London is the capital of Paris*

“I’m sure I’m not Ada,” she said, “for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all, even when I slave away for hours with the curling wand and use product and everything.”

“Besides,” continued Tatiana as she fanned herself with the White Rabbit’s quaint antique wooden fan trimmed in navy silk ribbon, “I don’t like the name Ada at all. It is so unglamorous. Not like my name.”

“And I’m sure I can’t be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things and she, oh! she knows such a very little! She’s the sort who would show her ankles in public,” Tatiana continued her snide internal monologue, forgetting for the moment that she was a giantess and sitting cross-legged on a tiled floor in a most unladylike fashion.

“I don’t like the name Ada at all. It is so unglamorous…”

Tatiana tossed the white kid gloves about thoughtfully. “Let me see: four times five is twelve, and London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome – no, that’s all wrong. I’m certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I’ll try and say ‘How doth the little—’”

How doth the little snake
Weave its snakey little way
Through the grass and take
Me for its prey?

How cheerfully he seems to smile,
And speaks with lying tongue
Of merely basking in the sun,
Yet strangling me all the while.

“I’m sure those are not the right words,” said poor Tatiana, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on, “I must be Mabel after all.”

Tatiana mournfully gazed at the large pool of tears, and just moments before she wholly gave way to hysterics she suddenly remembered. The absinthe! It was surely all crocodile tears, she told herself, and cheered up immediately.

Any moment now she’d shrink magically back to her proper size and slip through that door into that lovely garden.

If only it were that easy for all of us.

*With apologies to Lewis Carroll for butchering his text.

“Curiouser and Curiouser!” cried Tatiana

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Last time in Wonderland, we saw Tatiana play fast and loose with a bottle of absinthe, and shrink to a tiny ten inches.

This transpired to be only a slight setback, as Tatiana conveniently discovered a small piece of cake that served to reverse the unfortunate effect of imbibing a trifle too much of liqueur de wormwood.

If only this were true in real life. Sore head? Hungover? Falling down rabbit holes and dallying with vanishing cats? Don’t worry! Eat a piece of cake and all these disconcerting symptoms and other sundry effects will quickly disappear.*

*Advertiser’s disclaimer: We do not recommend eating too much cake as this may have a deleterious effect on your waistline as well as your height.

Tatiana’s Adventures in Wonderland (Part One)

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No doubt you’ve heard all about Alice and her so-called adventures in Wonderland. There’s a biopic just come out about her by that marvellous and renowned documentarian, Tim Burton. Fiction. Don’t believe a word of it.

Well, it’s just lucky I’m here to dispel all those illusions and tell you the Truth.*

First of all: dream shmeam! There was no dream. That was just her family trying desperately to hush up what actually happened. It was all one big long hallucination. Wild parties and absinthe. Possibly even orgies (I can’t substantiate that allegation, however).

It was all one big long hallucination. Wild parties and absinthe.

“But she’s only a little girl!” I can hear you protesting. “Who’d let her at a bottle of the Green Fairy?”

I’ve always thought it quite remarkable how the truth can become distorted over time and slip slowly into legend. Just look at that apocryphal tale of the three little pigs. No, no. Alice was no innocent little girl. She was a young lady. If you could truthfully call her a lady… tsk-tsk! Such goings on!

Above you’ll see my own little re-enactment of what really happened.

Look out for more startling exposés in the coming weeks (including shocking debaucheries involving cakes).

*Author’s note: None of this is actually true.

Check out the All Dressed-Up gallery for still versions of the animation.

The Adventures of Lulue the French Maid

No, not that kind of French maid. Tut, tut! This is not that kind of journal.

Lulue is only a little bit naughty (although perhaps her mistress would beg to differ), more concerned with the longevity of her manicure than wielding the tools of her trade. But I’ll let the pictures do the talking.

Scroll down to peruse this charming picture book I call Lulue, The Naughty French Maid, and click on the images for a larger version.

Enjoy!

Wallpaper printed with bookshelves is much more maid-friendly.

Help Lulue make up her mind! Lots of delicious shades to choose from here.

Perfect for kissing…

Go on – you know you want to!

Bliiiiiiiing!

Pink, red or blue. Buy some lolly-like gems and make your own heirlooms.

Nothing sparkles like vintage aurora borealis pins!

Check out the full colour versions in the Out-takes & Extras gallery.

Naughty but nice

Someone – one of my darling big sisters no doubt – bought me a poster of the original Flower Fairy alphabet* when I was very young. I Blu-Tacked it to my wall above my bed and daydreamed over the delightful illustrations.

My only complaint was that I was not at all pleased with the humble flower that represented the first initial of my name; I would much rather have had the glamorous ‘Queen of the Meadow’ – even back then I harboured grandiose illusions about my place in life! However, I could not think of an actual first name starting with Q that I would have liked.

I remember these as some of my favourites – and Queen of the Meadow was at the top of my list.When I did this shoot, however, fairies were far from my mind. It was the belling of the skirt that suddenly made me think of them.

I’ve always liked this particular vintage skirt (sometimes worn as dress, with or without a pink velvet ribbon tied at waist), and I always love pleats in general. The Obüs black shirt also has pleats on the elbow. The boots were the naughty addition to the outfit – the horizontal strips a nice counterpoint to the vertical pleats.

And so my Dragonfly Fairy was born. A little bit naughty, a little bit nice.

*Incidentally, as a nice segue from my last post, the paintings date from the 1930s–1950s by Cicely Mary Barker; originals can be purchased here.