March 14, 2016

For the Love of a Chair.

The closest many of us will ever come to a genuinely intimate relationship is that we share with a chair, particularly a long favored chair, like this gaily upholstered bergère.  

A bergère is an enclosed upholstered French armchair, (fauteuil) with back and armrests supported on an upholstered frame. While the seat frame is over-upholstered, the rest of the wooden framing is exposed.

A bergère may be molded or carved, beech painted, or gilded, made of fruitwood, walnut or mahogany with a waxed finish. It may include padded elbow rests perched atop the armrests. It is fitted with a loose, but tailored, seat cushion and designed for lounging in comfort, with a deeper wider seat than that of a regular fauteuil (armchair), although more formal models of the bergère are available as well. In the White House for example.

In the eighteenth century, a bergère was essentially what is known as a meuble courant, which literally translates to a current piece of furniture.  Current, because it was designed to be moved about to suit convenience, rather than being ranged permanently or formally along the walls as part of the decor.

Who could resist its warmth, whimsy and happy countenance that smiles from whichever corner it graces? Like the friend who accompanies you to a party reminding you you’re not alone in a room of strangers, the silent, sturdy and reliably devoted bergère is your private accomplice, your most trusted confidante, the one true plush pal that will never drop you, disappoint you or let you down. The fold of its strong, unyielding arms never wavers, equivocates or shuns the simplest of life’s surprises: a post-party collapse, a vexing decision, a defeated slump, a quiet cry, a stunned silence, or the blissful fog of sleep.

Each day it greets you with the gentlest of nudges, the softest of caresses, and each night, in grateful commendation, it gathers you into its protective arms to soothe, shelter and calm, reminding you once more, lest you forget, of its fealty, faithfulness, and unapologetic love.

March 5, 2016

To keep an eye on the fleet.

Lord Nelson is supposed to have lived for a while at the Castle Inn,“in order to keep an eye on the Fleet.”

As late as 1840 Kentish Town was still a half rural village with a community of artists. Its popularity was aided by a London doctor who praised the healthy air and clean water – calling Kentish Town “the Montpelier of England” – and came to live here himself. Mary Shelley, however, condemned the place as an “odious swamp.”  If it makes you feel any better, neighbors, in her words Naples was a ‘paradise inhabited by devils’, her villa on the Italian Riviera a ‘dungeon’. God only knows what she would make of Poundstretcher.

Forward to 2016, where the ‘up and coming’ status of Kentish Town is not without its detractors who, rightly or wrongly, believe their more ‘real’ experience of the area is now being corroded.  
Gillian Tindall says: “I don’t think there is any special current renaissance of Kentish Town. Like several other comparable inner London districts it has actually been 'renaissing' for the last fifty-odd years, ever since the steam trains departed, the whole place got cleaner, and young middle class couples (as my husband and I then were) realized they could buy nice houses here cheaply. Now the nice houses aren’t remotely cheap and I should think the young couples must be much richer, but the basic situation hasn’t changed. A more profound change took place between 1945, when the whole of Kentish Town was threatened with demolition under the Abercrombie plan, and the 1970s.”

“Men begin in Kentish Town with £80 a year, and end in Park Lane with a hundred thousand. They want to drop Kentish Town; but they give themselves away every time they open their mouths.”  ~Professor Higgins, Pygmalion

Well that’s torn it. Something to ponder as we sip our coffee in the garden, enjoy a craft beer on a cobbled mews, or queue in semi-darkness for some trendy grub.

James Boswell 'Café, Kentish Town'