Bamboo Lounge

A diary of todays conundrums:

As winter is consuming every nerve in my body as I plunder out into this tit-tingling weather of Britain, the concerned matter of clothing is running through my mind a lot recently. Well, it’s a topic that is usually all I think about but particularly now I find myself constantly pondering about it; what designs I have in my head for tops, dresses and formal ensembles that are currently top secret from the inter-web (shhh Iain’t saying a word to ya!), which details I wish to add etc those who know will know the score, the troubles that are faced with these fabrics draped upon us. Despite being a love of my life, the garms in which I clothe myself in are in fact…irritating me. By that I mean WHY CAN’T I FIND WHAT I WANT. I ‘personally’ put it down to being so advanced and well established (wink wink) that the world of outfit traders simply can’t keep up with me. Obviously I soon disregard this and weep so so so many tears. (Inwardly of course…)

The ‘blip’ of clothing. Writers block of outfits. The brick wall of garments. The list could go on. My mind is probably about to implode with the amount of sketches and doodles I have made within my brain, yet no success in ‘reality’ so to speak. Which is, in all honesty, bloody frustrating!
Alas, I plough on. I have plans. Always got to have plans…The reason for my extensive plan-making in something I am so passionate about (more like obsessed with but who can blame me eh?) is the race for individuality. I call it a ‘race’ because as far back as I can remember I have always felt very uncomfortable with being the same as another person. I actually think I feel slightly disturbed (how gothic of me). We all source our looks from somewhere and if it just so happens to be from the same place then you’re exceptionally dapper! However I will contest that everyone should have a significant trademark in what they choose to present themselves as. This is applicable to anything though isn’t it. I just think I’m allergic to people looking all the same. *cough sneeze

I guess this is the downside to being so engrossed with a half a century old youth development. Damn.
(Actually the downside is that my collection of suede has been cast away in fear of water stains…I can hear the tiny screams from the suede follicles as I type)

All this ‘garmy’ business eh, I might just resort to strategically placed foliage and a toga drapage. Nahh calm down my little chocolate mousse’s, Scarl remains more or less still a Scarl, the toga
would be awfully nippy at this time of year, maybe a summer option.

The title: Mojo revamp. A renewed persona of the desirably quirky and blatantly strange. We like strange. Peculiar is very much ME.  I’d like to think my bizarre infatuations can be depicted by the early Johnny Depp film ‘Cry Baby’. I typically sum this up with the description: tune singing-slack wearing-iggy pop bathing- Johnny D cruising- ugly smooching- wiggle dress film. Highly recommendable. HIGHLY.

In conclusion to this ‘wisdom-ous’ passage
(less of the wisdom), I pose a statement like no other: Welcome to the lounge of untypical and in the words of a certain A. Powers “This is my happening and it freaks me out!”. Dress well. Drink well. Dance well, and have an exceedingly smashing end of week!

X

 

 

 

In absence of my writings:

Cor, it has been many a while since my last post in the bloggage. Sincere apologies to all of you, for I have been gathering notes on my several successes and several tribulations of the past month in order to retort them all via the written word. In other words I’ve been out on the razz and humorous jaunts to honour my day of birth and other celebratory shindigs! Who said Winter was miserable huh? Virtual drinks for every one of you at the Bamboo Lounge.
Are you sitting comfortably….then I’ll begin: (insert the voice of Stanley Unwin….link will follow for those ignorant to not know…shame on you)

Caught up in life. I blame turning another year older. Been out. Been about. Been out and about. My itinerary began down the old pictures to watch Brian Heldgeland’s newest film ‘Legend’. Blew. My. Mind. It was as if someone had hollowed through into my brain and made a film out of my world. The suits. The clubs. The cars. The pubs. Even down to the decoration in Francis’ flat. Bang on. Perfection in my eyes as you just can’t beat sitting at an east end underground club on velvet seats sipping out of a martini glass dressed immaculately. Even knocking about the cobbles of London pleases me, the rougher the better (arguable) I love a good dingy flat (questionable), adds character doesn’t it?  I like character. There aren’t many cinematic pieces I’d see again, but that, that was one. Maybe it’s the gangsters? Maybe I’m just odd and thrive off of the criminals that inhabited the 1960’s? I thrive off anything that inhabited the 1960’s to be honest.

