Let Stephen guide you on a personal journey through the world of Stephen Webster.

Explore the collections and hear the inspiration behind them, as told by the designer himself.

Last night marked the launch of “The Garden of Good and Evil”.

A month long exhibition of the collective works of jewellery designer, Tomasz Donocik at the Garrard flagship store on Albemarle Street London. 

Ever since becoming the Creative Director of Garrard, I hoped at some point to be able to offer a platform for new and outstanding talent in the jewellery industry.

I come across many young jewellers and designers, either through giving talks at colleges, Goldsmiths Hall or judging competitions amd felt that there was never an easy time for the up and coming to gain exposure to potential luxury consumers. The exception being Goldsmiths Fair, now well and truly on the jewellery collectors calender.

On the whole, shelf space in the true luxury capital of London’s West end is premium real estate. While making a song and dance about fine art, music and prestigious cultural events, jewellery brand’s never knowingly support young named talent within the industry. This leaves  retail jewellers  or galleries  which is a problem. With the exception of the Electrum on South Molton Street, jewellery galleries in the west end don’t really exist. As for good quality retail jewellers who actively promote emerging talent the pickin’s are slim. Department stores being the best bet; Selfridges, Liberty and Harrods all have areas for creative lesser known designers but  outside of those the independent options which are few and far between and  tend to fall into the neighbourhoods such as EC1 in Notting Hill.

Back to Garrard. Because Garrard was not a brand built from the work of a single source, such as Cartier, Boucheron, Bulgari etc but more a destination offering an extraordinary selection of treasures, covering all the related trades and crafts surrounding the jewellery and silversmithing industries. This meant it always had the potential to excite its clients who included Royalty when they conspicuously consumed or rock Royalty once they had a platinum selling album, by showcasing or commissioning works by creative people from all over the UK. There was however always strict criteria to be met. This included the materials used, craftsmanship, original design and star quality.

Having benefited from this facility earlier in my career, I planned to revive the tradition as soon as the time was right and the candidates identified.        

In 2006 while on the judging panel for the Goldsmiths award at the New Designers exhibition  I came across Tomasz. He was graduating from the RCA and unlike many of his fellow graduates, Tomasz was showing work that was creative, non-derivative, beautifully made and instantly recognisable as luxurious jewellery and accessories. I say unlike the others because to cover so many basic codes these days from a person essentially still at art school is a very rare quality.

Ever since that time I have encouraged, engaged and in some ways mentored the natural talent that Tomasz has. The work shown at the opening last night, complete with the amazing environment Tomasz generated and installed himself (with a little help from his long suffering girlfriend Kate) was a real spectacle. The reaction from customers proved to us and those who were seeing his work for the first time that he has a great future ahead of him.

We feel fortunate to be in a position where through Garrard, we can once again be seen as a destination for excitement.

SW

The Garden of Good and Evil will run from October 25th through November 24th at the Garrard Flagship Store

Mobile hasn’t much to offer so we felt obliged to visit the one thing it did have; USS Alabama. The ship and the sky were the same colour - battle ship grey. Something biblical was on its way weather wise that was for sure.

The first thing on show at Battleship Park is a B52 bomber. The sign informed us that “Calamity Jane” had seen a lot of action wreaking havoc over Vietnam in the 60’s. For those like me who had never seen a B52 (other than the Rock Lobster variety), let me tell you, they are bloody massive. It was quite amazing to be able to walk underneath and put our head up inside the bomb hatch and ponder for a minute about bomb hatches in general.

I have no intention of giving a blow by blow of the whole military hardware park, but to mention a couple of things:

 1. There was a car with “Just Married” written over it in the car park. I wondered if visiting a battle ship on your honeymoon was just cutting to the chase and going straight to the inevitable. 

2. Inside the souvenir shop was an old war veteran Col. Glenn D. Frazier sat at a table piled books of which he had written about being a prisoner of war in Japan and the hell of war in general. We chatted and I bought a book, and as he was signing it he told me about an English guy who had also been a POW with him, his thick Alabama drawl gave way to almost pitch perfect Dick Van Dyke English. I thanked him and moved on worried that we may end up in a duet of ‘Chim Chimney, Chim Chimney’.

