates by chipping, chopping and generally torturing nature’s slender stems into gorgeous ensembles at Judith Blacklock’s Flower School on page 13. And picnics are still the order of the day, which is why on page 16 we round up some of the best local hampers. Finally, art is still a huge part of Belgravia’s heritage, so Anthony Armstrong looks at one of the greatest art dealers the area’s ever had in an interview with Peter Johnson (page seven). And Evy Cauldwell-French assesses the Tate’s latest Barbara Hepworth exhibition (page nine). Please do not hesitate to get in contact with all your news and updates by emailing belgravia@residentsjournal.co.uk. Alternatively, tweet us @thebelgravian. We hope you enjoy the issue.

Managing Editor Francesca Lee

Managing Director Eren Ellwood

Publishing Director Giles Ellwood

Main Editorial Contributor Henry Hopwood-Phillips

Senior Designer Sophie Blain

General Manager Fiona Fenwick

Editorial Assistant Jennifer Mason

Production Hugo Wheatley Oscar Viney Jamie Steele Alice Ford

Executive Director Sophie Roberts

Editor-in-Chief Lesley Ellwood

Above / Frederic Whiting (British, 18741962) Study of an Arab horse. Turn to page seven for more information.

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The Notebook

Who and what have been moving and shaking in Belgravia recently? We bring you up-to-date

Smell of success Seeing is believing

The NV Integration showroom in Belgravia boasts the latest technology, including invisible speakers, home automation, lighting control and a hidden cinema room, all displayed in various living spaces to mimic a dream private residential property. To experience this for yourself and learn more about NV integration, call to arrange a viewing.

Jo Malone is excited to announce the glamourous refurbishment of its London boutique in Sloane Street. The new store will offer the opportunity for you to lose yourself in the World of Jo Malone London with the relaxing hand and arm massage and the dazzling new tasting bar. 150 Sloane Terrace, SW1X 9BX, 0370 1925 1819 (jomalone.co.uk)

Grosvenor Waterside, Gatliff Road, SW1W 8QN, 020 7205 2325 (nvintegration.co.uk/showroom)

Dreaming dragons Piece of cake

Peggy Porschen, an award-winning cake designer, is opening the doors of her bakery to share the secrets of her trade. The courses available range from mastering Peggyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s signature dishes, to perfecting sugar flowers and other saccharine creations. Whether you are just looking for a fun day out or wanting to achieve the Professional Cake Maker Diploma, the Peggy Porschen Academy will be able to cater to your every need. 30 Elizabeth Street, SW1W 9RB, 020 7730 1316 (peggyporschenacademy.com)

Luxury nursery and childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s room designers Dragons of Walton Road has moved to the fourth floor of Harrods. Internationally renowned for its gorgeous and imaginatively hand-painted nurseries, the firm boasts a number of A-list clients, from royalty downwards. The teams of interior designers, artists and carpenters work tirelessly to turn dreams into reality. 166 Walton Street, SW3 2JL, 020 3544 2000 (dragonsofwaltonstreet.com)

OUTDOOR PURSUITS

I am

game

Because when you’ve lived and worked in London long enough... you just want to shoot things

ports have genders. Some people deny this but we know it’s true. Horse riding? Female. Rugby? That’s male. Ballet? Definitely female. Shooting? Male. But more than just being male, it’s for men, not boys. I know, because we used to host shoots. The square outside the stables would fill with wet, smelly dogs, Land Rovers with square faces and craggy men who looked as if they’d seen too much. I wanted to join in but Gracie (my black Labrador) and I were so ill-trained we were not allowed. This traumatic annual ritual of non-participation ensured the nearest I ever got to a shotgun was a 12-bore that a friend’s grandfather had taken from a dead Nazi – in the war, not after it. It was a gun we imaginatively called ‘the Nazi shotgun’. It was also a tool I used to go ‘lamping’ with friends, keeping the flora safe from, erm, the fauna. Anyway, the upshot is that I’m a bad shot. So, as I sign up for a clay shoot with the London Shooting Club, first, I wonder what horrible hole they’ll send me to. Nowhere just outside London is ever nice; in fact, London insidiously inverts Dante’s circles. And second, I wonder whether I’ll embarrass myself. A 20-minute drive from Holland Park (around 30 mins from Knightsbridge on the tube), I find myself in the middle of nowhere. And not the sort of ‘nowhere’ that paintball centres boast of, but a bucolic spot of country. Hardly chocolate-box Dorset but certainly Richmond upon Thames calibre.

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The building (of the West London Shooting School – just one of the venues of the London Shooting Club), reminds me of grammar schools built at the turn of the century. The red brick nicely matches the hall, which itself is full of wood and men daubed in the colours of the earth: it’s all checked shirts, tweed caps and musto vests. After a chicken, spinach and potato lunch upstairs, we make a beeline towards the flying ceramics. Fortunately we are in the company of sharpshooting’s answer to Eamonn Holmes, a man who could shoot your grandmother at 100 yards and then convince you it was all for the better because, well, just listen to his lilt. I’m shooting with a best friend from university, who is so good he has his own gun. He convinces me that his misses are due to the fact that game shooting is very different. To my surprise I’m not bad. To my chagrin, I’m not as good as my other friend Kate, who doesn’t even look like she’s trying. She tells me I’m ‘great’. I nod uncomfortably. My inner Eamonn Holmes is telling me to stop thinking. ‘You’re getting the shots when you’re fluid and letting your intuition take over,’ she says. I agree but then think about not thinking. Even without alcohol the day goes quickly. Everybody is relaxed, sunning themselves on the benches outside. There’s no awkwardness, tension or peacocking, just people honing their shooting skills, ready for the zombie apocalypse. But survivalism aside, this place is fun. (londonshootingclub.com)

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ART

A man for all

seasons Anthony Armstrong talks to Peter Johnson, one of the best art dealers Belgravia has ever had, at his new redoubt, nestled in the folds of Cambridgeshire

here’s a touch of P. G. Wodehouse to Peter Johnson, Belgravian art dealer for more than 50 years. We’re meeting in the Johnson family home, a 16th-century manor house in Cambridgeshire and an ideal setting for any Jeeves and Wooster novel. ‘I once had an open-top MG A sports car,’ Peter begins, sitting in the panelled dining room. ‘So long as you were doing 42mph, the rain was confected over the car and you didn’t get wet,’ he continues. I sup my tea and imagine Bertie Wooster careering along some country lane in driving goggles. ‘We had to drop down to 30mph, so my father punched a hole through the Evening Standard and put it over his head, and then his bowler hat on top of that. Beneath the charming anecdotes, however, lies an astute and knowledgeable third-generation art dealer, whose family business, Oscar and Peter Johnson, flourished for decades in Lowndes Street. ‘From the outset it was a very successful spot,’ Peter tells me. ‘I carried on dealing for well over 50 years at that place, which is amazing really.’ One need only scan the index of Heart in Art, Peter’s memoir, to gauge how successful the gallery was. Influential names feature, such as Jackie Kennedy, who, having ‘turned up in a vast Cadillac, asking where she could get away from all the press’, bought a William Huggins’ drawing of a lion; Harold Macmillan, who bought four paintings and a clock; and Lucian Freud, who ‘came into the gallery and said to the secretary, “I am

