More tales from the road

Taken from The Times January 22, 2010
Article by Huon Mallalieu

Development threatens Portobello Road antiques trade


(Marco Secchi / Getty Images)

A Portobello Road dealer sets out his wares. The area's long-established antiques trade is under threat from chain stores and stalls selling cheap souvenirs



Since the early 1960s Portobello Road has been a magnet for tourists from around the world, as well as for serious collectors and buyers of antiques. On tourist brochures the Saturday market symbolises London, alongside St Paul’s, Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, and its existence has helped to bring the prosperity that has regenerated Notting Hill. Now, it seems, it may become a victim of that success, lose the individuality that made it and be taken over as yet another chain shopping street.

In 2007 the Royal Borough of Kensington & Chelsea published A Balance of Trade, the report of its Commission on Retail Conservation, which was chaired by, Councillor Tim Ahern, then the mayor, and numbered Sir Terence Conran among its members. A good deal of that widely welcomed document dealt with Portobello Road and its world-famous antiques street market. Among its conclusions, the majority of which were approved by the council, was this statement:

“Specific functions in specific settings can be protected. We think this is now required for the antiques arcades on Portobello Road.” The market, said the council, must not be “overrun by identikit multiples”.

Portobello Market, with its mix of antiques, fruit and vegetables, bric-a-brac and vintage fashion, ranks No 5 among London’s tourist attractions, and an average of 60,000 people frequent it each Saturday. Since the beginning of the 1960s the antiques stretch has been characterised by a mixture of shops, street and pavement stalls and arcades, some of them housing up to 200 or more dealers. The antiques section is quiet in the week, but the food stalls are still there, and as the neighbourhood has been regenerated, so property values have risen.

For some years developers have been on the prowl, with Guernseyregistered UK Investments, and Warren Todd’s Portobello Investments and Westbourne Arcades buying up properties in the area. Several small arcades have already gone or changed nature. Now, without a nod to A Balance of Trade, more than 150 dealers have been ejected from Lipka’s Arcade, a prime site on the corner of Westbourne Grove, which has been unveiled as a branch of the AllSaints clothing chain.

When the dealers vacated the twostorey and basement arcade last summer, they were assured that they would be able to return to a refurbished basement, with new retail space at ground level and flats above. However, when the hoarding came down, AllSaints was found to be in occupation of the basement as well as the ground floor. The flats were there, with a mansard extension which appears to breach planning regulations, as does the replacement of six shopfronts on Westbourne Grove and four on Portobello with sheet glass.

As the council has written to Costas Kleanthous, the chairman of the Portobello Antique Dealers’ Association, planning consent was neither requested nor granted, but it is merely

“investigating” the matter, while Councillor Ahern says that the council cannot intervene as there has been no change of use — the site is still retail.

As Portobello Investments has bought up properties in the antiques section, and UK Investments in the food section stretch beyond Elgin Crescent, vendors of Third World tourist goods, such as Chinese handbags, T-shirts and the like, have been encouraged to take stalls in front of arcades and shops, which inevitably gives passers-by the impression that similar wares are on sale within. This has resulted in an exodus of traditional dealers. In smaller arcades, such as World Famous, antiques have been replaced entirely by tourist wares, on sale all week. Feelings are running high, and violent incidents between traders and arcade managers have already been reported. As Marion Delehar, whose family has been in the trade for a century and had a shop on the road for 50 years, says: “Incandescent doesn’t begin to describe our feelings.”

Another textile dealer says: “Lipka’s was the stomach of the market. We are left with the head and toes. Red Lion, Harris’s, Admiral Vernon and Rogers are still there — but for how much longer? Without them the market will be finished.”

Precedents are not good. London councils have rarely supported their markets. In the 1970s Southwark tried to do away with the Friday morning Caledonian in Bermondsey, a favourite with the antiques trade, and after recent redevelopment regulars describe it as a travesty of its former self. Camden Passage has largely fallen to developers, despite words of support from Islington. Despite requests and assurances the Royal Borough of Kensington & Chelsea has not provided the necessary lavatories and rubbish bins for Portobello, even though rates as well as rents have increased.