The battle ship, the submarine and the planes many of which were still baring the scars of not war but hurricane Katrina are well worth the trip if you need to kill a couple of hours in Mobile Alabama on your honeymoon.

A soon as we hit the road the storm started. Monsoon quality with almost zero visibility. Thankful that we were in a modern car and not the Jag or T’Bird, both of which no matter how much has been spent on restoration would be letting in more water than the 70 year old rusty sub we had just toured. 

 Desperate not to be forced to eat in another truck stop we left at Moss Point looking for food. I guess not too many folks are foolish enough to drive across the swamp at Moss Point in search of fine dining. However the Mexican restaurant we came across bore all the signs of what we were looking for.

 Crawfish quesadilla’s “drizzled” with at least a pound of white cheese weren’t perfect but did change our focus by killing all conversation and blood flow for a couple of hours. Nothing that a dose of liquid plumber couldn’t fix.

We were then on our final drive into New Orleans - 1598 miles and 5 days from NY.

 Our friend Trish Summerville a famous LA stylist who is from N.O. had put us in touch with a couple of her old family friends. They own Mulates Cajun restaurant and we’ve been invited round for cocktails. It would be rude not to really wouldn’t it?

That will be “Hurricanes” all round please, also I’ve been told by Jeff that blackened alligator is to die for….

We had been invited by Bertis, REM’s original manager who now looks after everything REM, to come over to the office and take a look around. After an old school breakfast in the Mayflower diner, who have been “putting the south in your mouth since 1948” (their slogan not mine), we paid a visit to Bertis and the team at REM HQ.

It was extraordinary. Every square inch of wall space, shelf space and apart from a narrow walk way, the floor space had been utilised to tell the story of the band. From a young hairy beat combo playing the 40 watt in Athens, to the stadium filling three piece that played at the inauguration of President Clinton. A wall dedicated to Rolling Stone covers alone, an illustration from the REM Simpson’s episode, more awards than shelves and a mountain of back stage passes piled next to Bertis’s desk. (He’s been pondering getting an artist to do some kind of installation with them for sometime). It was like being in a fantastic rock n roll museum.

Just a few days prior to our visit the band had announced that they were to split after 31 years together. It always provokes an emotional reaction when such a massive band who have effected so many people call time, but looking at all the things they had achieved along the way we could only think that the guys and the team in the office must have had three brilliant decades together.

Back on the road heading south, making for Montgomery Alabama. God knows why but I felt the need to get there in a hurry. Apparently in a little too much of a hurry for a Georgia state trooper.  At 95mph I caught him in my rear view mirror. A futile attempt to slow to the 65 speed limit was, well futile. The show was complete with siren and disco lighting and I was getting a police escort to the cold shoulder all the while being given a crash course on how to behave in the presence of the law by Jeff (He knows about things like this because so he says his brother in-law is an ex cop).

There is ritual drama about anything involving the police in the US. All that coming up from behind and keeping your hands visible at all times etc all adds to the intimidation I guess. The officer asked me why I was in such a hurry and to be honest I didn’t have an answer for him. I explained that I had only just taken over at the wheel, the car was very fast and before I knew it we were doing 95 (he said 90, I wasn’t going to dispute it), I then attempted to slow to a more leisurely pace conducive to the state but it was all a little too late.

Baffled he took my license to his car. Jeff said “I bet he’ll do nothing. A British license in Georgia equals a big pain in the arse.” He came back and sure enough said that I was to slow down because due to my speed if he wrote me a ticket it would have to be at the jail. We thanked him and proceeded in an orderly fashion.

Montgomery, our next stop was memorable for three things. The downtown has a beautiful old confederate capital building and no restaurants, there are, however, bail bonds men on every corner. We got out before we needed to employ one and found luncheon ballast in a TA truck stop. I’m in danger of repeating myself but I have to say it, the smallest things moving around the buffet were the trucks. It was morbid but in a Victorian curiosity kind of way, entertaining.

The road started to cut a path through a new terrain. Swamp. We were approaching our overnight stop; Mobile Alabama, home to battle ship USS Alabama and a lot of shrimp.

I had a brain wave. I thought it had been indigestion at first, “Let’s not go to Atlanta”. I’d heard Athens, GA was a cooler town. To be honest I knew nothing about it other than Michael Stipe was either from there or grew up there and had told me once that it was a nice place. Throwing caution to the wind we headed there.