Lucian Freud. I believe you have some pictures by me.” One occasion saw the traffic of Motcomb Street grind to a halt as the actor Rex Harrison, with help from Peter, guided the gallery’s manager and porter across the road as they were carrying paintings to Harrison’s new house on Wilton Crescent, echoing the famous scene from My Fair Lady. Institutions such as the National Gallery and the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge have benefited from the gallery’s finds, partly thanks to Peter’s skill at facilitating sales from the collections of private clubs and houses. Indeed, it’s Peter’s lack of pretence and genuine

From top / Peter and wife Gay sitting in the hall of their 16th-century manor house. Photograph taken in 2015, the year of their wedding anniversary, by photographer Donato Cinicolo (dc3art. co.uk); Detail of Haymakers by George Stubbs, acquired, along with its partner Reapers, by the Tate through Peter Johnson

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enthusiasm for art – the sheer absence of jargon – that I’m sure sets him apart from some of his counterparts. Clients warm to his sincerity. After a hard week’s buying and selling, weekends were spent in the country. ‘The three things I really enjoyed at that time were riding point-to-points, flying a Tiger Moth and driving an Austin Healey,’ Peter tells me. This balance between pleasure and business was cultivating success. With the business going from strength to strength, Oscar and Peter Johnson bought and merged Ackermann & Son Ltd in the 1990’s, creating Ackermann and Johnson. That was eventually sold in 2009, leaving Peter to establish his new business, Peter Johnson Fine Art. The manor house is the centre of the new venture, with exhibitions held in a large barn in the grounds and various locations in London. Peter’s former gallery in Belgravia became a short-lived shoe shop. ‘When [the shop] disappeared pretty much overnight, my wife suggested that we have a pop-up gallery,’ Peter tells me. ‘What was so nice about that was all the locals came in and said “welcome back.”’ It wasn’t long until another shoe shop sprouted up in its place. ‘It’s particularly ridiculous, because I’ve always said that selling pictures is like selling pairs of shoes, so I like to think that I’ve got my comeuppance,’ Peter exclaims light-heartedly, though not without some reservation. ‘The influence of all these high-fashion shops is very bad news, because they’re totally different from what used to be there: culture and art. There was Hotspur, the

From top / Louis le Nain’s Adoration of the Shepherds - sale to the National Gallery negotiated through Oscar and Peter Johnson; Boy in Red Cape by Sir John Everett Millais - illustrated on cover of Country Life and sold to a private collector through Oscar and Peter Johnson

furniture people, opposite us; there was Hoare’s bank right at the end, there was another furniture gallery next to us… Then there were lovely clubs like Mosimann’s,’ Peter recalls. ‘I knew people who lived in Belgrave Square, now it’s all embassies or such like offices, or split up. It’s very different.’ Different, but not entirely lost. ‘I still have my haircut there,’ says Peter. ‘I still see lots of people there I know.’ Indeed one may still bank with Hoare’s on Lowndes Street or dine on Mosimann’s calamari – a favourite of Peter’s – in Belgrave Square. The core community and institutions that Peter knew remain. peterjohnsonfineart.com Heart in Art by Peter Johnson, £24.99 (Bene Factum Publishing)

ART

Concepts & Matter

Barbara Hepworth, Double Exposure of Two Forms 1937, Photograph, gelatin silver print on paper, Private collection © the Hepworth Photograph Collection

Evy Cauldwell-French visits the latest exhibition at The Tate, Barbara Hepworth: Sculpture for a Modern World 2015 marks the fortieth anniversary of the death of prominent Modernist sculptor Dame Barbara Hepworth. Since her death, her magnificent oeuvre has been reexamined almost relentlessly by curators, academics and acolytes and the Tate’s recent offering, her first major London retrospective since 1978, is in no way dissimilar. The exhibition reminds us once again of Hepworth’s unwavering affection for natural forms amidst industrialised and post-industrialised landscapes. Both in the natural materials themselves and in the strong curved trajectory of her carvings, Hepworth offers us a harmonious vision of the world, much in opposition to how we perceive modernity today. Much of her practice here strives towards balance, poise, strength and vitality – not solely in the material realisation of forms but in their source, her imagination. Hepworth imbued her sculptures with a force beyond the pure aesthetic, reaching a near magical quality. This quality allowed Hepworth and her contemporaries to view her sculpture outside of the realities of the fragmentary interwar years. Hepworth really comes into her own when she begins to place her sculptures back into reality. After moving to Cornwall, she began to conceive her creative process as being fundamentally connected to the landscape surrounding her. Undoubtedly, the beauty of the Cornish coast inspired her, but this was also enabled by her gradual acceptance to the male-dominated school of International Modernism. Her collaboration with architects, both real as in the case of Gerrit Rietveld’s 1965 sculptural pavilion, which the visitor can explore in reproduction in the last room of the exhibition, as well as imagined, with photo collages staging her sculptures in various locations reveals Hepworth as more than simply a ‘sculptor’.

Right / Barbara Hepworth in the Palais studio at work on the wood carving Hollow Form with White Interior 1963, Photograph: Val Wilmer, ©Bowness, Hepworth Estate Below / Barbara Hepworth, Curved Form (Delphi) 1955, Sculpture, Guarea wood, part painted, with strings, 1067 x 787 x 813 mm, Ulster Museum, Belfast ©Bowness, Hepworth Estate

(tate.org.uk)

Barbara Hepworth, Large and Small Form 1934, Sculpture, White alabaster, 250 x 450 x 240 mm, The Pier Arts Centre Collection, Orkney, ©Bowness, Hepworth Estate

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The

Belgravian CLUBLAND

Hannah Lippitt talks to the helmsman of the Caledonian Club, Ian Campbell, about a part of London that will remain forever Scottish

PROFILE

an Campbell greets me in the rather grand reception of the Caledonian Club with a hearty handshake. His hail-fellow-well-met demeanour could startle the uninitiated in other circumstances and surprise those who still think the world of London’s private members’ clubs is one of Wodehousian privilege. Rather pale, male and stale to use the idiom so favoured by the media when referring to the abundance of such men allegedly colonising establishment tenures. As secretary of the club, Ian is about as far from the stereotype as you could possibly imagine. A Hackneydwelling, bike-riding, allotment-loving 50-something, he gives the impression that he’d be equally at home on the board of a trendy Soho-based production company – or running a cultural arts festival in Shoreditch. His background at least partly explains why he’s so bien dans sa peau. A Brummie, with a Scottish father, he studied at “hotel school”, as he puts it. His career boasts some impressive employers: Claridge’s, the five-star Chewton Glen in Hampshire, the Lancaster Hotel, to name just a few. The hospitality sector is full of extroverts – you rather have to be – with guests needing to feel special and relaxed at once, so taciturn applicants need not apply. His career to date has involved mixing with the great and the good, as well as all sorts of other colourful characters (he told me lots of interesting stories – strictly off the record); so the varied experience that Ian Campbell’s gained somewhat elucidates the breezy, confident manner he exudes. The Caledonian Club is his best gig yet. ‘It’s Belgravia’s best-kept secret,’ he adds, as an afterthought. The club requires members to have a link, however tenuous, to Scotland – simply an absolute love of its rolling hills and momentous history could suffice. He particularly likes that the club is mutual rather than proprietary, and as chairman of the Association of London Clubs (all are mutual), his attachment to this model makes sense. ‘The club was founded in 1891 as a proprietary club, but has been mutual since 1917, after 25 per cent of its members were killed in World War One and it could have gone bust; but the mutual model gave members a chance to turn things around.’ This means members are more in control, which comes with its own challenges: ‘We must keep quality up to scratch, yet not make too much money at the same time, or members will feel they’ve been fleeced.’ To become a member you have to go through the usual proposal process and have a choice of different memberships, but ‘club membership is organic, you don’t come here to do business,’ he says firmly, adding: ‘It’s about the heart not the

