Goodbye, cluster, goodbye empty frames with vintage postcards

It’s a strange world isn’t it.  You would expect, on a glorious sunny day in London, as it was today, that I would be writing this evening about what a gloriously sunny day it had been in London.

You might even expect me to be writing about the fantastic Tim Walker show that I finally got to at Somerset House, which itself was glowing in the warm November sunshine,

Or even about the ice-skaters:

If it had been pouring with rain (and it might have been) you would not have been surprised by a blog about typographical books:

(the one on the left I found after reading Alice Pattullo’s fantastic blog; the one on the right was what I found in Liverpool the other day and had been looking for—for years).


But no. This weekend has been a bit of a strange weekend.

It started on Thursday. Post Spitalfields Life opening party, everyone feeling a bit tired, a little jaded in the shop, but nonetheless happy at such a great evening.

“Coral is over” said Bridie.

“What do you mean”, I said. “I love coral”.

“Trust me, no more coral”, said Bridie.

Hours later, checking emails, which from time to time can take a while to get to, I came across a link – with no other text, no subject line, that Bridie had sent me and Will.

This was the email.  (Although as you can see, I have now replied, and have forwarded this email one or two times).

So, okay, before you read on, have a click on this link:  fuckyournoguchicoffeetable

And then realise that your world has changed. No more shopping (if you are a Londoner) at twenty twenty one; at SCP, or Skandium. No more browsing the downstairs shelves at The Conran Shop, or Heals, or the Shop at Bluebird Cafe.  No more trips to Merci in Paris, or to concept stores in Berlin or Milan.

Can I explain?

is the best website I’ve seen in a long time. A little internet research reveals that it’s nicely tongue in cheek, and not quite as mean as it appears when you first start reading.

But nonetheless, welcome to the world of Fuck your Noguchi Coffee Table.

Fuck your Periodic Table.

Fuck your cluster of photos on tiny clotheslines on a single frame.

Fuck your wall of birds’ nests on cake stands.

Fuck your paddle.

Fuck your faced out books.

Fuck your vignette of vintage globes, book stack with a thing on top, molded plywood chair, Nelson saucer pendant, and your books arranged by color.

Fuck your map wall.


Fuck your cluster of contiguous frames containing other frames, a mask and/or off-center images that are conspicuously too small.

Fuck your Coral. 

(Yes, that’s why Bridie is creative director at Ben P towers).


The list goes on. SUPERB.  And you know how when your best friend tells you that your other best friend has a really annoying habit, which you had never previously noticed… AND WHICH YOU NOW CANNOT GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD….


I arrived back at my flat on Friday evening. My friend Leslie was staying. We had just been to see Argo (brilliant) and we were ready for bed. “But I must just show you this website” I said. We spent the next two hours looking at each and every page, our sides splitting with laughter.

But in the cold grey light of Saturday morning…. Oh dear.

Everything takes on a different light.

Fuck your wall cluster and your Jonathan Adler blue cross cushion.

Fuck your empty frame with distressed paint finish.

Fuck your empty frames with distressed paint finishes containing vintage black and white postcards ATTACHED BY ANTIQUE PINS.  The Arne Jacobsen Light? Fuck it.

Fuck your giant vintage tadpole and your IRONIC DOGS (bought three days ago at the Spitalfields Life exhibition).  (Frankly, fuck your Fornasetti Palladiana chest of drawers, although that one is ultimately safe).

Uh oh. Fuck your map wall!!!!  And your stripy cushion.

Oh dear, what is that, in front of the map wall? Fuck your 1960s Danish table with its table cluster of coloured glass ornaments and combination of antique Wedgwood candlesticks with different contrasting coloured candles.

Oh no. Fuck your chair hodge podge (yes, you’ll find that somewhere on the website). Oh, and fuck your red wishbone (which I am sitting in now, and is the most comfortable chair I own).

I think the bedroom corridor is okay. The maps are not quite  a cluster.

But the Peter Hone leaves are going to have to go, aren’t they?  (I seem to recall months and months ago some zeitgeist commenter on this blog complaining vociferously about those leaves on the wall of my old flat).

The Gentle Author’s dogs MAY have found a new home in the guest bedroom. They cheer up the William Morris-meets-strange-aesthetic-movement-shelf vibe.

Thank god I didn’t arrange the books by colour any more. (They sort of were at Great Ormond Street, not quite by accident).


Anyway, back to the masters.


I must be honest. Quite a few of the things that I’ve just been highlighting have been annoying me for a little while.  But sometimes it takes someone else to let you know why.

Goodbye cluster.  Goodbye empty frames. Goodbye, iittala glass ornaments. Hello, calmer decoration. Watch this space.  While you chuckle.

I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun with a website, and I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed writing this blog this much.



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