Chevy '57

A while ago I was driving by a garage that specialises in restoring old cars, and saw this lovely girl.

.

I shot these on my film camera, which seems to make the colour so saturated and divine.

What a gorgeous cruiser she is.

xx

Dashboard

I love the word "dashboard". Besides our blogging engine room here, it is that fine stretch beneath the windscreen which forms the bottom of the frame of all things lovely and long distance.

Recently I took another eleven-plus hour road trip with the pup and a dear friend. Here are some of the lovely sights we found along the way:

If one little church isn't enough,

why it just makes sense to build another church about the same size right beside it.

Car graveyard. Such lovely old beauties.

Matching signage. How gorgeous!

Everything here was just as we had imagined.

And of course something sweet for the trip home.

Write and tell me what you have been doing!

xx

Serendipity

Recently, I travelled some distance to break the monotony for a dear friend who had been stationed in isolation.

Our first morning began with a beautiful breakfast and stash of travel goodies before ensconcing ourselves in the black beast which found its way to a quaint country town a few hours east.

On the outskirts of the town is a disused mill which houses a weekend market. We purchased locally made cinnamon rolls and date scones, and perused the wooden and woollen handicrafts before cruising into town.

We found a lolly shop filled with all those favourites synonymous with sunny memories as children. Dusty second hand stores were stuffed with unwanted oddments; a discarded collection of other people's lives.

Along the main street is an old restored courthouse staffed by a local lady, who told us how she made butter as a girl and rode, three to a horse, to school.

And then there was the Motor Museum housing some of the regular regional favourites, and a few absolutely astounding unique vehicles. One was a Chevrolet Eldorado Biarritz of which there were only several hundred made. There are reputedly only 20 left. She is a hard top convertible who puts her roof up when it rains even if you are not there. You really must see the photos:

We then had a local lunch where I accidentally spilt my malted milkshake across the lap of my trusted driver just before we departed. I found this disaster in vanilla incredibly amusing because of the poker face, (and thankfully the grace) of my travel companion. After many tea-towels and some surreptitious sponging we rejoined the beast for a roundabout return along the country roads. (Which was punctuated with my bursts of giggling in recollection of the incident, much to my driver's chagrin ...)

The way home was as beautiful as the roads we had taken to come. Fields of canola crops coloured our journey home (as did sour worm lollies and ginger biscuits).

In retrospect I found our day filled with all the things I loved.

My spontaneous visit to cheer a dear friend four thousand kilometres away was also a wonderful weekend for me.

xx

Ford 1959 Galaxie Fairlaine 500 Convertible

In the comments to my last post the ever gorgeous Ann O'Dyne mentioned the Ford Galaxie ...

... and look what I found. http://www.seriouswheels.com/1950-1959/1959-Ford-Galaxie-Fairlane-500-Convertible.htm

Makes a girl go all dreamy and firey at once.

xx

Tail Fins and Chrome

If you love your cars as I do, you will understand why I cannot write anything in this posting besides "please, click on this link".

http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=WbN_BAn55a4&pop_ads=null

These Are A Few of My Favourite Things

I have a secret.

A few years ago I went to a fair a long, long way from home. It was something I had wanted to do for such a while, but had been prohibited by, let us say 'a big bad wolf'.

So I snuck out in my hooded red jacket, with my best and brightest frock, cutest shoes, and tortoise-shell sun glasses packed in my tiny cardboard suitcase, and caught the plane to a city some 1000 kilometres away.

I may have been bold, but was getting naughtier. I met up with a 'woodcutter' at the airport and he whisked me away in his car. He fed me and lured me to his cabin, but a good girl always says "no" especially when certain parties are already 'engaged' and should not be playing with girls when they visit strange cities. But my woodcutter was very respectful, and afterwards kindly dropped me off where my girlfriend was waiting in a safe clearing.

The next day she and I went to the fair. Can you imagine seeing everything you love all in one place? Outside there were chromed cars from the late 1950s and inside there were patterned dresses and pretty old-fashioned china and homewares, lots of gorgeous boys dressed impeccably, a hairdresser who put everything from pin-curls to victory rolls in your hair, and in the background lots and lots of music to make everyone dance.