head’. In fact, he seems rather wary of talking about money at all – hesitating when I ask him about membership costs; perhaps he couldn’t recall. The reluctance to promote the club as an optimum place to do business is to be expected; the last thing members want is to be approached in the library by aggressive-looking salespeople hoping to seal dubious deals. All the same, Campbell insists that: ‘The club shuns business, but a hell of a lot of business gets done.’ This makes sense. Joining an institution where you’ll be mingling with like-minded members, enjoying sampling the wine list and benefiting from top-quality food at high-street prices; as well as partaking in the array of activities on offer: such as shooting away-days, Burns Night fun and barbecues, means you’ll ultimately build friends over time. And despite the old adage about business and pleasure, clubs have always been a mainstay of building strong contacts. On a whizz around the building, the place looks rather similar to numerous other private membership clubs of its ilk in London, apart from the bedroom capacity – there are 39 – an awful lot compared to the competition. The Scottish link explains this anomaly. ‘Members who’ve come all the way down from Scotland need somewhere to stay,’ I’m told. It’s not so much these small details that make the Caledonian Club atypical in my eyes, it’s the unexpected informality. Of course, no club gets away with being too uptight these days; but there’s a sense of community and purpose that members seem to embrace that is rather unique. This may sound crass to Campbell and his ilk, but illustrates that he must be doing something right. Before leaving, I address the women question. Mr Campbell hastily informs me that he ‘raises eyebrows at other clubs that don’t let women in’, reminding me that the Caldeonian decided to allow women to apply to be full members in 2010. I ask how that went down with some of the older members and am told that the longevity of membership means members tend to change with the times and that the majority were more than happy with the decision. Perhaps it’s testament to his character that I believe him. The survival of this old school, seemingly mysterious and archaic world of private clubs, relies on them moving firmly into the 21st century and embracing the new, while keeping the traditions and timeless appeal of the old. Not all clubs manage to do this. That the Caledonian Club has not fallen into this unhappy category is perhaps mostly due to Ian Campbell doing his best to keep it fresh, forward-looking and relevant.

It’s Belgravia’s best-kept secret

(caledonianclub.com)

Illustration / Russ Tudor

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playhouses • castles • treehouses T: 01544 387100 www.theplayhousecompany.co.uk

LOCAL SPOTLIGHT

Bloom

raider

Bethan Rees tries her creatively inept hand at flower arranging at a local institution, the Judith Blacklock Flower School

conic fashion designer Christian Dior once mused: ‘After women, flowers are the most lovely thing God has given the world.’ You may disagree with this statement as a matter of religious ideology or another element, but essentially it’s incredibly hard to debate a bloom’s splendour. Whether it’s a wedding bouquet or a simple single tulip in a vase at home, flowers are truly part of our life and heritage, and hidden in a mews in Belgravia is a treasure trove of knowledge in the form of industry stalwart Judith Blacklock. Tucked away down the charming cobbled street of Kinnerton Place, just moments away from the honking madness of Knightsbridge, you’d be forgiven for mistaking this location for Paris. Judith is certainly an advocate for flower power; she’s the author of 13 best-selling books, the editor of The Flower Arranger magazine, has designed exhibitions at the RHS Chelsea Flower Show, made arrangements for Kensington Palace and has taught floral design to high-profile clientele such as Gordon Ramsay and Kirstie Allsopp. So, visiting her flower school, I feel as if I’m in safe, trustworthy, green-fingered hands. Entering one of Judith’s taster half-day courses, knowing nothing apart from the obvious differentials between a rose and a lily, I was nervous. Fear not, Judith starts from the very beginning, which is a very good place to start. The studio itself is peaceful; rows upon rows of flower-themed volumes sit on the bookshelves, dried hydrangeas hang from the ceiling and an Emma Bridgewater teapot and matching teacups await us students; it’s hugely welcoming. We begin the session by Judith asking what we wish to achieve from today’s class. One woman, a tourist from Egypt, wants to learn more about flowers, quite simply; another is soon to be in charge of the floral displays at her daughter’s school; and two friends want to try something a little different to their usual coffee date. A varied bunch, I’m sure you’ll agree. Judith talks us through the basics and gives us some top tips she’s learnt through the years, including what to do if you get lily pollen on your clothes (answer: use Sellotape to pick off the pollen, not water, and then place directly in the sun). In today’s class we’ll be learning how to make the perfect centrepiece. Donning the Judith Blacklock-emblazoned aprons and armed with scissors, I’m ready to learn with a bucket of everyone’s favourite peonies, roses, hard ruscus and galax. Starting with a block of floral foam, we place it in a vessel of still water and allow it to absorb fully with water,

which is hypnotic to watch, seeing the foam go from light green to dark green. Next, we take the hard ruscus and place identical-length pieces of the gorgeous foliage in the floral foam; one in the centre and then roughly six around the base of the block and six at a 45-degree angle. With what is slowly starting to resemble a mini tree, we fill the gaps with more greenery, with leather leaves of galax and begin to add the perfectly pink roses. Looking around at everyone elses’s work in progress, I’m a little self-conscious; but Judith comes over to reassure me that we’re all doing wonderfully. With some open and some new buds of peonies, we scatter these in the centrepiece, wherever we see fit and, finally I feel, I’m getting the hang of it. The key, Judith says, is stepping away from your creation and looking at it from all angles to spot any sneaky gaps or flowers a little too close together. After finishing my centrepiece, I feel extremely smug with my hard work in hand. Judith runs a huge variety of classes: from the Business of Floristry (for those considering a career in flowers) to a Christmas Wreath Masterclass. If nothing else, being surrounded by flowers and creating something beautiful is a wonderful way to spend the day. Class prices vary. 4-5 Kinnerton Place South, SW1X 8EH, 020 7235 6235 (judithblacklock.com)

All images courtesy of Judith Blacklock Flower School Top two images: Photography by Lewis Khan; Bottom image: Photography by Oliver Gordon