In other breaking news I’ve acquired more shoes. MORE? Yes, more shoes… I’m obviously not saying this as a negative. I have so much success regards shoes I act as a dealer to my fellow shoe lovers. They come from far and wide- nah I’m fabricating that, but I have been known (upon request) to seek specific shoes for others in need. Only when they’re a size 5 and below or 7 and above…. can’t give all the good pairs away now can I? I’m no mug (don’t argue with that… I mean it). Business cards to follow shortly.

Moving swiftly forwards…

Three words. LTS 50 Special. Halloween night saw the celebrations of three top blokes on becoming the big five-o. Hope you had a smasher boys! I did. It also christened my venture in djing. I’ve got the bug for spinning discs now. Career? No not yet but all in good time my sons, all in good time… Let this space be watched.

Moving rapidly backwards…

In September I had the privilege nay the pleasure of taking part in modelling pieces from Rasha Swais’ newest collection. Such a relaxed day of which I can’t accentuate, other than saying it was ‘cool’. Cool’s the word, beyond cool even. Some may even stretch to…funky. But I’m not a glitzy twat and that word doesn’t belong in my vocabulary. Unless I’m wearing velvet and dazzled with rhinestones. The sheer quality and sharpness of her pieces are amazing and hanging about in north London for the day eating copious amounts of party rings was classic. Not to mention patrolling the paths with a gang of badass ‘boot-i-ful’ girlies. That was ace too. I have an infatuation with walking in a line. I LOVE marching around in a line of well dressed mates, knocking about, bit of slow motion action going on, the classic laughter and synchronised application of shades. Lavvv it.     

Until next time hip cats and wondrous bros. I’m out for the count, as ‘we count down to ecstasy and rock all of the day and all of the night’…https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vV2AUmFEKY

X

Mr Unwin…need I say more:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDBren6gJVs

1960’s bespoke clothing needed? Have a gaze at Rasha’s site, mind will be obliterated:

http://rashaswais.com

It recently occurred to me that all my hairstyles have a lifespan of one year. They never last longer than that before I seek a ‘newy’ and take it upon my self to expand my look. This has been going on ever since I began to dye my hair different colours. (Fact for you: I have been a purple colour once upon a time in my ‘youth youth’. No, it didn’t last very long)

When I cut my rather long ‘turdy’ coloured hair into a shoulder length bob a few years ago, it’s difficult to say that I didn’t get the mickey taken right out of me. With the sea of straw like side fringes, there I was as you can imagine being ever so quirky amongst a crowd, even then. The next progression in my timeline of hair was a ‘Twiggy’ cut. I sauntered into my chosen ‘dressers’ and gave them a picture of that iconic face; I directed it the way I wanted it to be cut and…chop. Off it went. Some woman walked in and nearly had to sit down, she was that shocked at the fact I’d just cut all my hair off. Calm down ya fool, don’t even know ya! 

Sadly I didn’t look as good as I had hoped to have looked like. The fringe was too short so it went all ‘sweepy teenager’ on me. Not good. That was probably the result of that time I had cut my own fringe at ‘eyebrow height’. Well at least I thought I had cut it at ‘eyebrow height’. Problem being is that through the stress of attempting to get it just right I was raising my eyebrows as I was snipping. Naturally, I had presumed I had finished, and my eyebrows relaxed and revealed to me the ACTUAL height of my fringe. Higher than the heavens it was. You could say it was a bit Paul Simon-y. The shame. I can ensure now that I’ve perfected my ways of cutting my own fringe. But don’t quote me on that.

In the spring of 2013 (ooh how news reporter-esque of me), I took the plunge and banished the red from my roots to go a dark brown. Daring. Yet again, that didn’t last long. Red made its return shortly afterwards. As did the question: “Do you dye your hair red because of your name?”. The one that particularly gets me is “Did they name you Scarlett because of your hair?”. Yes, I came out the womb like this of course. Anyway once the red replenished my look I decided to go ‘short and fringey’.

