“The Art Of Living”

“The Art Of Living”

Following another incredibly fast paced year which saw launch of two further Iona Crawford womenswear collections; a host of new artworks,

some wonderfully challenging painting and fashion commissions; design and creation of “The Wedding Dress of 2012″ (to be unveiled

this coming Saturday as my precious sister Lindsay weds her darling Robbie); a Scottish Fashion Awards nomination;

New York Showcase and subsequent US success (lots more to come!); exhilarating Jaguar e-type adventures; introduction to a host of

incredible people and gallons of crème brûlée latte, it is with heart-beat-skipping excitement

 that I am delighted to share a snippet or two of what’s to come in 2012……..

 

Dear friends, this year shall be the finest yet, with a brand new pioneering collaboration for Autumn/Winter 2012 (surprises guaranteed!);

the launch of Iona Crawford Home Fashions collection in the US and Asia,

and unveiling of the first cutting edge Iona Crawford smartphone app,

it is sure to be more than memorable. Watch this space!

 

iona x

she wore a….perfectly respectable exotic bird print bikini….

Admittedly, I broke my promise.

Whilst I apologise and sincerely regret each of the occasions I longed to write and ‘just couldn’t find time’ or some greater personal force prevented me from doing so; now, from beneath a Caribbean palm tree, the scent of Ambre Solaire dancing in the air, with the first…okay, another strawberry daiquiri set before my bikini’d bod – All Saints illustrative exotic bird Zoriada print number, a surprise gift from my ever stylish vacation companion (ic swimwear range coming soon) – the unfamiliar gift of time presents the perfect opportunity to pick up where I left off.

Over the past four years in business, I have had the exceptional privilege of visiting an array of diverse locations around the world; travels which have inspired, informed and assisted me in building strong foundations for my little empire. Yet, the commitment involved in ensuring the first few crucial years count – preceded by four intensely energetic years at art school – have meant that proper cocktail-sipping, sandy-toed, Grecian-sandal-fabulous holidays have been sidestepped in favour of often seven day working weeks, peppered with the odd day trip to St Andrews – nothing beats a blast of sea air and an ice cream headache.

The tables, my dear friends, have taken a temporary turn.

As you can probably imagine, a dozen or more of my most treasured, well-holidayed comrades urged me to swap all wireless compatible devices in favour of a careful selection of fictional paperback and a Sudoku puzzle jotter big hefty enough to choke Carol Vorderman. Alas, I struck a gentle compromise, packing a bundle of non-fiction literature, one token trashy paperback, a pile of fashion mags, and a sizeable sketchbook….with laptop and b-berry usage confined to only an hour or so per day….’least that was the plan until a wee parcel of crucial, hotter than hot new fashion-orientated business cropped up mid holiday – all shall be revealed very soon!

Unexpectedly urgent business aside, and despite my initial apprehension; guys, I am absolutely loving it!

Before being committed to type, this wee bleather was blissfully composed under a poolside palm, prior to translation into type in a Wi-Fi friendly spot – surrounded by what appear to be a rather frightening Caribbean girl’s junior hockey team – within the hotel reception area. From a leisurely pre long-haul airport wait spent people watching, to sunny, bronzed bodied days (not mine) and balmy dress-up-for-dinner nights, I am in people watching heaven.

Whilst I am perhaps a little more likely to be associated with bird and animal orientated subject matter, I do continue to dabble in my passion for life drawing, ordinarily nudes. There is, without a shadow of a doubt, no finer beauty than in the human form, with its diverse array of mannerisms, dialects and dress styles – no matter what tone,  shape, sex or……ahem, blood to Cuba Libre ratio. Despite the monster sketchbook calling to me to fill it’s pure pages with scribbled graphite torsos, limbs, expressions and giggle-inducing sun lounger poses; I fear undercover sketching may just be the quickest way to have oneself kicked out of the Caribbean. Palm tree doodles and eye-spy it is then.

iona (on location) x

running with the Lion…

Next month, my sister – the cartwheeler, not the finger clicker – will run the Dublin marathon.