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Turning over a new leaf Henry Hopwood-Phillips reviews a reformed Lanes of London, with mixed results

anes of London sounds like a bowling alley and is famous mostly for getting nasty reviews. This is because its founding concept didn’t work. The demographic that adores expensive inauthentic street food in a Marriott hotel is notoriously small. It’s even smaller than the people who pretend that street food is a real, groovy thing and not a device that ensures the gap between production cost and price is as large as that between Madonna and reality. The restaurant, clearly burnt by its flirtation with hubris, has binned the arteries of London it’s named after: Brick Lane (Indian), Edgware Road (Middle Eastern) and Kingsland Road (Vietnamese); instead, hedging its bets, it keeps only Portobello Road as a sort of cod-British option. Consider it haute pub food for those whose idea of danger is going adder-spotting on a croquet lawn. ... A lawn with a Mediterranean zephyr around the ankles perhaps. The lines here are crisp, the colours felt-tip simple: crispy waves keep two quenelles of soft crab from getting wet feet in a green moat of apple and fennel. Not that the crustacean would suffer much if it fell in. Verdancy tends to imply astringency but here, like a peacock, it’s all colour and no trousers; it’s seriously underpowered. Talking of colour: the ashen marble, glass and brass is smothering my mojo. It’s like living in the architectural

equivalent of Max Weber’s stahlhartes gehäuse (iron cage) with monads drifting about in artificially distressed clothes, pretending they’re the pathfinders of a future supper club. That’s not fair on the cocktails though, which, under the stewardship of Francesco Turrini (an old hand at Milk and Honey) perfectly complement the monkfish main. Pearlescent under a crust, it balances on a knoll of clams, barley and hot, salty samphire. The whole thing works but lacks idiosyncrasy: it would be like replacing George Galloway with Rachel Reeves – you’d lose more than you’d gain. Therefore I await the knock-out roundhouse kick-to-the-face in the pudding menu. Alas, I end up waiting a little too long (despite a half-full restaurant) and leave sans sugar overdose. This is a shame. There are some great dishes here. There are many super staff too, dreaming of escaping a uniform designed to humiliate. There is also restaurant potential, what with being located on the tourist cash nexus of Fitzrovia, Hyde Park and Marble Arch. But at the moment the whole operation feels emasculated; an exercise in how to splash cash on mediocrity. The back-to-basics approach that works so well on the menu must be rolled out across the board. London Marriott Hotel, 140 Park Lane, W1K 7AA 020 7647 5664 (lanesoflondon.com)

DRINKING & DINING

A day in the life of... Peter Robinson, head chef of Bibendum

ome in London is leafy Turnham Green. When I am not ‘Boris biking’ into work, my day begins with a takeaway coffee from one of my favourite coffee shops, Laveli, a local independent with really friendly staff, and then it’s straight on the tube to South Kensington. I arrive at the restaurant at around 7.30am every morning and catch up with Simon Thomas, who manages the Oyster bar. Then it’s straight into the kitchen where I meet my team and check on the earlymorning deliveries from our suppliers. Most of the morning is spent preparing for lunch service; my menu changes nearly every day so I have a morning debrief and tasting with the front-of-house team at 11am. Our ‘classics’ dishes remain a key part of the menu but I also include lots of lovely seasonal additions to make the most of the ingredients I’m excited about. Bibendum has been lucky enough to work with many treasured suppliers like Mike Dawson at West Mersea Oysters, who will often call first thing in the morning shortly after landing his first catch, with an update on the day’s oysters. Occasionally I will have half an hour to explore South Kensington or Chelsea. I might visit Haynes Hanson & Clark for a good bottle of wine, call in on Rex the fishmonger or Andreas, the greengrocer on Chelsea Green. At around 5pm I make final checks before the evening’s service begins and we all tuck into a staff supper together. Once service starts we usually serve 120 diners or more, and there is nothing like the buzz of a full restaurant.

I finish service in the kitchen between 11pm and midnight. On my way home I like to stop off at Franco Manca for one of their delicious sourdough pizzas. (bibendum.co.uk)

Kate in Wonderland Kate Fensterstock visits a bolthole that’s making waves among Belgravia’s young and hip crowd

roll my eyes. I knew I’d have trouble finding a place called ‘the little yellow door.’ From the start I’d suspected that it would be the sort of destination that was only such because it was hard to find or incredibly small – a standard gimmick. When I finally locate the door, there’s a grotty staircase. The whole scene reminds me more of Morocco’s souks than the flatshare it’s supposed to be. If it is a flatshare it’s definitely more Withnail & I than your standard mate’s place. But it’s probably also a lot more popular than your buddy’s – it’s only 7pm and it’s packed to the rafters. Half-expecting a burning hookah on display, our private nook is instead littered with semi-worn pillows and ‘casually arranged’ vintage board games. In an interesting twist, the Coffee and Cigarettes cocktail a friend plumps for is, in fact, an espresso martini served with a fag on the side – which makes us laugh – mainly because we’re won over by the brazenness of it all.

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The waiter’s humorous and non-invasive shtick gets more and more entertaining as the night goes on. A mixture of hubris on our part and a massive egging on his results in us soon facing the ‘fish tank challenge,’ a bright-blue concoction that looked and tasted like it could withstand nuclear Armageddon, but which also made the world a massively happier place. Despite the fog of Kool Aid I’d suspected would hang over this place, and the lighter fluid in front of us, I love this place. Why? It’s mastered the basic principles: brilliant company, right-on staff and, perhaps most importantly, a refusal to take oneself too seriously. (thelittleyellowdoor.co.uk)

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Summer Lovin’

Far too often the hamper has been relegated to the corporate Christmas gift that reveals the bankruptcy of your boss’ imagination. So, here, the Belgravia Residents’ Journal restores that titan of the picnic meadow, the picnic hamper, back to its rightful place, with this roundup of local greats

LINLEY Linley is always a name that impresses. But that cachet comes at a price. And the Somerset Picnic Hamper is no exception. Clocking in at a cool £9,500 – what do you get for the money? A handmade wicker hamper with four sets of Robbe & Berking Alta range silver-plated cutlery, four sets of Haviland Limoges porcelain crockery, six Linley champagne flutes, a Laguiole bottle opener, a cheese knife, a folding knife with horn handles, four Gayle Warwick linen napkins, a chrome and leather ice bucket, four glass food containers and an angora picnic rug. Somerset Picnic Hamper (£9,500); (davidlinley.com)

DRINKING & DINING

MOUNT STREET DELI Throw caution to the wind; take a sneaky afternoon out of the office with one of these two immortal combinations. Champagne, Strawberries & Cream for Two (£25); Scott’s Picnic Lunch for Two (£60); (themountstreetdeli.co.uk)

FORTNUM & MASON Possibly the most famous initials in the world, having them stamped all over your hamper automatically catapults you into the premier league of field-chompers. The Champagne Picnic Basket (£400); (fortnumandmason.com)

HARRODS Below is a devastatingly traditional offering: a wicker basket packed with handmade preserves (the sort with recipes unchanged since jam jars evolved from humble amphorae), a fruitcake, ginger biscuits coated in dark chocolate and cheese twists. Cartwright & Butler hamper (£120); Four person picnic basket (£100); (harrods.com)

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From Mare Nostrum

to Cosa Nostra Henry Hopwood-Phillips reviews John Julius Norwich’s book on one of the most misunderstood islands of the Mediterranean: Sicily

‘... A

nd for the next four centuries or so virtually nothing happened,’ writes John Julius Norwich, describing the game of royal musical chairs and inanition that followed 13thcentury Sicily. If it’s an honest preface, it’s also a sad one. Striking a valedictory note, Norwich outlines a life which traced his father’s, Duff Cooper’s, footsteps (whose Diaries 1915-1951, incidentally, his son wrote a decade ago) in the Foreign Office until he encountered Norman Sicily. He claims that period had such an impact on him that ‘There was nothing for it but to resign from the Foreign Service... I have not put [my pen] down since’. Now 85, Norwich reckons this book may be his last. We must hope not. With almost 20 titles to his name on the history of the most overlooked parts of the Mediterranean basin, Norwich has consistently achieved a rare task: yoking the bright lights of academia to the demotic idiom of the people. His story also tangles with that of the area’s royalty, Patrick Leigh Fermor’s (‘Paddy’ to initiates); his own daughter Artemis was the traveller’s friend and biographer.