This involved me basically having the same haircut but with a little side fringe. Like a womanly French crop kinda thing. Evidently this didn’t last long either. A tip I learnt, it’s all about the ‘hairdryer’. My best mate. (Cheers to the Gilbert family for the gift of a new one! Lots of love to you all always) After that, a drastic occurrence happened yet again i.e hair cut shorter than anticipated. Oopsies. It called for improvisation. The back combing commenced. Originally all I wanted was a little height to create a ‘bouffanty’ look, however one thing led to another and before I knew it I was all crystal tips and toffee web. Wasn’t safe for anyone lighting up a fag near my swede that’s for sure. Last Christmas I was in a right mare with the barnet fair. It looked horrid and was far too long. The longer my hair got, the more I felt it lacked style. So, back to the drawing board I went,and just as well as the yearly haircut change was due; I must subconsciously know when it’s time. January was the start of shaven necks and angular sidey’s. Much better.

If I could name a few obsessive loves of my life they would consist of Hair… and Shoes. A potential story for another time. (Although I do claim I am a burger connoisseur, an additional love of my life)

The hair remains unchanged.

As for next year, who knows?

X

                                   

I’ve previously stated how remote I am in comparison to where I spend the majority of my time. I always say I’m that far South I can see France. And that’s the truth. Although many people believe I live in London, I don’t. Sadly. In between going out and ….going out some more, I typically trudge about a village populated by tractors where the buses only come by every hour (more like an hour and a half and that’s just if it rains). It’s quiet, full of foliage and village people who take time getting hammered down the ONLY boozer whilst attempting to organise the annual Village Fete. It wouldn’t surprise me if my entire village was still immersed in the 70s. But then again, I say that not as a negative, it would be great.

Anyway, point being is that you can imagine my excitement and elation when all of a sudden a message pops up on my twitter regarding the clothing company Art Gallery. We like to call these ‘Oh my god moments’. The title is self-explanatory.

I remember sitting on my bed, continuously flicking from one app to the other and decided to make a (rare) trip to Twitter where I saw that message awaiting me. Needless to say, I have never ran down stairs so fast in my life. Actually I have never ran so fast. Oh wait, I have never ran.

When I say ‘I remember…’, I sound like I’ve been about for decades and have several stages of the saga of Scarl to reveal whilst sitting on a barrel of Ale on a Sunday arvie, fag in hand, watching the world go by. Despite having the mental age of a 50-year-old, I am still in the world of teens with a minuscule amount of knowledge, hopelessly wishing I grew up knocking about on a chopper bike on a hazy summer evening back when the staff rooms of schools were barely visible through a screen of smoke that only revealed a torso. Those were the days ‘ay (I was there in spirit).

So by the time Alex from Art gallery got in touch with me I had already met a couple of girls from Maidstone (not as close as you’d think, I literally do live in the middle of nowhere) at a gig down in Brighton. It was a coincidence after finding out I had a mutual friend; that and the fact that I was spotted in Pret whilst mooching around my town and via the powers of Instagram, conversation flowed. I still didn’t know many people so when Alex enquired as to whether I could bring any fellows, I immediately took it upon myself to bring them into a world I was incredibly fascinated by. The day of that little photo shoot I had to wake up at four. Dedication at its finest from one who is NOT a morning person.

These ‘Oh my god moments’ still persist to shock me though. I observe a lot of fellow ‘youngsters’ who enter this style and much of what comes with it does involve people being infatuated. Which then causes the old camera to be drawn from the pocket and snappity snap etc. The issue I find however is that all this ‘new found fame’ so to speak goes to their heads a little. It’s ever so exciting don’t get me wrong (you should have seen the speed at which I ran down those stairs!). But to me it was the realisation of belonging. Like ‘wow, who in their right mind would want to photograph me?!’. Despite all of that ‘stuff’ I was more chuffed at the fact that these people who I knew and respected were looking out for me! It almost feels like a ‘family’. Stories, laughs and clobber. (Yet more trio’s of words I abide by in my life)

The memory of when I first met Watch the Cloth Moth’s Mr Ferrante a few years ago (despite myself looking extremely different back then) and buying my first vintage dresses off of him; that’ll never leave me. Nor the time I was escorted up to the top of the big red bus at Southbank in order to shake a certain Dave Edwards’ hand whilst he tended to the decks. Most of all I was immensely proud at the fact that I was able to feature in Tony Beesley’s ‘Sawdust Caesars’ Book that came out last year and write my own piece (of which I showed to my english teacher) and have it amongst other pages including various people I have copious amounts of respect for: Sandra Hutchinson, Paul Anderson, Gill Evans, the list could go on, you know who you are.