After leaving the great un-groomed of Asheville we headed out in the direction of South Carolina. Passed a town called Bat Cave, didn’t stop but looked it up and yes it’s a small town with a cave, home to a lot of bats. I love bats - funny little things, I actually have a dried one at home.

Found a perfect driving road; SC route 11. This followed a Cherokee trail, didn’t see any Cherokee but the signs were there, smoke signals etc. It was pretty evident that SC has a lot of poverty, lots of trailer parks and closed business.

If Virginia and NC are in the tobacco business then SC seems to be in the fireworks business with signs advertising them everywhere. This is only interesting in that in most US states it’s illegal to buy or sell fireworks. You can often buy a gun but not a banger; after all you wouldn’t want to frighten folk! We passed through Greenville. A town which had found latter day prosperity after winning the lottery when BMW opened a manufacturing plant there about 20 years ago.

The reality was that Monday’s drive was becoming a little dull. In fact I commented to Jeff that if nothing more happened then I was seriously thinking of cancelling the day due to lack of interest. Of course I was bluffing, everyone knows it’s only the Queen or Pippa Middleton who can actually cancel days.   

Then a funny thing happened. To be polite, even though I hadn’t seen him for two years I thought I would mail Michael Stipe to say “guess where I am? Driving toward your home town.” (He now lives in NYC) I received a message straight back saying that he had just landed in Athens. This meant most of the guess work was going to be taken out of our evening.

We had dinner in Michael’s favourite restaurant: The National, a brilliant spot mixing the best of southern culture with a little Mediterranean. After that we walked over to 40 Watt, a music venue started in 1978 and a foster home to Athens bands REM and B52’s amongst many others. It was closed - I guess the Queen had made the call.

The remainder of the evening was spent cruising the many, many drinking establishments in downtown Athens with almost, but not quite, as many bars as there were of Baptist Church’s we had passed on the drive in.

Quote of the day taken from a Vegas style sign outside a Baptist church; “There is only the cross”. Thankfully there is also cable otherwise David Yurman wouldn’t have a business.

Over the last 5 years, I have been fortunate enough to be able to ring fence a week in September and take a road trip in the 1959 Thunderbird that I bought at the side of the road in Newport Beach, CA after my excitingly successful first year exhibiting as the Stephen Webster brand in the USA.

The car always had beautiful lines but the condition could only be described, at best, as faded. Many years later and fully restored, I drove with my friend Jeff from the East coast to the West coast. We limped onto the beach at Santa Monica after an incredible 10 day adventure.

One of the major breakdown spots on route was in Nashville. A mechanic called JD spent 5 hours replacing all the hydraulic cables and got us back on the road.  In the back of his workshop was an old body shell, a 1961 MK 8 Jaguar saloon. That body played on Jeff’s mind for over a year, those curves drove him crazy! Unable to resist any longer – ‘car struck’ - he called up JD and secured it. 

Four years and more dollars than Jeff wants to admit to the car is finally restored.

It’s Saturday morning, September 25th 2011 and I’m on the Croton trail on a train out of NYC to meet Jeff and see the car for the first time. I’ve seen photos, it looks amazing but I’ve also been told the inside smells like a polo players Hermes saddle in a forest of burled walnut trees… Jeff would have come into NY to get me, but unfortunately, the roads between his home and the city are flooded. Yesterday was one more monsoon, par for the course for this is the wettest month in NY ever. Once we clear the rivers of Upstate NY we have a self indulgent week to get to New Orleans in the slow lane.

More ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ than ‘The Fast and the Furious’, this will be an education for me. The part of the South we will drive through will show me a side of America that I’m least familiar with. Steamy, both metaphorically and literally. I can’t wait to find out what’s in store for the three of us.

With a collective age of 154 (including the car) we intend to travel at a pace that shouldn’t attract too many speeding tickets and, hopefully, allow us maximum exposure The plan was to get to the South and out of the North as fast as possible while respecting the age of our wheel.

This would mean I-95 most of the way to Virginia. Not pretty but efficient.

First we head back toward NYC, take the George Washington bridge across the Hudson into New Jersey, then due South. My journey began at Grand Central station. Jeff was waiting for me at Croton station, “You can’t miss me” he assured me. He wasn’t kidding; the car was just so beautiful. Two tone purple and dark blue. Chrome everywhere. And an interior worthy of a Riva: Walnut picnic tables (far more practical than cup holders, I’m seriously considering one for my Ural sidecar).