Amongst all this heady excitement I saw something I had never seen before. The most delicate and gorgeous pasties. I was a demure lass and not prone to anything racy, but these were made for us, dear ladies. A little shy, I quietly took the business card and slipped it into my handbag. I believe it was a culmination of the digression of the weekend and this little card that turned me from that demure lass into a determined but discreet woman.

Finally, when I returned home I was in a considerable amount of trouble. My absconding was taken very seriously and I was firmly repremanded. But girls, I still had my secret little card! One evening, I found her site on the internet and was lost in all the dreamy and beautiful selections of pasties. I did not have an occassion to wear them, but I needed a momento of my special day, so I ordered some online.
 -- Shh. Don't tell anyone! I have to hide them in the back of my drawer. --

They are the most gorgeous and decadent thing, and I love them so. They came in the most beautiful box with costume tape and instructions.

But did you know they custom make them? By hand! You can choose your favourite fabric, bows, buttons, bells, and brocade from her collection if you ask her nicely. She is very kind and discreet.

It's like a lolly shop for your loveliest.

I have several pairs now and only have worn one pair - for myself. Unfortunately I do not have a man who shares my pastie-passion, so they languish hidden behind my most delicate lingerie.

Ladies, you really should buy some for yourself this Valentines. And if you are a lad with fine taste, perhaps you could choose something lavish and alluring for your favourite feline.

Here is her Valentine Collection on Facebook. She will ship them to you, direct to boudiour.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/album.php?aid=268049&id=71821524000


Kiss Me Quick.

xx

Art and Tradition of Cars and Skin

This city is fortunate to have many exhibition spaces which cater for diverse interests. During the weekend I was able to indulge both classic and more subversive curiosities in its most modern and traditional venues.

One of our distinguished postmodern buildings hosted the Austin Healey Car Club. Normally these rounded English vehicles do not garner my attention, but I appreciate their period appeal and similarities to those more audacious American models.

Even in the 1950s the conservative Austin is remains reminiscent of 1940s styling, which we can see in this 1954 Somerset convertible.

If someone came by in one of these, who could say "no" to a country drive?

Her cousin was a utility vehicle, with customised spats and hubcaps.

And why shouldn't a girl like running boards on a car like this?

Look at the hardware on the steering wheel!

I liked some of the recurring features, like the inset turning indicators, and Bakelite knobs on the interior of the more prestigious models, like this 1950s Atlantic.

The Austin badges and emblems were variant and rarely ostentatious, even when applied in multiples.

Interestingly, in the space-age conscious design of the 1950s the badge became more reflective of  Art Deco streamline on this Cambridge.

The general conservatism of this make, and this exhibition was starkly contrasted by my second exhibition of the weekend: a Tattoo and Arts Festival.

This had Madame Lash's vehicle for a mascot: A hell-fired 1959 Chevrolet.

Although there were also bands, clothing and merchandise, the focus of the festival was tattooing. Artists from United States, United Kingdom, Singapore, Indonesia, New Zealand and Australia whirred and buzzed in scores of stalls, as living canvasses lined up to be indelibly coloured. The array of design was surprising, from the fantastic to the traditional, applied to head, feet, nether regions, and everything in between.

I watched stoic youths, burly men, and an array of women quietly succumbed to the artists' needles for hours.

Most interesting was a traditional Indonesian application of ink by a needle attached to a wooden pole and hit with a small mallet. The tattoo artist and his assistant stop every few minutes to wipe the fluid that raises to the surface of the skin. It is a laborious process, but reiterates the traditional roots of this art as forms of initiation, commemoration, and its related spiritual connotations as well as its aesthetic value.

I did not want to encroach on the privacy of the artists or the people being tattooed, so I do not have any photos of the individuals. Even when I asked to photograph merchandise, I was firmly rebuffed. I have, however, a collection of their commercial presence, which also manages to give an insight into their work.

xx