I must declare an interest. It was on my own abbreviated homage to Paddy (from Athens to Constantinople) many moons ago that I swallowed the first volume of Norwich’s A History of Byzantium: The Early Centuries whole. My walk up to that point had been a whimsical (and farcical) A-to-B affair, fulfilling the rather uninspiring virtues of first, saving money (I illegally camped everywhere); second, being somewhere hot; and third, perhaps most importantly, avoiding a girlfriend who was doing expensively fun things elsewhere. Immediately I ordered 12 books to be delivered to a post office ahead of me in Paralia Katerini. The majority of them were by Norwich. What followed was an obsession I’ve never been able to surrender, a transfiguration I’ve struggled to reverse. Once a simple classicist, with the twin lamps of Athens and Rome, iridescent, like headlights, in my eyes; then, the mysteries of the New Rome began to haunt me, and still do. Artemis isn’t the only thing Norwich has in common with Fermor though. This history is sprinkled with Fermor-esque trills, as when the author passes Stromboli

BOOK REVIEW

(a volcanic island) and notes that it’s ‘emitting a rich glow every half-minute or so like an ogre puffing on an immense cigar’. Or when dynamited footnotes tell us certain places are ‘deeply uncharismatic’. Or when delightfully dated words such as ‘enfeoffed’ are employed. The result is very smooth prose. Norwich hates histories that slap fact on fact but fail to establish the wood for the trees. Preferring to focus on the beautiful and the surprising, the attitude may earn him sniffy looks from academics but it also produces ice for eyes that would sledge. Not that it feels effortless; indeed without his other daughter Allegra as copy-editor, one suspects passages would blossom a little too purple. The keynote struck here is that Sicily is a ‘sad island’. Apparently ‘every Sicilian’ knows it. Perhaps this idea is lifted from Goethe, who talked a similar game when he observed its land ‘rests in melancholy fertility.’

The history is sprinkled with Fermor-esque trills Admittedly it hangs better than most labels. Sicily is impervious to them. But its chief justification appears to rest on a rather tenuous Western formulation, namely that happiness is tied to sovereignty. When the material is there in the first half of the book, the pace is astonishing. After the usual Norwich prorogue, hilariously wafting aside talk of early history (‘pre-history’) to those who care, we are treated to a fusillade of facts. Sicilians replace the Italian final ‘o’ with a ‘u’, they have an immense respect for bread (boasting 72 sorts), Roger de Hauteville’s Norman winery is still going, the cathedral of Syracuse was built five centuries before Christ, Agathocles was the first European to invade North Africa with a military force, Hieron II’s altar to Zeus stood at some 36ft high, Constans II tried to transfer the Roman capital to Syracuse in 633, and it was a treacherous Byzantine by the name of Euphemius, who seems to have played a role similar to Julian of Ceuta in Spain – betraying the country to Arab invaders. The facts are leavened with some brilliant anecdotes too. The best is pinched from Diodorus Siculus on how Dionysius I, being an academic manqué of the Claudius mould, used to impose his readings on the court. Philoxenus, unable to praise bad art, is sent to the quarries, ‘released, alas, just in time for another poetry reading.’ This he suffered in silence until the despot asked again for his opinion. “‘Back to the quarries,’ he murmured.” Perhaps the biggest surprise to those unversed in the subject is the scale of English involvement in Norman Sicily. With Adelard of Bath studying Islam there, an English Bishop of Syracuse (fl.1160), another Englishman signing himself ‘Emir and Archbishop,’ several Englishmen lining up to buy the Sicilian crown when Manfred was declared excommunicate, and English saints glittering in Monreale’s cathedral gold, Norwich is right

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to point at a relative ignorance in our historiography. It all goes a bit pear-shaped, however, both in the history stakes and with the book after what’s known as the ‘Sicilian Vespers.’ A spontaneous mass rebellion against Charles of Anjou’s army in 1282 – ultimately destined for Constantinople – which Norwich credits with giving Byzantium its last (200-year) lease of life. The next half of the book slowly grinds down the gears. Some devices such as ‘the full story... is far too long and complicated to go into here,’ should have been used more regularly. The long and short of it is less that trade routes change with Columbus and others (Venetian history still blooms) but that first, very little happens and, second, even when it does the main story is elsewhere because it’s tied into greater sovereigns and their complex contexts. And so the narrative is strained as it jumps from Naples to Spain, from Austria to Nelson and the Hamiltons; the focus is lost. There are little slip-ups too. Norwich refers to the famous corsair, Kheir-ed-Din Barbarossa and his brother Aruj’s ‘famous red beards’, when only the sibling had the ginger fuzz. But at least, throughout, Norwich is frank. In the epilogue he admits he’s ‘at a loss’ why Sicily is so unhappy. This is, I suspect, because it isn’t. The triangle has probably simply developed an acute sense of antiquity’s cycle, Islam’s fatalism or Ecclesiastes’ cynicism. Throughout its history, when Sicily wants something collectively it seems to get it; in general, however, it just prefers getting on with real life and letting others allow themselves the conceit of ‘rule.’ Norwich’s mistake is repeated at the highest level when the West considers the Mafia (‘the honoured society’) – a club most see as a suppurating sore. We remain impervious to politician Vittorio Emanuele Orlando’s explanation that: ‘It’s a sense of honour pitched in the highest key: a refusal to tolerate anyone’s prominence or overbearing behaviour... A generosity of spirit, which, while it meets strength head-on, is indulgent to the weak and shows loyalty to friends. In other words, the kind of behaviour that is noble yet primitive, a primeval order that can be frowned at from the heights of civilisation’s precipice, but will ultimately outlast it – much like Sicily’s attitude. Sicily: A Short History, from the Ancient Greeks to Cosa Nostra, John Julius Norwich, John Murray, £25

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Beauty &Grooming Beauty on your doorstep from Rhea Papanicolaou-Frangista & Farrah Hamid, the experts at Prettly

Linari Luxury Travel Soap bar

Faust’s Essential Travel Kit

This soap is made from jojoba oil, vitamin E and olive oil for a refreshing and compact essential to take on your travels. Perfect for those lightly packed weekends away.

These tiny potions, aptly named Awake and Asleep, are designed to help body and mind maintain a healthy balance when faced with hangovers, jet-lag and fatigue. We love them after long flights. The Travel Kit, complete with an eye mask, ear plugs and face spray, is also a perfect gift for the summer jetsetter.