After much detail spotting such as the elaborate twin chrome handles to open the boot; twin petrol tanks and the toggle switch labelled “speed hold”, we rolled out.

On the freeway to NYC cruising at 75MPH, Jeff reached for the large chrome handle and pulled the oversized sun roof closed. The wind caught under the roof, ripping it from his grasp. I turned round to see it spinning like a huge sheet metal frisbee and slam into the front of the small Honda behind. Everything screeched and smoke, rubber and panic is all I can remember.

Miraculously, the audible smash never came. We pulled over and a hundred meters back was the recipient of our debris, an old Honda, still wrapped on one side by our sunroof. I reached the driver first, a very buff African American who I was expecting to chin me, not for any other reason than had the impact been a few inches higher we would have decapitated the poor fellow.

Fortunately, Dwayne Long was shaken but not stirred. With some colour back in our cheeks we extracted the sun roof (now contoured to the classic lines of an 95 Honda Civic drivers side headlight and fender assembly).

Like Michael Flatly verses Jesus, Jeff and I performed the river dance on the hard shoulder in a vain attempt to flatten the roof to a point where we could slide it over the luggage and Opec quantity of spare oil we had on board. The $100K worth of restoration now broken, JD had a lot to answer for.

It was once again looking like rain as we sat back in the now permanent convertible to ponder our next move.

Option 1. We could drive three hours the wrong way and pick up the 59 T-bird.

Or Option 2. We go back to Jeff’s and swap the Jaguar for his brand new Fast and Furious, 5.7 litre Dodge Challenger. The Dodge won.

The journey had been turned on its head. We headed South not in the slow lane but in a piece of pure Detroit Muscle.

Those confederates had better watch out - we weren’t in the mood for taking prisoners.

NY - Philadelphia - Baltimore - Washington DC - Richmond Virginia.

Thank you for Smoking. I haven’t seen a cigarette girl in a restaurant for ages.

Packed my summer outfit which consists of one pair of shorts and a pair of canvas shoes with a sort of rubber and string sole. We’re off to Ibiza this weekend to celebrate Pete Tong’s wife, Carolina’s 40th birthday. I want to say this will be a relaxing break but we land at midnight and head straight for Pacha to catch Pete’s Friday night set, ‘It’s all gone Pete Tong’. Which for those who don’t know has entered the British rhyming slag vocabulary, it means;’ it’s all gone wrong’. Those not familiar with London cockney rhyming slang then this column is far too short for me to explain. Google it.

Last weekend turned out to be one of those magical musical moments. Oh god that sounds so naff!

I forced my two daughters to camp with me at the Hop Farm festival. Just 4 years old, the festival was started by Vince Power, a veteran, who amongst other festivals ran Glastonbury for years. The spirit of Hop Farm is to get back to the music. The overblown, over sponsored, corporate lump that is Glastonbury has become about as far from the music as the people in the back row of yet another Coldplay headline act there. Boring. 

Tempted by the line-up we skipped Glasto and opted for the Hop. We arrived in a borrowed Land Rover defender complete with African spec camper trailer, drove over a couple of tents and VW camper vans full of part time hippies and joined in the spirit of the VIP camp site.

Between Human league, Morrisey, The Eagles, Iggy, Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Tinie Temph and Labyrinth etc we saw them all and had brilliant outdoor family time. However nothing, not even the excellent Moroccan chicken, came close to the Sunday night headliner which was Prince. This was his first ever festival and only UK gig this year and he blew our socks off. From the “Let’s Go Crazy” opener to “Purple rain”. Camper than all us campers put together’ the pint sized Hendrix/Brown hybrid delivered a spellbinding high energy set of crowd pleasing hits. And so many hits, they just kept coming. After an hour and a half he disappeared. All the lights went out but the crowd were going nowhere, he came back saying “Did you think we were finished? We have enough hits to last until next year’s festival”.

It may have been the best magical musical experience I have ever had. I recommend you look out for next year’s Hop.