Undoubtedly there is profit to be made in changing the nature of Portobello, but given the proximity of the Westfield shopping mall on one side, and Whiteley’s shopping centre on the other, Costas Kleanthous, the Friends of Portobello Road and the market’s many other supporters doubt that the road would have a longer-term future as a street of chain shops like any other high street.





Afrika Bambaataa/John Lydon - World Destruction

More tales of Portobello Road

I love it when it rains on a Saturday. It always seems to keep the casual, and trifling, visitor away. Unfortunately by early afternoon it had cleared.

There I was chatting away to Hills, a tall drink of water who always attracts the attention of men, when a man turned to her and asked, Are these your things?
Hills shook her head and pointed to me, and I replied,
She's not that lucky.
To which she and I chuckled. He didn't get it. Men who dress and look like that seldom do. He could have been the forty-something poster boy for Stuff White People Like.

How much is the sawfish blade?



I explained that it was a collection and told him the price. To which he exclaimed, Oh my goodness!

How much is the small bird?



Skipping any explanation, I told him the price. Again he replied, Oh my goodness!

All I could do was smile. Well, smile and bite my tongue.
Aside from hearing myself telling him to fuck off amongst a slew of other things, I could also hear Mae West intoning, Goodness has nothing to do with it.

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Now playing on iTunes: Santana - Goodness And Mercy
via FoxyTunes

Well kiddies...

Marie Laveau - Voodoo Queen of
New Orleans

None of the lovely things I wanted to post about seem to be springing forth. Instead, all I can think about are the things that are annoying me. So here we go.
Someone I have a great deal of regard for (this woman works like a Trojan) took the time to call and email me about a prospective client. She was just too busy to take on any new projects. So rather than let them spin in the wind, she suggested I should help them. Against my better judgement (these people bought Ligne Roset for their bedroom thinking it to be the epitome of modern), I dutifully followed up with a phone call and an email.
Guess what? Nothing. Not even a thanks, but no thanks. What a couple of ignorant @*%^s ! Who behaves like this? Mr and Mrs Ray Harriot of Bexley, Kent that's who. Mr and Mrs Ray Harriot of Bexley, Kent I hate you. Not, I might add, in a passionate Latin way, but rather in a disgusted French way.
Irrespective of the fact I know you won't read this.
A pox on your house, and on all who dwell in it.

A full moon, some chalk, a few black candles, a couple of live chickens, and we are all set... one pox and a little calamity coming up.

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Now playing: Cher - Dark Lady
via FoxyTunes

Window on the world

The first stand at the Decorative Antiques and Textiles Fair.
Such high hopes for Natural History, in spite of the fact the US was preparing to invade Iraq and very few, if any, of the American trade was traveling. The US and Britain go to war on opening day. Talk about raining on a parade. By the end, I think it fair to say I had had enough.


The following month, a shared stand at Antiques and Audacity.
Doomed from the start. Run by this dreadful little woman who managed to be both odious and mousy all at the same time. Who kept telling the person who I was sharing with "You need to clear the surfaces of objects, if you want to sell your furniture". I was sharing with none other than the Philistine and the objects were mine. I was seething. I am still waiting for our paths to cross again. I want to make her cry (deep gut wrenching sobs), and I will.




The second stand at the Decorative Antiques and Textiles Fair
A veiled and half hearted attempt at being commercial. I didn't love it, but managed to make a couple of sales. It needed more colour and pattern, and a better interplay between the objects. It just needed to be prettier. I bought the bookcase with the intention of turning it into one of those painted numbers. In the end I could not bring myself to do it.



The third stand at the Decorative Arts and Textile Fair
I loved this one. It was said to be the most striking stand at the fair. That alone should have tipped me off. One sale in five days. I was rattled beyond belief. How I did not strip someone to the bone I will never know. Only once did I ask someone 'is that is how you behave at home'. Unfortunately for him he would repeat his blunder at my last fair. I hate people who plop onto furniture and do not sit properly. It really irritates me.



The fourth stand at the Decorative Antiques and Textiles Fair
I hated this one. Because the last was so dire financially, I decided to tone it down. All I ended up with was a pale imitation of my living room. One sale and no pizazz. Not a happy camper. Still, I would not give up.