£34.50, Harrods, 87-135 Brompton Rd, SW1X 7XL

£38, Fortnum & Mason, 181 Piccadilly, W1A 1ER

Jet set

beauty Madame LA LA West Coast Bronzing Face Serum Didn’t get to the beach? Get your holiday glow anyway. We discovered this serum packed with fresh ingredients such as vitamin C and coco water – good anti-ageing combined with self-tanning. An added bonus – it smells much better than most self-tanners. £28, Urban Outfitters; 36-38 Kensington High Street, W8 4PF

With the last official month of summer upon us, we’ve rounded up the latest beauty travel essentials for your next beach holiday

Bamford Grooming Department Travel Set Here’s one is for the men. A grooming kit inspired by travel, it includes a refreshing shampoo, hydrating hand and body wash, shaving oil, well-balanced exfoliating face wash and rich daily moisturiser, all elegantly scented. £70, available online at Mr Porter (mrporter.com)

Pommade Divine, Nature’s Remedy Balm This has been a favourite of ours for a while but never has it come in more handy than for a holiday. This balm soothes insect bites, sunburn, blisters, you name it. Not to mention the fact that it’s an amazing moisturiser in general. £19.80, Whole Foods Kensington, 63-97 Kensington High Street, W8 5SE

Bikinis across borders

Model wearing Stefania’s designs

In keeping with our travel theme, this month we were lucky enough to meet Stefania Frangista, a Greek-based swimwear designer whose label has attracted customers across London Stefania Frangista

Tell us about Pink Sands, Stefania Frangista, and what led you to create a swimwear line? My business idea came about six years ago when I went on a trip to Harbour Island in the Bahamas. I was with two friends and we lost all of our luggage. All we needed was a bikini as we planned to spend all day on the beach. We visited a local shop that stocked various international brands but had great trouble finding a bikini that was a good fit, visually appealing and at the same time cost less than £200. That’s when I first realised that there was clearly a gap in the market. I went back to Greece, and a few months later I started my first swimwear brand, Pink Sands, named after the beautiful pink beach on Harbour Island. Six months ago I created a second brand, carrying my own name. Stefania Frangista is dear to my heart as it is an outcome of my own heritage, culture and roots. Who are the types of people you believe will love the Stefania Frangista brand? People who appreciate a high level of quality, great feel, flattering fit, elegance and timeless beauty. Why did you choose to make your designs available to customers in London as well as Athens? London is by far the most fashionable and diverse market in Europe. I believe that it is important for a brand to start by having a presence in a city before moving to other markets. Is there anything that stands out about London women compared to Greek women who buy your designs? I would say that London women have more subtle tastes than our Greek customers in the sense that they often look for more coverage, buy softer colours and less flashy designs. Greek women often go for bold colours and prints! What’s coming up next for your business? A show in Miami, a very daring 2016 collection for both our brands, and a new mobile version for our e-shop. What beauty brands and products in particular do you love? I love Jurlique and Ahava. They are very natural, high quality and have amazing scents. How do you divide your time between London and Athens? Is it difficult? I used to spend more time in London until about 18 months ago when the business started growing faster and

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my physical presence at our headquarters in Athens was necessary. Since then I roughly travel five to six times a year to London. What’s the best part about spending time in London and Belgravia? I absolutely love the architecture and harmony between nature and the beautiful buildings. I have a soft spot for Hyde Park. Whenever I am in town, I always fit a small walk through the park into my schedule. I also think it is really wonderful how London is so international, attracting people from all over the world and admirable how everyone seems to respect the ‘rules’ of the city and is polite, keeps it clean and organised. In Belgravia, I adore the burgers at Thomas Cubitt! Where do you see yourself and your business in the future? I see our brand sold in more and more countries around the world. I see our loyal customers increasing and our product becoming better and better every season. As a designer, I aspire to continuously flourish and to dare express all of my creativity in my designs. What’s your top recommended beach destination this summer? Island hopping between Milos, Polyaigos and Kimolos islands [in Greece]. They are in very close proximity and are like paradise on earth. What’s your beauty travel essential? Water! I always carry a bottle with me. Stefania Frangista is available via e-shop at stefaniafrangista.com / info@stefaniafrangista.com

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HEALTH AND WELLBEING

Sloan Sheridan-Williams

Life-affirming

relaxation

Tom Hagues sends his conscious mind away for an hour and lets HypnoMassage do its thing

‘T

his is a no-shoe zone,’ I’m told as I enter Evolve Wellness Centre in South Kensington, my treatment place for the afternoon. I lose them and little do I know, the shoes are the first of other things that I’m soon to be without. I walk to the waiting area, past fresh-out-of-yoga women and people finding peace within themselves in the studios to meet my massager and therapist for the hour, Julian Denver. We sit in chairs and discuss what I want to achieve from the session. I notice tissues on the table between us and hope he doesn’t expect me to shed a tear or two, but

I’m told to send my conscious mind away soon realise it’s not that kind of therapy. It’s more about encouragement and knowing what you want out of life and, since I’m usually dubious about this kind of thing, I clamber onto the massage bed with trepidation. I’m expected to do absolutely nothing, which is perfect because I’m really good at that. I lie on the bed, and Julian’s voice (which is charmingly relaxing and, here I am unashamedly using the word, very hypnotic) begins to wash over me. I’m told to send my conscious mind away and so I visualise it floating out of my head and settling next to my shoes in the hallway. This is now a conscious-less and shoe-free zone. At this point I begin to

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let Julian’s instructions tap into my subconscious mind – I’m only faintly aware that he’s in the room with me. For the first half of the session, Julian massages my entire body and his voice rhythmically tells my nerves to become ‘loose and limp and lazy’, and they do. We get to the part where I’m going to suddenly become self-assured and ready for the future and, as Julian says my name, my subconscious mind jolts from its dormant state and I pick up on some key words. A sense of confidence and selfworth is instilled in me, along with visions of a full-ofcontentment future and the idea that it’s all going to work out. For my conscious mind, this would be all too easy to dismiss but my subconscious self, finally at the helm of HMS Tom Hagues, decides to soak it all up and we power through to the end of the session where I’m left feeling revitalised and bristling with that ‘anything is possible’ feeling you normally only get from six glasses of wine. HypnoMassage is a new concept and one that combines hypnotherapy and massage. The two have been practised separately for hundreds of years, but it’s only recently that they’ve been put together to give patients the chance to work through their problems in the most relaxing way possible. Life coach and hypnotherapist Sloan Sheridan-Williams is bringing the concept to London with much fanfare – it seems the days of leather sofa-filled rooms and contemplative therapists are over and a new age of hands-on therapy is replacing it. See website for locations and at-home services (sloanloves.co.uk/hypnomassage)

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“the fitness guru viewed by the entertainment industry as the 4th emergency service” The S und ay Tim e s , St y le M a g a zin e

“ When I n e e d e d to get in sh a p e f o r a f ilm, h e t o o k me s a f e ly d o wn f ro m a s i z e 1 2 to size 8 in just six weeks.. . Da v id ’s p ro g ra mme h a s ma d e me a ma z in g l y f i t a n d mu c h s ma lle r. ” Rach e l We isz, Actre ss

“The rewa rds are h u g e , y o u will d ro p t h re e d re s s s iz e s . ” H e llo Mag azin e

“H i s ro u ti n e s a re fun, I never get bored and they w ork. H e ’s al w ays the person I turn to.” L ily Alle n , Re cord in g Ar tist

“ Lose we ight and g a in f it n e s s in re c o rd t ime - wit h t h e B o d y d o c t o r ’s work o u t , a n y t h in g is p o s s ib le . ” The S u n d ay Time s, Sty le Mag azin e

T he be st t r ai n i ng i n t h e wo r l d - a n d i t ’ s o n yo u r do o r st e p

b e s p o k e p e r s o n a l t r a i n i n g • p i l at e s • n u t rit io n c lin ic • h o lis t ic t h e rap ie s • inj ury r e h a b i l i tat i o n • p ow e r p l at e • s mall gro u p t rain in g • c o rp o rat e f it n e s s p rogra mmes

Residents’ Culture Exploring the minutiae of residents’ concerns and encounters

Dear

Auntie

Issues ranging from etiquette to depression afflict every area of the world, but not all places have a person as sage as our agony aunt to solve them… If you’d like any of your problems answered, email belgravia@residentsjournal.co.uk and we’ll forward your concerns to Auntie.