As it always will, it started with a murder. This time round the scene of the crime was that pillar of Scottish establishments; Hamilton & Inches of George St, Edinburgh. The victim was none other than the playboy of the high and the lowlands; Mr Hugh McHeffer. He was already dead when we got there, a Stephen Webster designed Sgian Dubh (that knife men in kilts wear down their sock) protruding from his throat. Early indications were that this was a Scottish crime. This was a good thing as the bevy of beauties from whom we would eventually identify the murderer were all local.

The crowd of over 100 guests really entered into the spirit of the evening especially after our new character “The Hack” announced that SW  were offering a reward of a SW diamond bracelet from our new Murder She Wrote collection for the person who could correctly identify the killer.

After the crowd had enjoyed several sherries and murderous themed hors d’oeuvres, I performed my Poirot routine, revealing the many red herrings and finally the murderess. This time round it was Miss Raven, the chauffeur AKA the fairly innocent Debbie of Hamilton & Inches.

The new collection went down well with lots of the clients securing their next pieces. It was actually amazing how many clients we have acquired over the twelve years that we have had a presence in the magnificent H&I.  After the crowd had dispersed it was back to Steve and Alison’s with the complete cast for some good old fashioned Scottish cuisine which rather disappointingly didn’t include the classic fried Mars bar or haggis but it was warm enough to enjoy a couple of wee drams in Steve’s bothy.

If variety is the spice of life then life over the last few weeks has been at jalapeño levels.  Moscow - St Petersburg – London – LA - Las Vegas - LA – London. Finally coming to land in my garden in Kent by helicopter, (I will expand on that later). 

Following very brief visits to Moscow and St Petersburg it was back to London for a flying visit then over to LA for a meeting. Our shop on Rodeo Dr was in the middle of installing the next show; a collaboration between celebrity stylist David Thomas and Brit musician/artist; Will Blanchard. The pieces are very large boxes in which there are celebrities names depicted in neon, mannequins dressed in the actual outfits that David dressed that celebrity in and the occasion where they were worn. The glass front has a sweet spot indicated along with the words; “In Emergency Break Glass”. This will also be the name of the installation.

From LA it was over the desert to Vegas to help set up our very large booth as part of the Couture jewellery show held in the very fancy Wynn Hotel and Casino. After a couple of days it was apparent that the mood was buoyant amongst the retailers and after several lean years this was a welcome change. Earlier in the year a group called Zultanite had approached me to work with a newly mined stone coincidently called Zutanite. The stone has a natural colour change depending on the light source, in the daylight it’s a leafy green and indoors a pinky/brown. Always up for something new I agreed to design and make a collection incorporating this phenomenal newcomer.

With a name like a superhero I felt that the unveiling of our Zultanite could not take place in a counter at a trade show, no this has to be a fuss like most things we do. We hired the hottest Las Vegas nightclub; Haze (could have been named for us), brought the excellent rock trio; The Band of Skulls over from England and threw the best party in Vegas that night. That’s the way to launch a million dollar suite of jewellery featuring Zultanite.

After a week in Vegas most folk would vegetate for a bit. We’re not most people so we flew back to LA for the party to launch the new instillation in our LA store. These events have become so cool we’re having trouble keeping the numbers in check, almost everyone invited actually comes. So 350 people passed through (most stayed till the end) and enjoyed the booze, art, jewellery and excellent music from Brit, DJ David Hume.

The next day, flew back to London, landed at 4pm, changed at the airport and made it to Goldsmiths Hall to give a talk at 6pm as part of London Jewellery Week. So far so good - the adrenalin had kicked in a long time ago. The following day, wearing my posh Garrard hat we launched to the press the $200k each bottles that we had designed and made for the Royal Salute Tribute to Honour whisky of which only 21 exist. Obviously with such a small quantity of product; the folk at Chivas Regal wanted to make a big deal about it. Day started with lunch at the Ritz with 50 international press which included a tale about the Scottish Honours (these being the equivalent of the crown jewels). The delivery was such that one could sense a little north south divide still lingering in there. After lunch, unveiled the amazing bejewelled bottles of scotch, gave a little speech about craftsmanship and carried out 3 hours of interviews. 

With my tour of duty now over, I headed to Battersea heliport boarded the chopper with my eldest daughter Amy and headed toward the blue skies of Kent. The pilot thought he would be fine to land in the garden but a strong wind lead to plan B; he just landed on the strip of National Trust Land between mine and the White Cliffs. The commotion certainly had the net curtains of St Margaret’s twitching. Whatever are the Webster’s up to now? The question on everyone’s lips. If only they knew the half of it!