I am immensely proud and bursting with admiration, ‘specially as I am rather partial to hitting the tarmac myself. Although, in honesty, I have never had even the tiniest inclination to run a marathon. I’m definitely more of a lone-runner – unless the rottweiler’s feeling up to it – and enjoy using the time to reflect and mull over business, formulate ideas and (believe it or not) write reminder notes to myself on route. The sheer marathon horror of being trampled by Pudsey Bear, the seven dwarfs or a man clad head to toe in deep sea diving clobber, acts as a frighteningly major deterrent.

What inspires more than anything, with my precious cartwheeler’s marathon participation, is her dedication towards raising substantial funds for Vision Aid Overseas, an international charity dedicated to transforming access to eyecare services in developing countries. Not only this, but on completion of her marathon, she will travel to Africa to volunteer her professional skills as an optometrist to refract, dispense spectacles and to aid in the diagnosis and management of ocular disease. She is a true, selfless inspiration.

It has never been more apparent than now, what a giving society each of us evolve within. From soup kitchen volunteers to charity shop staff, and full time carers to dedicated charity coffee morning cake-bakers. I feel a definite sense of regret at the lack of time I devote to such major causes, it’s so easy to blame hectic, twenty-four hour work commitments. Although, as fellow entrepreneurs will know – especially those in early, crucial stages of their careers – business is all-encompassing and often suffocating.

One devotion of time, which I am delighted to learn reaps positive benefits, is individual presentations I am invited to deliver to aspiring young men and women, sometimes involved in fashion and the arts, sometimes simply searching for a dream to aspire to. I am not now and never will be any sort of guru. I am however, incredibly passionate and driven by my vocation.  I cannot in any way claim reward for the tuition and support delivered to each of my fashion students, or for the encouragement and advice offered to each mentee business I am involved with through the Starter for Six programme because in truth, I find each undertaking unbelievably inspiring, rewarding and self-satisfying. In that sense, utter selflessness is tough to achieve.

I guess giving is hugely multi-faceted, varying in scale and devotion. Sometimes even the smallest gestures makes all the difference – picking up litter during a Sunday stroll; sponsoring a wee one for their primary school spellathon; voluntarily switching your extra-leg-room aisle seat for a spot between two sturdy businessmen and their day-old shirts, allowing a young family to sit together; or choosing not to put your jammy, burnt-toast-crumb-covered knife back in the butter. Seriously though, it’s amazing to be unwittingly given to, and even better to be the bearer of the gift. There is an incredible plethora of giving I intend to pay back and sometimes, cash just won’t cut it.

I may not run alongside Lindsay in Dublin next month, but boy will I be there in spirit…. and in the form of a bespoke iona crawford sweat band – oh yeh!  Who knows, they say the marathon bug bites later in life. Perhaps it will be added to the long list of giving goals I aim to score before retirement.

Back in the studio, the ferris wheel of fashion continues to spin, following last week’s foray in Notting Hill during London Fashion Week and in advance of next month’s showcase at the Institute for Contemporary Arts in London, where I have been selected as one of only ten designers to exhibit before a select audience of press, buyers and industry movers and shakers – no pressure there then…

Another exciting undertaking presently unfolding at Craigend towers involves creation of a piece for the beautiful Anna Meldrum, front-woman for Scotland’s hottest up-and-coming band, Kitty the Lion. If you haven’t yet experienced these darlings, do so as fast as your nimble fingers can type their exquisite title into the wee tool bar above. You will love them, and to add to the excitement, they play King Tuts on the fourth of October, swiftly succeeded by an Hour Show appearance on the eighth. Best of luck guys!

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big fish, little fish…

Last night I dreamt I was a cardboard box.