Concluding: I love the fact that people online talk to me as though they’ve known me all my life. It’s almost like going up the local and the barman asks ‘usual?’. That’s an analogy I like to use.

X

Visit Tony’s Website at:

http://www.tonybeesleymodworld.co.uk/

Or take a gander at Art Gallery’s Collection:

http://www.artgalleryclothing.co.uk

Or even admire some striking goods at:

https://www.facebook.com/Watch-the-Cloth-Moth-220728124623125/timeline/

A Promised Continuance: 

I applaud you all for taking the time out to read my previous typings.  It was very much appreciated and I’m raising my virtual glass to you all. Cheers!

In order to resume my tales (spare a moment whilst I adorn my smoking jacket and light up a stogy) I’d like to point out after many people have titled me as an ‘inspiration’, that my intentions way back when I was a young young’un (now I’m just a young’un) were never to inspire, but just to be me. I’m good at that. Being me. Getting into something that has progressed yet been maintained for over half a century is a delicate one. Always someone with an opinion. But then again in the little time that I have spent on this earth, I’ve understood that’s just life in general (how philosophical of me). As a result of this ‘realisation’ I composed three personal rules for myself: dress as smart as one can, engross oneself in knowledge and don’t EVER act like a twat. “Have a bloody laugh will ya!”.

Moving backwards to the days of an ancient time aka last year. I decided after being a member of Mr Boddy’s Facebook page since 2012 (THE UK MOD SCENE), that it was time for me to…I don’t know, make some mates? (In the words of Sir Robert Burr, I was a ‘bedroom mod’. Good job I had quite a nice bedroom) For probably the first time in my life, I had done something right. Haha, ya joking? I posted this picture of myself, and bam! Complete chaos! (blatant exaggeration but it still went a bit mad nonetheless). The picture was of me standing, unbeknown to you, next to the fridge and I had to crop out a pack of Warburton’s rolls from it. I’ve come a long way…

From that single photograph, it led me to go up to the Capital more and more often as that was the home of Z. Stoneham (oh my mistake. He’s from Bromley). I knock about London as I do in my local Town now.

‘Modstock’ 2014 was when I first experienced having a camera ‘in my face’. There I was, sampling something of the BBQ variety, as you do, and along come these blokes snapping away at me. Corr let me finish! It was exciting though, despite looking back at it and cringing slightly. We all develop. That was a cool day. Thanks to Nick for asking me to take part in Bar Italia’s anniversary photographs that morning before everyone headed down to the 229 venue where that BBQ awaited me as did many hands to be shaken.

I’m the first to say my opinion when it comes to ‘education’. I think after 14 years, I can conclude… that it isn’t for me ( haha let’s face it, that was inevitable). Main reason: being so diverse in a place full of kids wearing what people call ‘hoodies’ wasn’t ideal. Whilst they were strutting around in all their garb, I was making sure my patent shoes didn’t scuff (nail polish remover is the cure). Imagine the sorest looking thumb you can. That was how much I stuck out. Did it bother me? Pah, I don’t think I even have to answer that one. At the Year 11 leaver’s awards (which I didn’t actually turn up to) I was apparently nominated as ‘most vain’. Now now, I always say it’s not vanity, it’s the ‘desire to look nice’. Pride in  appearance and that; I’m sure a fair few people can relate to that. Plus it isn’t easy having two double crowns and a cowslik, you have no idea the troubles I have to face…these are serious matters. (Hair will come up A LOT, you’ve been pre-warned) On reflection, I can see why I’d be called that though. I doubt there’s many school kids nowadays who’d rock up in their PE kit with a comb tucked in their sock and every now and again whip it out to sort out the barnet whilst casually refusing to do any form of exercise. I’m an original, what can I say. I did however win the ‘most unique’ award, so I’ve been told. If I must be honest, I would have been terribly confused if I hadn’t (joke…or is it?) as there’s not many who’d forsake the feeling in their hands so that they were able to carry a holdall to school everyday. I guess it was my destiny to be different ever since my mum clothed me in stripy flares when I was a tiny human. (Cheers for that, life-giver).