TTFN

There was quite the celeb crowd at the first night of Crazy Horse cabaret last night and those girls can put on a show. The very clever lighting raised the bar for pole dancing & stripping for a while.

Up at 6am to get to Heathrow where it’s on to Moscow. The C gates have just opened at T5 so of course nothing works but it smells nice and new.

The first time I landed in Moscow 16 years ago I was met off the plane by a man with a gun and a fragrant woman holding a bunch of flowers. They don’t bother with the flowers any longer, just two thick set men. Something was different about Moscow on the approach, it was the blue sky! I realised that after 16 years I’ve never been here when it’s warm and boy it’s warm. I then discovered I didn’t know the Russian word for hot, only cold. This of course is usually more useful.

We’re staying at the Hyatt which was the first real luxury hotel when it opened 9 years or so ago. Also, incidentally, the location of the first Stephen Webster boutique in Russia 8 years ago.

Tonight marks the official launch of the Stephen Webster concession in TSUM department store, the Moscow equivalent of Selfridges. We’ll be hosting a party to which hoards of the glamorous Moscow elite will attend. I say that as they always do.

Apparently they’ve created a tattoo parlour as part of the party, inspired by the seven deadly sins party we held in the Old Vic Tunnels in London last year. One of the side shows was a real tattoo artist at work sponsored by Absinthe. That particular event got very messy so let’s see if we can keep this one a little more wholesome!

The boutique opening was everything we wanted it to be, lots of glamorous women, photographers and vodka called Veda, which means “To Know” in antique Russian. After several shots with clients to be polite, I was starting “To know” in modern English. The night was rounded out in a private room in the new Moscow Nobu with 10 of our best clients and friends including Russia’s most famous fashion designer, Chapurin who dresses my wife. Russians are very extravagant people and no matter what is done it’s never done by half. Even with the eye watering prices concocted by Nobu, the dishes and the Sake (spelt Cake in Cyrillic) just kept on coming. On another note; no matter what the drink it has to be shot. No sipping allowed here!

Today is a train travelling day. I love the train and there is a brand new high speed link between Moscow and St Petersburg, my wife’s home town. It’s all very DR Zhivago, even to the point that we are going to spend the whole journey in the Bistro carriage. There’s a note saying “no games or falling asleep at the tables” which is a shame as I was thinking of a round of golf and forty winks.

Despite Russia’s meteoric rise from the dark ages to the dynamic country it is today some things are still embedded in the past. Within 10 minutes of the start of the 4 hour trip we were told “all soup is finished” and the sandwich was of a particular combination that was hard to put my finger on.

In St Petersburg we are to be VIP guests at Aurora fashion week and at some point there will be work shown by students from art schools across the country entitled 7 Deadly Sins all inspired by the SW collection of the same name launched last year. There is a substantial cash prize.

May 27th is the birthday of the City of St Petersburg.  It celebrates the laying of the first stone in 1703, realising the dream of Peter the Great to create a city so beautiful that it would compete with all the great cities of Europe. Walking around today in the glorious sunshine I have to say, he really did build the Venice/Paris of the north on what was basically a swamp.

Today there are lots of folk in 18th century costume and the police have nice white shirts. Tonight Sting is performing free at Hermitage square as a gift to the city. I don’t want to spoil the party but that could set back Anglo-Russian relations by decades.

Last night’s event was one of those where I get told I have to attend with a very little brief, just whisked along, stood in front of a branded board, photographed next to some dodgy looking men and some beautiful girls, ushered to a stage with a microphone in front of the press and asked what I think about Aurora fashion week. I tell you, it’s only because I find myself in such potentially compromised positions so often, that like a politician put on the spot, the words just spew from my mouth. If I had anyone by my side people would swear it’s ventriloquism.

After that it was the front row of a fashion show which was fine until one model hit the runway in what can only be described as a Chewbacca hat. Admittedly this was an Autumn/Winter collection by a Russian designer but really…. I mentioned this to my wife who sat next to me and she managed to turn what should have been a giggle into a side splitting tear jerking spectacle. This is obviously unacceptable behaviour in the front row of any fashion show and the cameras on the opposite didn’t miss the gift. At the first opportunity we tried to make our exit only to be stopped and told it was time to inspect the finalists in the Stephen Webster inspired 7 Deadly Sins competition and award the winning student the 50K Ruble prize (about a £1,000).