Bizarre and a little mundane at first glance, but after lying in mild contemplation for a minute or two — before venturing into the dewy darkness, only to traipse in some time later with severely squelchy Asics, drenched knickers and well-cleansed knees — I resolved that there are worse things to be than an innocent cardboard box.

Identifiable, reliable, internationally utilised. Sturdy and strong when held together by the right stuff. Efficiently space-saving when dismantled and stacked, environmentally friendly when recycled. Incapable of telling bad jokes. Endless fun during the festive season. Let’s face it, kids always prefer the box to it’s state-of-the-art-gadgetry-in-toy-form contents.

True, they do tend to collapse into a pile of mush when drenched and distressed, but don’t we all.

Paper quality has been at the forefront of many a conversation this week. I’ve decided to opt for an entirely new, touchy-feely, edgier lookbook format this season – pushing the boat out a touch – and am delighted by the results so far. Working with a new graphic designer and printer has, thus far, proved a positive and incredibly stress-relieving decision….Who am I kidding – I’ve been climbing the studio walls and panicking over deadlines all week. Completely unnecessary, it’s in safe hands.

Countdown to my London Fashion Week Trunk Show with Wolf and Badger has begun, where the lookbooks in question will meet their debut. Do nip in for a glass of fizz if you’re in and around:

You are invited to join Iona Crawford for a special trunk show
featuring her Autumn Winter 2010-2011 Collection.

Guests will also be treated to an exclusive preview of Iona’s
Spring Summer 2011 Crear Collection.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Wolf and Badger
46 Ledbury Road, Notting Hill, London, W11 2AB
Saturday 18th September
12pm to 6pm

Bubbly refreshments and Scottish delights will be served

RSVP Iona Crawford
iona@ionacrawford.com
+44 (0) 7816504926

www.ionacrawford.com

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shooting, Scottish stars and chocolate bars…

Well Mister September, you familiar flame-coloured, crunchy-leaved month, man do you have a task on your hands. Go on, better your late Summery predecessor, I dare you….

August has unquestionably been the best month in a long time, and this past week, the finest of the year so far. I have, in the past day, returned from my most amazingly memorable, shiveringly perfect fashion shoot yet, and as a result feel a powerful, overwhelming sense of exhilarated exhaustion, elation and emotion. During two sun-kissed days situated on Argyll’s spectacularly scenic coastline, my outstanding team and I laughed together, ate together and together, undertook the sort of fashion shoot which dreams are made of.

Thank you from the bottom of my glowing heart to my one-in-a-trillion photographer, David; David’s spectacularly dynamic assistants, Anna and Ksenia; my frighteningly beautiful and spectacularly gifted model, Martyna; make-up artist extraordinaire, Vikki; expert stylist and spiritual godless, Sally and the most crucial, precious component of all — the twine which binds each element of every single shoot together — Evelyn, my amazing assistant. Couldn’t do it without you mum.

And you know, yet might not believe it, the entire day prior to shoot lift-off (and the best part of the day before that) was spent collection-free, miles from the studio doing, well, lovely non-fashion, weekend-esque things. Did I feel remotely guilty? Not even a tiny fraction. Amazing what Sunday dinner, inspiring company and fantastically wise sources of distraction can do for pre-shoot state of mind. I guess I could’ve remained studio-bound, working on nothing in particular and stressing over minor non-existent areas for potential disaster. As it was, everything was done, dusted, and hot to shoot by the middle of the previous week and so, in no uncertain terms, while the collection hung in waiting, the weekend was my oyster of relaxation. I think I rather like this new method.

Crear in Kilberry, the stunning base for our shoot, has to be seen and experienced to be believed. As the crazy woman behind the location selection, I am entirely certain that the rest of the team (my own mother included) believed I’d lost my marbles (or a great deal more of them) with this one…until, that is, they drove across the breathtaking surrounding landscape and set foot in Crear itself. It isn’t the handcrafted, wooden under-heated floors or elegant spiralling staircase. It isn’t the exquisite, individually styled bedrooms; acoustically magnificent gallery; unique contemporary art; extensive library; impressive grand pianos and delicate harpischord; nooks; cranies or surprises around every tranquil corner. It isn’t even the roll-top baths or giant walk in rainforest showers. Infact, I struggle to put into words exactly what it is. Visit and you’ll know. Really you will.