The fifth stand at the Decorative Antiques and Textiles Fair
This one turned out the best. I followed my instincts. I even hired someone - just in case it was my approach that was the problem. Call me crazy. It wasn't. I made the sales, while the approachable, happy assistant wasted his time with housewives looking for free decorating advice. Idiot.



The sixth and final stand at the Decorative Antiques and Textiles Fair
This was the one where I realised the people who attend this fair would never really get what I do. I knew I had gone too far. It was too dark, too real. By the time it was all set up, I had decided enough was enough. Luckily, I was able to teach a couple a very valuable lesson. Even if you are a washed up actress that appeared in The Railway Children , it does not mean your oafish pig of a husband can go plopping himself where ever he likes. They walked away crimson with rage. They don't know how lucky they were to be able to walk away. It could have been the first fist fight in the fair's 25 year history. As big as he was, and he was big, I had no intention of loosing to the likes of that. I will bet money he hasn't done it since.


I have always believed that all one ever needed was an audience and a window on the world. These images chronicle an active attempt to cultivate a new audience. I was happiest when I did as I liked and followed my instincts. While these did not prove to be the most successful, I was at least pleased with them.
Like most things there is a formula that works. I unfortunately was not willing to work to it. I saw each stand as an adventure into something new. A chance to do different look. I was looking too far ahead of myself. I should have concentrated on the look of the moment and given them the fake painted French Victorian rubbish and the mass produced nondescript mid Century tat they were so hungry for. I could also have been nice. I could have also stuck pins in my eyes. Nice on me, would have been the same as paint on that bookcase. It would have just been wrong. What is the point in perpetuating the mediocre?
I haven't done one of these in well over two years. I most likely will never do one again. It's too hard and too soul destroying. However, I still do believe in a window on the world and an audience, I just haven't found them yet. I will.

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Now playing: Will Young - Leave Right Now
via FoxyTunes

A nation of shopkeepers, oh my...

Our little concern at Portobello Road, Natural History, has been named by a certain shoe designer as her favourite shop in London.
Evidently these images, which I sent to The Telegraph's Stella Magazine, will appear in the piece they have done on said designer.
Oh who, oh who, could the designer be ?
I'll give you three guesses.
No, I kid you not, it is none other than the Philistine.
Just goes to prove you can't keep a good bitch down.*
Now, I feel dirty and soiled.
I who will not sell to or buy from anyone I do not like - have I become just another glory whore ?



*a quote from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

Look what I found...

a picture of the philistine, measuring something no doubt.

Normally I would not be so base as to name and shame, but I do think that this could serve as a lesson to all when selecting clients....Blah,blah,blah...
Oh, who am I kidding ? No, this is exactly what it appears to be - a little philistine bashing.

One should not work for clients who are:
1. Control freaks - especially when the emphasis is on the freak.
2. Petite Bourgeois - especially when they think they are Haute Bourgeois, and you know they are not.
3. Bankers - who then become unhappy housewives, and who then become unsuccessful antique dealers, and who then become unsuccessful handbag designers, and who then become shoe* designers - all in the space of three short years and several tainted lives.
4. Hagglers - it shows they do not value your services and that they are cheap - cheap people are just that, and their lives reflect it regardless of their surroundings.
5. People you hate - because regardless of the overwhelming desire to watch them crash and burn, it will show in your work.

* Suffice it to say I would not be caught dead in them or work for the type of woman who would wear them. Perugia she's not.

Imitation of Life

Over the past few weeks we have watched a client bastardise our concept for her new London boutique beyond recognition.
We have stood by and watched while things were measured, remeasured, and measured yet again to ensure that the proportions were what she thought they should be. All the while the individual components of the original concept - silver tea papered walls, limed oak furniture, crushed raspberry moire, hammered bronze, and antique mirror - were being replaced with poor imitations. Yet, we soldiered on as this was nothing new; just part of her pathology. It was her remark, "the new luxury is meant to be accessible", that finally put an end to our relationship.
Philistine!
Like true chic, true luxury is a state of being not something that can be easily bought and traded.