Finally made it out the door and on to my next commitment as guest DJ at a cool small night club; Dom Byta. It was free and my gift to St Pete on its birthday.

I can’t believe we are facing the prospect of another Icelandic, volcanic dust cloud. The upcoming week sees me flying to Moscow - St Petersburg – London - LA and finally Las Vegas, where I stay put for a bit to exhibit at the largest US jewellery show. The last cloud of dust, of course, had a lot of us stranded in one place or another. My family were considerably displaced; Wife in Russia, eldest daughter in Venice, youngest in Vienna and myself in Kansas City. Gnasher the poodle and Rosie the tortoise thankfully weren’t affected.

Every trip I make to Kansas City I am accompanied by an off duty State trooper. Who of course has a small armory at his disposal. (They don’t muck about with truncheons in Kansas City). A couple of years back while making conversation with said state trooper about his police issue Glock, he offered to take me to the Police range for a lesson. As usual I never found time, however, last year due to volcanic activity 4000 miles away I found myself kicking my heels in Kansas City and plenty of time to take the Cop up on his offer and had a great day shooting at paper bodies with targets on the hearts and heads.

I have a shot gun in the UK which I have mastered to such a level that my shooting companions have cruelly labeled me “The Conservationist”. Well that’s as, but that day in Kansas City with a 9mm Glock in my hand and my own cloud of dust, I was Dirty Harry.

Before I attempt to start travelling this week I still have a couple of days in the office addressing the jewellery casualties that always happen prior to the Vegas show. At this late date I just hope there is nothing terminal.      

First work thing I had to do was to judge the Platinum Innovation Awards. I’ve been on the jury for 9 years and this year I declined due to family commitments. Not letting me get away that easily they brought all the entrants work to me. I found the winners pretty sharpish - no time to muck about.

Next I signed on the dotted line to borrow enough money to bail out Greece, which is apparently about the same sum as a 3 bed flat in W2. After this I met with Guy, the architect, (who incidentally couldn’t find parking on Mount St for his Boris bicycle so therefore brought it into my shop) who was equipped with a pencil and fag packet with which he redesigned the inside of the newly acquired flat.

Then it was back to the studio for the new men’s collection review and then straight into the Couture women’s design meeting for the autumn.

Then its off to meet Ian Callum, the head designer for Jaguar, of which I am an ambassador.  Finally off to Crazy Horse, a burlesque show from Paris. Still haven’t packed for Moscow. Hope the dancers aren’t too distracting…

It’s been five months since the Stephen Webster store in Beverly Hills opened. I have written before about the second floor curated space, the No Regrets bar and lounge and last month we opened our first art exhibit; a retrospective of the work by pop artist, Alan Aldridge. 

Alan himself came to the opening party along with 150 people keen to view a collection of works so intrinsically linked to the music albums and the style of the 60’s and 70’s.

This show we started planning long before the store opened. 

While having a trim by famous crimper Nicky Clarke, he was telling me about how his friend Chris Duffy (son of legendary London photographer Duffy) was cataloguing for the first time his father’s archive. Amongst the many pictures that really capture the celebrities and characters most identified with London in the 60’s & 70’s were many photos of David Bowie including the albums Aladdin Sane, Lodger and Scary Monsters. I immediately left the barber’s chair with a curling tong still in my hair and made a beeline for the Duffy studio.  

The story is that Duffy for reasons only known to himself set fire to his entire archive of negatives. Once the fire had been doused there was one hell of a mess. Over many years Chris has been piecing together material that could still be used to print from.

All the Bowie work was amazing. The covers have of course been seen but the rest of the images generated around the shoots were what made the collections so special. Most of the work had never been seen.

I wanted the first showing to be in the then unfinished No Regrets gallery. That was one year ago. 

Chris flew to LA to hang the show himself. Seeing it for the first time was something very special for me having been a huge Bowie fan since 1971.

To complete the picture we asked May Routh who dressed Bowie for 20 years to create our stylist of the month window. She chose to recreate the look she originally designed for the film ‘The Man Who Fell to Earth’. We even had Bowie’s original hairdresser Martin Samuel make a wig.