Official unveiling of my Spring/Summer 2011 Crear Collection will take place very soon, and wowee am I excited! For now, here’s a wee snapshot of the wonders which were undertaken on location this week…

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sensational spontaneity….

I’ve always longed to cartwheel. As a kid I’d look on with envy as my acrobatic sister threw her legs high into the air with carefree abandon. Sure, when no-one was watching I’d attempt to re-enact her graceful display, without ever having much luck. Headstands I could and can still manage, even without a wall or tree prop-up. Although let’s face it kids, there aint anything cool or impressive about a boring old headstand. In retrospect, minus the junior gymnastic turmoil (I gave up my cartwheeling ambition along with finger clicking, unicycling and turning my eyelids inside out – red-head kid, you know who you are), it was entirely a confidence thing. Weighing up the potential consequences, my young mind and limbs decided this cartwheeling business was a risk too far. Even with a crash mat and helmet — yes, helmet — I could never quite summon the bravery to master the art.

Risk taking is now part and parcel of everyday life – cutting the very first garment for a new collection in precious silk or cashmere, or that split second decision when the light turns to amber – accelerate/brake, accelerate/brake…ofcourse I brake every time, just as you do. Naturally… Risks are part of human life and to be honest, although I beat myself up with indecision from time to time, I really do love the thrill of the “what if”.

Spontaneity has become one of my most favourite words. Not only does it sound pretty lovely and a little clickety, it brings back memories of some of the very best times when decisions, actions and well…. parties took place on the spur of the moment. Sometimes scary, sometimes silly but always adrenaline racingly exciting.

My latest spontaneous foray took place this very weekend as a result of the incredibly surprising and fantastically kind offer of complimentary tickets for a music festival up North. Not only comp, but VIP comp. Yip, too spectacular an offer to refuse. Knee-deep in Spring/Summer Collection mania, with piles of never ending paperwork; pattern cutting; a wedding dress design to discuss; a shoot to coordinate and all the generally time-consuming tasks which come with running a studio and business, my head told me to stay put and knuckle down. My heart on the other hand, like that familiar wee devil on my shoulder, screamed wildly at me to rally the girls and hit the road. So yes, that’s exactly what I did.

As well as developing a my newfound passion for spontaneity I have, after three incredible roller-coaster years in business, learned the importance of taking time out to reflect, re-charge and indulge in some sensational fun. All work and no play and all that. The day I’m considered dull, or have any remote inclination to purchase a caravan or motor-home, is the day I consider whisker implants, turn vegetarian (my farmer father would disown me) or throw on Juicy Couture velour. Of equal importance is the care, nurture, time and effort which one must devote to each and every precious relationship. Friends and family – old, new, borrowed and (clichés aside) blue don’t come for free and deserve to know how much they matter. And so, to those who were present this weekend, those who made it happen and those who were sadly absent – you guys rock!

We had thee most enlivening, extraordinary weekend. The sun did indeed shine, no major hiccups occurred – albeit near disaster when, ten miles into our journey, it dawned that my festival outfit was still hanging in the studio – and most importantly, the spectacular company was second to none.

I’d suggest everyone indulges in a little risk taking spontaneity once in a while. Unquestionably, this is going to be a productive week, an exciting week and a week graced with some very late nights in the studio…

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ash, isles and fatherly style…

My intention was to ponder this post over fine Rioja and colourful tapas from the sunkissed Las Ramblas in Barcelona.  Sadly, I cannot lie, I am typing with heartfelt sincerity on a keyboard with a funny rubber bump where the k key used to be, as the soft Scottish clouds roll by my studio window.