Dear Auntie,

I’ve recently moved into the area. It’s a house with several apartments. Quite a few people asked us round for drinks as we were unpacking, but none have followed up on the invite despite several meetings since. I don’t know whether it’s rude to let it lie and not bother to know our neighbours or even more rude to broach the issue. What do you think I should do?

I am unsure whether to take on my girlfriend’s kids. They are still young (so it won’t be traumatic), but it’s such a big commitment that I feel it might crush the relationship prematurely. Do I sort myself out and take them on or defer the situation until I feel more comfortable?

Thanks, Cassandra

All the best, David

Dear Cassandra,

Dear David,

Thank you so much for taking the time to write and share this dilemma, which I believe is not uncommon in new neighbourhoods. My solution is for you to host your own welcome cocktail drinks party and invite all the people in the apartment block. This has several advantages: getting to know your neighbours; avoiding any tricky “meetings”, as it may be that everyone is a little unsure and setting a precedent of being a good and friendly neighbour. As we all know, neighbours can make or break where we live and getting everyone together is often a terrific solution, as most people exist in their own little bubble or online world and often lose the social skills needed in new situations.

The very fact that you are having doubts is enough for me to advise you to walk away. When it comes to affairs of the heart, if you have to think twice you would probably be better advised to re-evaluate the situation. Doubts filter into our lives unbidden, but people show you what they are, as do circumstances, and you ignore the warnings at your peril. Sort yourself out and defer – you will know when the time is right, and playing with the emotions of children, unintentionally of course, can be damaging to them in the long term.

Yours sincerely, Auntie

The views expressed on this page are not held by the Residents’ Journal. The page offers a platform for the voices of our local residents to discuss topics they feel relevant and important.

August roundup by Sue Liberman

The Origins and the Future of The Pantechnicon Building The word “pantechnicon” is an invented one, it’s a compound of two classical Greek words: pan, “all”, and tekhnikon, “artistic; belonging to the arts”, hence “a place for all the arts”. It was coined in 1830 as the name for a bazaar, a kind of early craft shop, which opened in that year on Motcomb Street, Belgravia. There was a fashion for pan terms in that period. Panopticon was Jeremy Bentham’s name for a circular prison of his invention, which was later used as the name of a London showroom for novelties; Panorama was invented by the artist Robert Barker. These may have been influenced by Milton’s Pandemonium as a name for Hell in Paradise Lost – a name for “the abode of all the demons”. The Pantechnicon Building, originally a bazaar, was later converted into a warehouse for storing furniture and other items. The Seth Smith brothers, originally from Wiltshire, were builders in the early 19th century and constructed much of the new housing in Belgravia, then a country area. Their clients required storage facilities and The Pantechnicon was where rich Victorians stored all their worldly artworks, furniture and curiosities. There were of course other warehouses and storages facilities in London at the time, but The Pantechnicon was unique and especially famed for its service, reputation and, most of all, location. Peers, merchants, bankers, lords, ladies and businessmen from the colonies were constantly moving to and fro in this area. The wondrous items that would have been stuffed into The Pantechnicon on any given day in the late 1800s must have been pretty impressive. Subsequently, special wagons were designed with sloping ramps to load furniture more easily, with the building name on the side. These very large, distinctive and noticeable horse-drawn vans that were used to collect and deliver the customers’ furniture came to be known as “Pantechnicon vans”. In 1874, a huge fire ripped through the entire building. The only thing left was the façade. In the blink of an eye, a whole generation of fine artworks and antiques went skywards. It has been suggested that the fire was an insurance job, but most people living in the area were pretty well off for money, so it could have been something as simple as a faulty gas lamp or discarded cigarette. The Pantechnicon has a Grade II Historic England listing and since its restoration has been occupied by a combination of retail and office tenants. Grade II-listed Belgravia landmark to become a food and retail emporium Grosvenor has let The Pantechnicon building at 10 Motcomb Street, Belgravia to Pantechnicon (London) Limited, whose owners, Barry Hirst and Stefan Turnbull, operate three Cubitt House hospitality venues in Belgravia: The Thomas Cubitt, The Pantechnicon Rooms and The Orange. They will

transform the 12,000 sq ft building into a ‘contemporary fashion emporium’, including a café, restaurant and bar. The building’s renovations, designed by British-based architects Aukett Swanke, will see the new food and retail emporium set over six floors, including a basement and a south-facing roof terrace. Simon Elmer, location director, North Belgravia at Grosvenor Britain & Ireland said: ‘This is terrific news for both Motcomb Street and Belgravia. Stefan and Barry have more than 10 years’ experience of operating successful venues in Belgravia and have a real feel for, and understanding of, the area’s reputation as a special and unique place to visit. We think they will do an excellent job of turning The Pantechnicon into a fashion and culinary hub, attracting people from around London and beyond. We have a long-term interest in making Motcomb Street a great place to live, work and visit and The Pantechnicon will be another major step towards this.’ The renovation of The Pantechnicon will begin later this year, with the opening scheduled for early 2017. Grosvenor also intends to improve public areas in Motcomb Street ahead of the opening and will be working on designs in consultation with Westminster City Council and the local community in the coming months.

Until next month...

If there’s anything you would like me to know about, I can be contacted on 07957 420 911 or on sue@sueliberman.com

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www.wtrlondon.com 0207 243 3776 188 Westbourne Grove, W11 2RH

FASHION

Born in

Belgravia The Belgravia Residents’ Journal talks to a Belgravia-based brand founded by Lavinia Brennan and Lady Natasha Rufus Isaacs

t d oesn’t take me long to spot Lavinia. Dressed in a loose, silky dress and walking in flat, creamy espadrilles, she welcomes me with a smile. Fresh from university, Lavinia and Lady Natasha made a trip to India. No elephants or tigers crossed their paths, however; instead, women trapped in human trafficking caught their attention. In 2009, after spending two months over there, they decided to find a way to rescue the women from their horrific night shifts. ‘We taught in schools in the mornings and in the afternoons we showed girls how to sew and create products to sell in order to get an income. We did that until we finally came up with the idea of starting a fashion label where they could work and leave prostitution behind. This is how Beulah was born,’ Lavinia explains. Born in India but bred in London, simplicity is a key factor in the collections. Prints and soft colours remain crucial to the designs too. Lavinia and Lady Natasha had no formal training when they started the

Natasha Isaacs and Lavinia Brennan Photography: Katrina Lawson Johnston

three new prints will be integrated. It will be available online too. ‘Our customers like that we are a Belgravian boutique but the internet allows us to spread the brand.’ Not that growing has been an easy ride. ‘We make mistakes every day and we don’t have normal days,’ Lavinia admits. But the firm’s eclecticism and can-do attitude is a strength, and one we could all learn from. 145 Ebury St, SW1W 9QN 020 7730 0775 (beulahlondon.com)