Celebrated chef Mark Hix flew over from London to add his distinctly British flavour to the food for the opening party. The DJ was playing vinyl only with a respectable Bowie/Roxy content. The originally estimated 120-150 guests swelled to 350.

The exhibit continues through the end of May.   

After one last and very final interview with the lovely Vanessa Phelps on my chosen subject, tiaras, just prior to the Royal wedding (I am now a world authority on the snazzy headgear), we managed to escape the pomp, road blocks and silly hats, choosing instead to join the arty set for a gallery weekend in Berlin. 

The highlight and reason for going was to see the opening of a new installation by our friends; collaborative artists Sue Webster & Tim Noble.  They said that the piece had been inspired by time they spent with me while I was making their wedding rings.  The rings in turn had been inspired by their book called “The Joy of Sex”.  (A lot of drawings of them having sex.)  Are you with me so far?

Of course I was flattered and intrigued.  The unveiling was the next day.  Despite a massive hangover or perhaps due to it, I managed to turn on the TV at 7 am for some wedding coverage.  Six hours later, I was dragged (for my own sanity) away for lunch followed by a tour of recommended galleries, pre-selected by our friend Cheyenne who is head of contemporary art for Sotheby’s.

After several shows, we ended up at a quintessentially Berlinesque venue.  For the uninitiated that’s a vast, ex-East German industrial space of which there seem to be plenty.  As expected, the crowd were arty chic.  This was where Sue and Tim’s opening was to take place.  The installation was on show on an upper floor.  I asked Tim to come up with us but he told me he was too nervous to view it with me, once again referring to the inspiration.  By then I was bracing myself for a portrait perhaps in a compromised position.

The journey to the piece was in itself, an experience.  A pitch black narrow tunnel with many sharp bends.  The blackness and the disorientation made the experience incredibly claustrophobic.  Finally, turning the seventh corner, there it was - “Turning the7th corner” - an iconic Webster/Noble shadow sculpture.

The shadows were of their heads in profile cast onto a white wall from light directed through two magnificent glowing golden sculptures, compiled from hundreds of cast dead rodents, woodland, and farm animal parts.  I was starting to clock the inspirational link.  Collected over many years, cast in silver and plated in 18ct gold, the dried out carcasses, sculls, heads, feet and rope resulted in the most intriguing 32kg’s of precious metal memento mori I have seen for as long as I can remember.  Of course, I found it all very inspirational.

We are headed to LA.  The Royal Wedding is done and the bunting has been divided out like pieces of the Berlin wall were 20 odd years ago.  “I was there and that’s my bit of jack to prove it.”

We are going to LA to continue the celebrations of all things British, only this time in Uncle Sam’s back yard.  It’s Brit week in Beverly Hills.  Yes, as if the Royal Wedding were not camp enough, we are transporting the stiff upper lip to Hollywood.

The Stephen Webster boutique/art gallery and bar on Rodeo Drive is hosting two Great Brits.  The gallery is showing for the first time in the US some specific work of the photographer Duffy, who along with Terry O’Neill and David Bailey, was one of the photographers who captured the spirit and the characters of London in the 60’s & 70’s.  Twiggy, the Krays, Michael Caine and the E type Jaguar are amongst the people and things immortalised by the trio at the time.

The link with myself, (because there has to be one), are the pictures taken by Duffy of David Bowie - one of my musical heroes and subsequent influences on my work.  Some of the images on show are original unseen pictures capturing the build up to and final images of the brilliant Bowie album Aladdin Sane.  Other works tell similar scenarios around the Lodger and Scary Monsters albums.  Personally, I can’t wait.  The show will run for 6 weeks.

As if that weren’t enough, we have gone to great expense in the form of many martinis to collar one of the UK’s most celebrated and influential chefs, Mark Hix, known to many as the genius behind the menus of some of London’s best restaurants; The Ivy, Scotts, Caprice and J Sheeky’s.  Over three consecutive nights, Mark will be cooking British classics in the No Regrets lounge above the store.  Unfortunately, we can only seat 24 people per night, but if this one goes down well we have every intention of making him a regular.

That’s about it from my side.  My Blackberry is being taken away from me.  Bye for now.

SW