In truth, this post has begun twenty times since my last was composed well over a month ago – shocking and unacceptable I know. It won’t happen again, promise! Well, unless I’m snapped up by the Gucci group who insist on jetting me around the world on a year long inspirational voyage of fashion discovery…..

Am I annoyed that what was planned as my first ‘proper’ non-directly-work-orientated trip since prior art school, was dashed by volcanic ash? You know, not particularly. Disappointed yes, and a little puzzled by the strange turn of fate. ‘Though as a result of my vacation misfortune, oh so many other delights have ensued. Some work, some more life-orientated – although often they’re one and the same. To compensate, a wee weekend trip was planned to Mull, Iona and the shores of Loch Fyne a fortnight ago, and the sun shone from end to end. I am certain Barcelona would have fuelled my imagination and creativity incredibly. However, you  simply can’t get more inspiring than an weekend spent strolling along the desolate golden sands at, or gazing from the tranquil Iona shores across the sound of Iona to Fionnphort, or driving down the sunny west coast of Mull, Ben More looming and water bursting from natural springs all along the hillside – bliss, utter bliss.

As more of a spiritual than religious sole, I respect and am fascinated by the rich religious history held by the Isle of Iona, but it’s more than that, so much more. You may been heard before, or experienced personally, the indescribable sense of peace and serenity there. If you haven’t – go, you simply must.

So, a few jaunts to the Queen’s capital with work, another fabulous in-store party with Wolf and Badger in Notting Hill, some intriguing private commissions, and one incredibly exciting new project. I am positively bursting to tell, but am sworn to secrecy….and believe me, even as the world’s best secret-keeper (ask my sisters), this is a proper killer!

What I can tell you about is the top secret birthday gift I’m in the process of creating for Dad’s sixtieth later this month. It’s fine – the sweet sweet man doesn’t own a mobile telephone, believes ‘IT’ represents a shortened term for ‘Iced-Tea’, and can’t find the on-switch on mum’s computer. A technological dinosaur – his words not mine. Basically, there’s no fear of letting the pussy-cat out of the Hermes Birkin with this one. He has, for a while dropped a few subtle hints on his desire for a second bespoke Iona Crawford tailored kilt jacket. Daddy’s wish is my secret command. His brand new sage-green tweed, slightly asymmetric Bonny-Prince Charlie inspired jacket is coming along beautifully.

To my delight, I was recently informed by the beautifully-chic Tessa Hartman, of my short-listing for this year’s Scottish Fashion Awards Young Designer of the Year. Placed in an impressive category alongside a selection of  unbelievably talented designers, I feel most privileged. An intriguing, contemporary re-location sees the awards move from their birthplace within Stirling Castle, to the fantastically hip Science Centre, on the banks of the Clyde. I, for one, can’t wait to shimmy down the red carpet, my gorgeous *top-secret* guest by my side. Whatever happens on the night, it’s sure to be a fashion fuelled night to remember. Who am I wearing?……as if you have to ask!

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lambing live…

Hooray! The first of our fluffy babies have arrived over the weekend. Although a little premature, three healthy, springy wee boys and mum are doing well.

How I love lambing time – so much energetic life, elbow-length rubber cloves and the scent of powdered baby milk. Since forever, Easter time has involved a flurry of activity, nippy night shifts and Radio Two blaring from the lambing shed. Farmer Willie insists the dulcet tones of Sir Terry and topical Jeremy Vine debate help to calm his expectant mothers. ‘Though as much as I’m  fond of his early morning energy, I’m not convinced I’d be entirely delighted by the presence of Chris Evans in my birthing suite.

Easter is definitely one of my very favourite holidays….whatever those are. Helped by a hearty abundance of hot-crossed buns, Cadburys mini-eggs and mum’s magical pancakes, fresh off the aga. For our family, Easter has always represented new life, be it herbaceous (I am astonished to report that Craigend grass has barely begun growing, what’s that all about?) or animal, and the coming together of friends, family and anybody desperate to bottle feed a lamb or witness a woolly caesarian section carried out over a sturdy bale of straw. In years gone by, we always found time to sit around the kitchen table painting boiled eggs before subsequently racing to the highest tip of the highest field to launch them down, shells smashing into smithereens, finishing up in the burn beneath or being gobbled – metallic golden paint, glitter and all – by a mischievous mutt.

