|Royal Festival Hall Entrance|
This also means that I have been extra thriftalicious of late, and being ripped off has been more irritating to me than ever before. Which we shall come to later. Oh yes we shall. (Steely, chastening look to audience).
We went on Saturday. As you can see, I wore my Jean Varon from Penny Dreadful, it attracted lots of admiration, snaps and questions from fellow 60s-70s fans and sadly- within 10 minutes of arrival- one filthy look, wrinkled nose plus some 'very obvious to everyone' bitchy edging-away from a bird in the ladies' loos. I kid you not! Of all the places to get vintage-hate, mine was in the toilets of a festival called 'Vintage'. She was in very, very expensive repro 50s flashing about her MAC like a proper wannabe Dita, and I can't for the life of me work out why she did it. Maybe she thought real vintage smells (this dress most certainly doesn't, let me assure you 100% it is highest quality and scrupulously clean) or has that curious across-the-pond attitude that 60s/70s is not 'proper'. I dunno.
|Err - have we come on the right day?|
Anyway, I came out all cross and bothered. Luckily, there were girls handing out free icecream. If people did that more regularly I wouldn't have a perfect Paddington-Bear-Hard-Stare. Noms. I felt all happy and smily again. So we went for a look around. The problem was, there seemed to be hardly anyone there! All the stands were nicely set up (albeit with some irritating slips in detail- e.g. the fascia on the North South Divide Pub didn't reach to the end, and they'd just used the regular tables and chairs with no covers...) and there was plenty to do, with no queues but the emptiness drained the vibe from the place. Some bloggers have described it like a quiet airport, very apt: lots of walkways with folk dressed up, on their way somewhere. Oh, and some lost tourists (because at £20 a pop, not the £75 we paid, it's worth wandering in off the street. There I said it. I was emailed by Vintage about it 'selling out' and like a fool I bit. Now, let us never again speak of my shame again. Bar to say, had I paid £20, this review would have been glowing- because that is what it was worth. Well, £30 even. But not £60 + £15 for the revue-which-most-festivals-include-free).
We wandered outside in search of human life, and discovered a fantastic vintage market and some cool cars, with which I capered like a silly fool. It was actually the best bit (and free!) - we also looked for The Chap folk, unfortunately, the undertrained Vintage staff insisted several times that they weren't there that day. I kept protesting that they'd tweeted - but the reply was 'no'. It was only when we met up with fellow bloggers Margaret of Penny Dreadful and Charlotte of Tuppence Ha'penny that we found out they were indeed there, doing that eccentric glam thang they do so well. However we were too late and missed the umbrella jousting and so forth. So you will have to settle for more photos of me, this time capering about outside.
|My other car is a clapped-out Focus.|
|Woop! Found the other PEOPLE!|
|I OWN that dancefloor|
|Including me, 7 people in the classic album lounge. Epic fail.|
|Watching leggy ladies dancing, drinking a martini.|
|Look! People! We're saved!|