Before I donned the persona of a such a striking pastime, I looked like a ‘nothing’, if a nothing existed it would have been me. All be it there were obvious signs of quirk, I hadn’t had a “Ding!’ moment with anything in particular. Remember when Scarlett rolled her fringe for a day and pretended to be a pin up…oh how brief that was. Next day I pursued something that would potentially ‘change my life’…

I’ll leave it there with that dosage of Scarlett anecdotes. The insights and the waffle of a southern little red-head, you heard it here first folks.

X

 

An obligatory introduction:

As if the child that my Mum and Dad were blessed with wasn’t as freakish already, it then plunged itself into a world which formed over 40 years before it was born, never to return again… That child, so it is told, was me.

Everything starts with hair. Hair makes a person, hair breaks a person. Well, at least that is what I think anyway. Although the man who fathers me would like to believe it was his doing, I will always say the reason for my sudden development in style is due to my guinea pig. Yes. The loves of my life. To me it was a mid-life crisis that drove me to just say ‘sod it!’ and chop all of my fairly long hair (believe it or not) off and look like a prepubescent boy for my early early teenage years. Obviously I use that story to make me sound a little more insane and less stereotypical, my dad was really the reason why I ‘got into it all’. (Don’t be so quick to dismiss my guinea pig story, one of them really did die and I really did dramatically go for the chop afterwards despite many people not believing me *cough *cough you know who you are…)

I will NEVER forget the moment in which I realised I will never be like the ‘others’ (hahah). Must have been in the early hours of the morn after everyone had left one of the Baylis family’s annual summer party’s (we should really start those up again…hint hint to the parents). Just me and me old man sitting on the floor surrounded by discarded remains of all sorts of liquor, listening to Laurel Aitken’s ‘Sally Brown’. We had both created this particular dance where one sits on the floor pretending to row a boat (not as thrilling as if you had been there with us, swear you would have cracked up). As we were rowing, I was in tears every time “cuckoo maga stick’ was mentioned. Like seriously, genius line. Next day, plonked that song on my ol’ iPod and it just escalated from there. How many 12 year olds could you name that go rooting through their dad’s CD collection, piling the tunes on to their little 2009 iPod nano. Not many, I tell ‘ya. My days then consisted of having to correct people and explain why The Small faces don’t ACTUALLY have small faces. Tiring. Truth of that is they did have small-little boat races though didn’t they. But I was bombarded by mickey-takers at the time. Tut Tut.

After watching that film, y’know the one about mods and rockers with that guy from Eastenders in it (Quad-ra-feeenia), I swaggered up to my room where I spent most of my days reading every book about it under the Waterstones’ inventory. My last day of Year 9 I sat on the school field with Terry Rawlings’ “Mods: A very British Phenomenon’ in hand. In awe. Didn’t know anyone. Didn’t know anything. I lived in a place surrounded by sheep. What do you expect? I hadn’t a clue what it was all about (bless my little Twiggy wannabe soul). To me it was all so beautiful (genuine accident, no reference to that song those guys with small faces sang. I promise).

This little red-head went to mark-  *AHEM, London Cake and Bake show in 2013 due to a friend (Cheers Jodi!) recommending it. At the time I was convinced I was going to run a bakery and used to make quite a profit selling my buns (calm down) around my school. To this day I still get the odd “You should sell those again Scarlett” or “Remember Scarlett’s cakes?”. Yes. I am a legend. Please make way. (Joke) Anyway… after discovering Stacie Stewart online (of whom was actually attending the cake show also) it was a coincidence that she should message me the week before, introducing me to the one, the only Master Jimmy Gilbert. Take note kids, this ones going places. So, as a very random yet very very brilliant result of going up to a city that I typically visited once a year, the fantastic Emma Rosa-Dias got in touch with me regarding her pending documentary about the London Mod Scene (see below for further details on Emma’s work). Few weeks later I was sitting in this classic car down Southbank, all microphoned-up. WHAT?? Me? Nah, having a laugh mate. No laugh there I’m afraid. I was 14. It was very strange and that was the moment where I felt I belonged.

To round this ‘first post’ off, I’m sure I’ll cover  other things that have happened to me sooner or later but for now, that’s all ‘ya getting. Simply a village girl (or idiot either one) that loves having a giggle or two.

X

Watch the Trailer of the Documentary here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8GxsjvJAXY

   Or keep up to date on all her recent ventures at:

https://www.facebook.com/AfroMicProductions?pnref=lhc