Now, despite the lack of egg-painting buddies, since my sisters decamped to aid the eye-sight of the Irish and bring orthotic care to the English, things are pretty much unchanged. Each year I unsuccessfully plead for the Easter Bunny to strategically place a scattering of egg-shaped chocolate treasure around the farmyard – in honesty, these days the hints are subtly Lindt as opposed to Milkybar-esque, but let’s not be picky.  Each year I am presented with my 0wn schedule of bitterly cold nightshifts in the lambing shed where only a swift change of the radio-station, a twilight disco-dance and a couple of cream eggs (hot toddy chaser optional) will prevent near certain hypothermia. Most poignantly, each year I am presented with the opportunity to watch birth, death and fast-paced sheep rodeo unfold before my very eyes. This may not seem like a typically fashion friendly lifestyle but for me, provided I scrub up well between lambing shed and design studio, it is the most inspiring, enlightening way to experience Easter time. As much as I love city life and revel in it, times like these simply don’t take place between crammed journeys on the London underground, jammed lipgloss to sweaty stranger’s beer-gut whilst attempting to make sense of a crumpled Guardian and escape with your Hummingbird Bakery cupcakes still in tact.

Next Friday the private preview of Gleneagles Art Lovers Easter Weekend takes place within their exquisite Ballroom and will feature some of my latest paintings. Invitations to the Easter Friday evening private view in their are limited, anyone who fancies popping along for a glass of wine or two and a browse round works by fellow Scottish artists, including Peter Howson, Gerard Burns and Phillip Raskin, should drop me a line. The exhibition runs from Saturday 3rd through to Monday 5th April from 10am until 7.30pm each day.  Gleneagles champagne afternoon tea comes highly recommended if you feel like a wee Easter Weekend jaunt, not to mention Andrew Fairlie’s fine offerings….

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this week I caught a glimpse of heaven…

Soft light shone from elaborate crystal chandeliers, bathing fashion industry angels, dressed predominantly in black. Meanwhile, Rubens, Rembrandt, Van Dyck and Canaletto’s works of artistic genius adorned the walls, forcing all to gaze upwards in amazement and bewilderment. It tasted of Moet Chandon and fresh passion fruit encased in darkest dark chocolate.

At my side, so close I could count every tiny stitch of his exquisite suit, stood Rouland Mouret, his velvety Gallic tones dancing as he conversed at length with an angelic Johnathan Saunders. Greeted by designer after model after magazine editor after lord after lady in waiting, soon they were joined by Alice in wondrous Temperly own-label Union Jack design, and Sophie Dahl who’s pillar-box red dress – another admirable creation by her designeress companion – struck a Little Red Riding Hood chord.

I mingled, conversed and glanced from familiar face to familiar face in my distinctly non-black new-collection Sheringham dress, as though transported, Mary-Poppins-style, straight into the latest edition of Vogue, skipping from glossy page to glossy page.

With the pop of every champagne bubble, as each chauffeur driven car one-by-one dropped the three-hundred-and-fifty strong guestlist before the grand palace gates, time seemed to disappear. With the dapper Dr Alex McCluckey by my side, soon came my turn to be introduced to Her Royal Highness, the beautifully dainty crowning angel dressed in a delicate golden silk-brocade dress and jacket two-piece, and her handsome husband, the Duke of Edinburgh. I had played out the scene a few times prior to the actual moment. How to act, what to say, whether to make eye contact, weep or attempt high five big Phil. In the end, as if my body was momentarily out of my own control, I gave a wee curtsy, shook each kind, outstretched hand in turn and, before my lips could control their excitement, blurted out a whispered ‘hi’.

