feeling rather #AlexisColby this evening with our new #BeverlyHills attorney.


darlings – we’ve got an Attorney! a lady-attorney.

and in Beverly Hills no less (very swish).


we are so relieved and intrigued and happy and ready-to-get-serious-about-business and all that – not that we weren’t before and we do have a NY based attorney but there was something so well – fabulous – about being in Beverly Hills and sipping mineral water and “talking to one’s attorney”. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

it feels sparkly and hopeful.

like this dress in the window of Brooks Bros.

and a sample of “Beige” from the Chanel boutique on Rodeo Drive (they only had huge bottles and we’re more of a compact-cute-can’t-drop-it-on-the-floor size of fragrance wearer).


a sample is always delicious.


actually, this morning, before we met Our New Attorney, we felt a lot like Alexis Colby’s sister (in RL) or perhaps (because of our new cat’s eyes glasses) a bit like another lady novelist of some repute, because we were Editing The Manuscript while referring to our Publisher’s Notes (it felt GLORIOUS) and writing the Catalog(ue) Copy *blush*.



and now we must WRITE more on The House on Church Row – and we feel especially inspired because our good friend Vickie Lester sent us this!

quelle serendipity!

so, we’re almost there……….

The roads were jammed all the way south to Brighton. Women were driving the new Harden cars from as far afield as Scotland and had been traveling all night, fueled on Thermos of hot coffee and cheese and tomato sandwiches. Marion was astonished. She peered out from the passenger seat as they passed through odd little towns with names like Pease Pottage and saw thousands of women putting their foot down and making time while laughing and playing music, windows open to the breeze. Most of the cars were full – two women in the front, one driving and two, sometimes three if they were especially slim, in the back. It was a party on wheels and it was heading to Brighton.

At Preston Park, Lydia stopped to get petrol and Marion stretched her legs. A woman at the pump opposite recognized her from the press coverage. Suddenly women crowded around her, asking for her autograph and (strange to say for a group of Englishwomen) hugs. Marion had never felt so overwhelmed. Especially by the hugging from bosomy ladies with optimistic printed cotton dresses and delicately scented with lavender. Everyone wanted to tell Marion how she’d changed her life. Most had a story about buying the car as a rebellious instinct – a need to run away – be free at last. Others talked about reading Annabelle’s blog and finding their own voice. Marion was embarrassed to admit that she had not kept up with Annabelle’s blog. How long had she been writing it? The connections made around the blog, the campaign and the cars themselves were astonishing. There had never been a marketing push like it. And yet – and yet – Marion had to admit that she had little to do with it.

The campaign was good. Of course it was good. The graphics were excellent, the picture of the car suitably alluring and enticing and adorable, the copy promised more than a consumer product ever should. But that wasn’t why they bought the car. These women told her that reading what each other had said about the car sparked their imagination. Marion knew the boys in New York liked to talk about WOM (word of mouth, if you didn’t guess that one) but this more than people talking up a product. This was a movement.

Maybe she had not put any magic into the campaign at all. That was a bit galling. Marion had been feeling secretly proud of herself for doing it all over again. She wanted to taunt the boys in New York and Beijing and Moscow and force them to come after her. She was thrilled (not that she would admit it publicly) that Nigel himself, the last member of the Establishment, had decided to come out from behind the anonymous plush walls of his private club to teach her a lesson.

But what if none of this was her doing? What if it just happened at the right time? Well that changed everything.

Kelly managed to rescue her from the crowds of adoring women with a disgusted look and a swift pull on her arm. “Quite the working class feminist hero, aren’t you?” she sneered. Marion looked at her astonished. It was a team effort, she tried to explain, but Kelly could see that Marion was the only one they wanted to talk to.

By the time they reached Regency Square, Marion was dozing in the passenger seat. Lydia stopped the car and turned off the ignition. She pointed to Dorian in the back of the car. “We need to disguise you,” she said, darkly. Dorian nodded, he knew exactly what she meant.

“Radical red or brassy blonde?” he asked, digging into his huge bag and pulling out two wigs. Kelly laughed. The blonde wig looked exactly like the English movie star, Diana Dors. She tapped that one and he slipped it on expertly, applied some false eyelashes and bright red lipstick. “What about my outfit?” he said, looking down at his drainpipe jeans, Doctor Marten boots and skinny shrunken boy chest t-shirt. Kelly took off her leather jacket and gave it to him. He now looked like a blonde Stockard Channing from the movie Grease.

“Just keep the jacket open so no one can see you don’t have tits,” said Kelly, tapping Marion on the shoulder to wake her up.

“Huh?” said Marion, dozily. She looked back and saw Dorian and did a double take. “You look like Stockard Channing but with blonde hair,” she said, “When did you get changed?”

“You’ve been fast asleep since we left the petrol station at Preston Park,” said Lydia, “Come on, we’re here.” She got out of the car and stretched in the late afternoon sunshine. She loved Brighton. It was one of those places that her mother thought was beyond the pale – such a naughty little seaside kiss-me-quick town.

Regency Square was a 19th century development that was once very posh and had now fallen on hard times. A few grand rooms remained inside multi-person flats as memories of what was. But many of the houses were now hotels for drifting tourist trade. The view of the sea though, was glorious. Twinkling in the six o’clock sunshine, the green railings stood proudly with a seagull perched on every one, looking out to sea like statues.