Collections vary with the seasons but not necessarily in style firm; in fact, they ‘were fortunate to have a freelance designer who translates our exact ideas into reality.’ At the start, the firm struggled with business planning, budgets and manufacturing. But, inspired by her grandmother’s fashion style, Lavinia describes her motivations – one of my favourite anecdotes details how she would dress in her grandmother’s clothes in order to be as elegant and feminine as her. Beulah is a heritage brand. Its designs are made to be wearable; they are meant to go beyond trends. ‘Indeed, the dresses are investment pieces that you can hand down to your daughters,’ Lady Nastasha observes. Both sexes love the feminine designs, which are easy-to-wear and flatter the figure. After giving birth to a baby girl a few months ago, Lady Natasha is still dedicated to the business. Not that balancing motherhood and work is easy. ‘I once went to an investment meeting two weeks after my daughter was born, and after I left the house I realised that I had baby sick halfway down my trousers!’ Collections vary with the seasons, but not necessarily in style. Dark green will feature heavily in A/W 2016 and

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Great British Escape

To the

manor

Henry Hopwood-Phillips seeks rest in the land of Red Leicester, pork pies and David Attenborough

f someone is telling you there are two types of people in life, they’re most likely ontologically challenged. But sometimes, every now and then, they’re right. There are, for instance, only two types of British tourist (camping doesn’t count – that was almost solely practised by skull-collecting nomads in the past – and continued by masochistic types over here), namely: those who like little cottages and those who like big houses. With Stapleford Park, the former need not apply. This is a grand pile of the old school. Set in 500 acres of Capability Brown-sculpted park, woodland and gardens and boasting a heritage that stretches back to the Domesday Book, this is no upstart boasting ‘olde worldee’ charm – this is the real thing. The easiest way to get there is a train from King’s Cross. It takes little over an hour to Melton Mowbray where I spend half my salary at a local market offering its famous foods: Red Leicester cheese and pork pies. The 10-minute taxi boasts its own bard, also known as a driver, who relays a local history which can lay claim to greats such as Sir David and Lord Richard Attenborough. Less impressively, as I pass box hedges, hobbity outhouses and a stunning gothic-revival church that looks like it comes straight out of a page of T. S. Eliot’s Little Gidding, the driver recounts the wedding of Peter Crouch and Abbey Clancy there, as well as cameos by Jerry Hall,

Naomi Campbell, Will Smith and Lionel Richie. These cannot detract, however, from the Edwardian wings of the house, which seem to be additions by beer king, Lord Gretton, in the 19th century. These, surprisingly perhaps, along with the Jacobean main body, aren’t even the most gorgeous facades. That accolade must go to the medieval wing (restored in 1633), which holds fast the original statues, reliefs, cinquefoil heads and corbels, that titans of the age such as John of Gaunt must have once looked upon. Inside, flint flagstones, huge floral sofas and even bigger fireplaces are the order of the day. Each room is Atlantic-roller high, covered in industrial quantities of silks and patterned fabrics. Everything looks and feels so heavy and solid; you start to wonder how it’s not all falling in on itself. Fresh flowers, smoke and wood hang in the nostrils. Outside, the grounds are so large that I hop on a bike to get around. Over at the Victorian Stables the horses are gone. They’ve been replaced by a spa. This works. My only gripe is that the swimming pool is still in the main house, which, while a stunning walk (past honeysuckle, tennis courts and all the rest of it), is still quite a stroll between oases. The pool itself is 22 metres, with a Jacuzzi and sauna next to it, which is fine in quiet periods but a tad crowded otherwise.

TRAVEL

I’m in the Lady Gretton state room, designed by Annie Charlton. With views that extend over two fronts of the house, it feels surprisingly modern, especially considering it was put together with an eye to how it might have looked in the 1890s. And the bathroom hosts all the mod cons, including some of the older cons we seem to be losing in London, such as ginormous enamel baths. After a few too many preprandials (blame it on the complimentary sloe gin), I bob downstairs to check the scene – suspecting that, like many houses of its kind, the party scene might have gone downhill after Edward VIII. Instead, dapper chaps in black tie lather the ladies in small talk beneath a small and static herd of deer. Gliding past the pianist, I sit down for dinner. This is a first-class affair – especially the chateaubriand – but the service is patchy; the staff’s enthusiasm doesn’t always match their ability to speak English. This would usually strike a negative note, but the air this adds to the hotel is more funny and light-hearted rather than exasperating – the Manuel-ish (of Fawlty Towers) ambience provides the perfect antidote to the stultified or insecurely prissy attitude that big houses like this can sometimes fall prey to. Which is probably why they have little cottages in the grounds, you know, for the other type of person.

MORE INFORMATION... The Belgravia Residents’ Journal was hosted by Stapleford Park, a member of Pride of Britain Hotels – a consortium of 49 privately-owned independent British hotels. A magnificent 15th-century country estate in rural Leicestershire, Stapleford Park overlooks 500 acres of Capability Browndesigned parkland and has 55 individuallydesigned bedrooms. It is an ideal setting for experiencing traditional country pursuits such as falconry, archery or clay-pigeon shooting, or to take up the challenge at the championship golf course. A night’s stay with breakfast costs from £210 per night (two sharing). Contact Pride of Britain Hotels (0800 163 9083, prideofbritainhotels.com) to book.

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Planning &Development Keeping you in the know about important street plans affecting Belgravia

Grosvenor plans major new Hyde Park Corner scheme Plans have gone in for a new development on Hyde Park Corner, which could deliver up to 28 new apartments and a 190-room hotel. Joint venture partners Grosvenor Britain & Ireland and The Hongkong and Shanghai Hotels Limited are proposing “a new landmark” at 1-5 Grosvenor Place in Belgravia. If approved, the new building – designed by Hopkins

Architects – will replace the existing 1960s office block and promises to provide “a new focal point and vibrancy to Hyde Park Corner”. Called The Peninsula London, the hotel will have a grand pedestrian entrance on Grosvenor Place, with an internal “palazzostyle” courtyard. The plan is for 190 guest rooms and a spa, along with shops, bars, restaurants and a ballroom. The proposals also include 24-28 private apartments with a separate leisure and spa facility, reception and entrance on Halkin Street. There’s not much other info around yet, but if Grosvenor’s recent projects are anything to go by, we can expect something pretty special.

road works

PLANNING APPLICATIONS

STREET

PLANNED WORK

DATES

WORKS OWNER

DATE RECEIVED

ADDRESS

PROPOSAL

Sloane Street

Repair to a damaged water main

1-2 August

Thames Water (0845 9200 800)

3 June

Eaton Square

Double glazing

Cadogan Place

Connections reformed

1-5 August

UKPN (0800 028 4587)

3 June

Lyall Mews

Seville Street junction

Reconnection of UKPN power

1-11 August

Transport for London (0845 305 1234)

Demolition and rebuilding of front facade

5 June

Lowndes House

New vault entrance

Pavilion Road

Highway improvement works

7-31 August

Kensington and Chelsea (020 7361 3000)

Sloane Street

Repair to damaged valve

31 August 3 September

5 June

Bourne Street

Thames Water

Removal of silverbirch bough

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The Belgravia