‘Hi’. Sudden panic. Gracious, who on earth addresses the Queen of England in such an abbreviated fashion? In truth, probably heaps of people, and why not?

I could compose paragraph after endless paragraph, rhyming off each and every noteworthy fashion industry figure present, going into meticulous detail regarding what each inspirational figure wore to the palace last Tuesday evening. No number or combination of words could ever do justice to what was a once in a lifetime experience for each and every angel in attendance. For me, surrounded for two short hours by beings for whom my admiration has grown since I was knee-high to a Mulburry clutch bag, and now share the same eat-sleep-breath industry passion with, it was an entirely overwhelming experience. An occasion which will never ever be repeated.

Back in my very own chauffeur driven black hackney — as I sped to catch up with the girls in the same pub where I had frantically dressed in their chintzy carpeted ladies loo prior to my palace visit and following a series of afternoon business meeting — I considered what had just happened, what it meant and the impact I felt. Elation. Elation at the unique opportunity I was incredibly fortunate to have been presented with, elation at the introductions which were offered by and to some people I admire enormously, elation at the recognition and compliments which I was honoured to receive, and above all, elation at the prospect of an extended evening of chat, laughter and fine Lebanese hospitality with amazing friends who make my heaven complete.

David Bailey greeted by the Her Royal Highness The Queen

Sophie Dahl and Alice Temperly

Twiggy

Yasmin Le Bon

Betty Jackson

Zandra Rhodes

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dearest mum…

“A MOMENT of poignancy that it is difficult to put into words.”

The words aptly composed by Vogue’s Dolly Jones in Tuesday’s show report from Paris, and the moment she spoke of – the unveiling of Alexander McQueen’s final collection.

I have struggled all week to fathom how I might express, through a jumble of adjectives and misplaced punctuation, how it felt to view the last works of an aspirational genius unfold, click by terrifying click of a mouse. My vocation as a fashion designer grants me no more right to mourn than any other designer, creative, artisan, admirer of McQueen’s work or being with a soul. However, being placed here, in the fashion industry bubble, with all it’s intricate facets, the immense pressure one puts on one’s self from season to season and the impact this has on entire wellbeing becomes evermore apparent. Mortality sits here, close beside me, as I take a deep breath and the Vogue.com slideshow begins to roll.

Like McQueen, and many close fellow fashion designers, a support network of family, friends and invaluable confidants is one immeasurable element which we each value more than life itself. They are the cement which holds our tiny creative empires together. They are the patient artisans who piece each piece of our complex beings together, like a jigsaw-puzzle enthusiasts with no box-front image to follow. In return, I try to be that same crucial boulder in the dry stoned dyke which sits beneath each person close to me.

The slideshow had to be halted. No way could I speed through each look of Autumn/Winter artistry at a speed only appropriate when viewing a sequence of blurry Friday-night photos from a party you don’t remember attending. In true McQueen style, from intricate gold foil embroidery to subtle prints depicting Benediction delivering saints who’s angelic wings danced over heavy silks, this collection, the pinnacle of a career spanning twenty-five years, was a feat of sculptural genius.

Tomorrow is Mothering Sunday. A commercial excuse to print yet another ream of gushing giftcards? What’s wrong with pasta and finger paint, a few stray yoghurt pots, some sticky back plastic and Bobs your uncle. Seriously though, although I’d like to think every day is mother’s day and should be, any excuse to celebrate one half of my existence is a fabulous excuse. I now rather enjoy the role reversal – lunching out on Ony, surprise gifts, cooking meals, taking mum to fashion events and involving her in my business-orientated endeavors, the pleasant ones. My new occasional appointment as designated driver and late night pyjama-and-slippered chauffeur isn’t exactly a favourite, but fair’s only fair after a lifetime in the passenger seat. As anyone who’s met her – in whichever guise – will concur, she is the world’s most amazing assistant who, for the record, is not up for grabs.

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