Lydia consulted her notes and knocked on the basement door of one of the once grand houses. There was no answer. She looked worriedly around. Her phone rang. It was Charlotte. She had not enjoyed the journey south – the buffet car was closed and smoking was banned, even out the window of the loos (she had been caught by the conductor and let off with a warning because she terrified him so much).

“Where the hell are you?” said Charlotte. Lydia was plaintive, she read out the address from the piece of paper. Charlotte was merciless. “It moved! A Decade ago!” she gave her the new address in Cambridge Grove. Lydia piled everyone back into the car and drove just under two miles east. They took ages to park and finally found a spot adjacent to Cambridge Grove, a small mews street, with garages at street level.

“So this is Brighton,” said Marion, looking around.

“Hove, actually,” said Charlotte who was standing just inside the double doors of a mechanics garage. She quickly motioned for them to follow her and went through the garage and out into a tiny back garden and through a door in the fence. They were now inside a mews house on the other side. Some very serious-faced women in overalls (or dungarees as the English call them) were sitting drinking mugs of tea in the kitchen. It felt like an underground meeting of modern suffragettes.


#shocking (and we don’t mean schiaparelli)


Sometimes one gets Rather Shocked by life (or not Life per se, life is delicious, more the humans that reside therein).

We are a little shaken.

May we share?

You are most kind.

So you may recall that we are having some Issues (as the americans call it) opening a bank account while our S corp still resides properly on the Other Coast……..so we went to the Small business Association and they said Find a Lawyer and so we called the Bar Association (which is all about lawyers and not places where they sell beverages) and asked their Referal Service for help.



We just saw one.

And he (*sighs*) did not listen to what we needed but kept Talking (about his friends and who he knows) and we got a bit bored and slid our Paperwork across the table and smiled nicely and asked very simply how he could obtain us a business license so we could operate in CA.

He (barely) paused and told us it would cost us a minimum of One Thousand Dollars and then he would Bill against that (it still wasn’t clear how much the actual Task would cost).

Have you done this specific task before we asked (nicely but firmly).

There was no answer just more about how he bills and what he knows.

Then he asked about our bank and we said we would like to approach Comerica bank because they celebrate female entrepreneurs.

How?he said.

We said they award prizes and assert nice words.

And he looked surprised.

And that’s why you want to give them your money?


(We like having Values).

It was clear by this point that we did not have our check/cheque book out.

In fact we started to wrap up the meeting rather nicely saying we had a couple of other attorneys to meet and would let him know.

And then it came…….the payoff…..

Despite having told him all about who-we-are-in-RL bio and the book deal and all he looked at us in a Really creepy way and said

What is your business?  Is it an escort service?


No. It is not.

We said.


And left.

The worst bit is that we still don’t have an attorney.


Thanks for listening darlings.

Btw, as the young people say, no judgement at all against people in the skin trade but we are dressed Very modestly, as always, and it was a definite shock to hear that.

Isn’t it delicious to be able to tell you about it though and not have to keep it locked inside like ladies used to?


it all went terribly well!



the man from the small business association was Impressed (?!) by our 5 (or was it 7 with appendices) sheets of Data and gave us a Most Splendid admiring look at the Work We Had Done.


and now we have an Action Plan.

it’s called “get a lawyer” (apparently THAT’S how you get a doing-business-in-california License-thingy)

so we’re off to “download” the List of Attorneys (lawyers) from the local Chamber of Commerce (who knew such things existed still – we thought they went the way of weekly news periodicals around the time of the demise of the Tupperware Party* and the Women’s Institute cake-of-the-month-recipe)


they both Still Exist too?


*did you have the lurid raspberry ice pops containers for the small top of the fridge freezer and the orange beakers for Lucozade too?

we also felt Terribly Grown-up emailing a deeply successful friend and asking her for an introduction to her attorney – who knew we’d know people who had actual attorneys – for business – not just for pleasure

moving swiftly on.

when we left the small business administration offices we saw this most cheerful sign and carefully remembered to take a photograph just in case you have a small boy at your house who wants to learn the guitar.


we were almost tempted to call them ourselves but our foray into guitar playing as a teenager did not go well so we stuck to Piano and Voice.


after our success at the small business association we drove back West and up-and-up-and-up into the hills of beverly where people still drink Vintage motorcars……..

and saw our friend Edith Head has a naughty little quote on the pavement on Rodeo (note the confusion around the date – Edith did not say this pithy bon mot Then – she was already cutting white cloth on the bias and draping UP There by that date).


and then we headed further up and up and up for our next meeting with friends-of-friends who actually were at Another place but we got tired and said we’d see them another time  – long story – not a particularly interesting one – the point of this anecdote going nowhere is Visual….



take. a. look.




probably the view that Quite a few Attorneys get to have in Los Angeles.


wonder if our new attorney whomever he (or, optimistically, she) Might Be.

and who their Other Clients might be (always fun to guess in this town) – maybe attorneys offices are the One place in Los Angeles where celebrities don’t go around signing pictures of themselves and putting them on the walls so we’d have to scan (like a secret agent) for clues.


feeling So Much better than at 5.50AM (yup) this morning.

and it’s all due to you.

thanks for coming.

but did you leave that crisp packet on the back seat?

only kidding.

just gluten-free cereal bars are eaten in our Prius these days.