Violet's Box Has Finally Launched!

                                                           Yipeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!

                             Check out our brand spanker of a website: www.violetsbox.com

Violet's Box Website Coming Soon... in 2012!

Not long now before Violet's Box's website makes an appearance. Here are some tasters of what's to come when the site launches in January...


First here's a sneakpeak at one of our wonderful campaign pics of Florence Brudenell-Bruce in an incredible Violet's Box tulle skirt shot by the BRILLIANT Andrew Farrar (way too many adjectives there but I assure you they're all deserved):

                                                          That's all yer getting I'm afraid...



NOW FOR THE CORSET AMUSE BOUCHE:

A STARTER OF KIMONOS:

A MAIN COURSE OF VINTAGE DRESSES:

Hey! Nice 'Beaded Fish Tail'

I'd be full up by this point as I don't have a sweet tooth and I gave you rather a lot for main... but I suppose you should have a little something to cap off this generous dinner seeing as it is Christmas:

                  For those over-eaters amongts you - some deer and butterfly eyelashes as the petit fours.

Ok I lied - that was merely the tasting menu...

SEE YOU NEXT YEAR @ WWW.VIOLETSBOX.COM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Anyone Who Owns/Runs A Train In This Country SHOULD Be Taken Out and Slowly Tortured THEN Shot in Front of Their Families.... BY Jeremy Clarkson

Just thinking about having to get on a train in this country makes my blood curdle into blue cheese AND THE WORST THING IS WE HAVE NO CHOICE!!!!!


Ok, so, the cost is extortionate unless you book 3 months ahead, the distance bears no relation to cost, they are alllllways late and if you forget any part of which there are about 73 (you need a small filing cabinet to keep them organised for any one journey) of your ticket, they not only treat you like a criminal but in no better words:


you're fucked.

Ok Worse Case Sinario: (no real need for this but I don't think using me as an example will get your sympathy vote) Imagine, you're a sweet old American lady and you've saved up your entire pension to make this once-in-a-lifetime trip to quaint ol' England. You decide to walk upon England's mountains green while you're there and book some tickets to Chester from London. It costs you and your husband (he walks with a stick btw, since the knee op.) around £42.90 return for the two advanced first class return tickets you've treated yourself to. 'Gee how reasonable' you think. 'What a treat!' 

Big mistake, BIG mistake. Right, from the word go, 1 of about 23 things can now go wrong. In fact very little can now go right. I'm just going to explain ONE THING that can wrong though...

1. -  You don't realise you have to print the receipt/ticket out and bring it on your journey. It's one of those new e-tickets. 

You tell the train assistant this as you get on the train but ticket collectors are trained in the fine art of bastard-ry and will totally discount the receipt you're showing them on your blackberry purely because it's not on paper. As far as they're concerned, they are blind and you are stupid, lying, and TOTALLY happy to spew cash out of every orifice. What will now happen is you'll say 'Oh dear. But is this receipt not good enough? My husband and I didn't realise you had to print it out.' And they'll say 'No, arm afraid not madam (they are not afraid at this point but getting extremely sexually excited by the prospect of fleecing you in seconds to come). 'Arm afraid Madam, you and your husband are going to have to buy a new one. And because you're buying it on the train arm afraid (There it goes again. No they're not. They're positively mind-wanking with pleasure at this point.) we're going to 'have to' (they don't have to at all) charge you the standard peak fare because you're not allowed to buy them on the train. That'll be £300 please.'

GASP!!! "Oh no!" you say, "but that's our whole budget for the weekend blown. And we'll have no money for that lovely spa hotel we've treated ourselves to when we arrive." 

"Returning you say?" says the ticket person rubbing their hands together warming them up for another mind wank, "Well you'll need to get a return then. It's cheaper though if you buy a return ticket (trying to sugar coat the dog shit at this point) but obviuosly we'll have to charge you the full onpeak fare as you're buying a onpeak ticket. That'll be £400 in total. " 

So you hand over your hard-earned pension, then try and find a seat but the train has been seriously overbooked, and because you didn't print your seat reservation out back in July, you don't have one. SO you walk down the train, falling onto the odd person who swears at you, until you find a little bit of filthy carpet space in a partition between two carriages and one small seat near an overflowing bin, outside a loo with a broken door which keeps opening and shutting, which you let your husband sit on while you stand (the journey's 2.5 hours). Moments later a trolley lady (with a particularly irritating accent) tells you you're not allowed to sit there because that space is only for people who booked first class tickets, forgot them and had to rebuy them, AND 'it's health and safety' (whatever that means). So off you move to another partition to find some more filthy carpet space to sit and get some diseases from a carriage down next to 2 drunk Northerners who are downing cans of Carling. (Luckily, because you're American you don't understand their accents but I can assure they're saying 'cunt' a lot.) You go and seat yourself on the floor next to them. At the next station, a young teeanger gets on and asks you to move so she can park her pram there, but this is somewhat of a relief because your limbs are going numb and you've heard the C-word 16 times already and are beginning to guess what it means.

You hit the halfway point - Birmingham - where your train gets stuck in a tunnel for 40mins, only metres before the station. The train gets very hot and smelly and everyone starts getting angry and larey so you queue up at the buffet to get some refreshment. Just as it's your turn they announce 'the buffet car is now closing' and then another anouncement informs the 1200 hot, angry, smelly, drunk larey people that there is a fault on the line ahead and because of 'health and safety', the train must terminate here where a bus replacement service will take over. The first bus takes an hour to arrive and when it does there's only room for one of you not both, so you have to wait for the next...

So by the time you arrive at Chester, it's midnight, the only free hotel is one you pay by the hour and your husband has had 2 minor coronaries and needs his other knee replacing.

So what could've been an romantic insight into English travel - watching the beautiful countryside roll by as you're offered tea and shortbread by the nice trolley lady while a jolly fat ticket man hole punches your ticket with a light-hearted 'ho ho ho' -  is actually tantamount to banging your head repetitively against a brick wall, employing someone to squeeze lemon into the wound whilst allowing those little dinosaurs, which look cute but are actually fervent pack hunters nibble at your feet - extremely unpleasant to start off with, gets worse as time goes on and will only cease to be painful when it stops or your die.

A DELIGHTFUL POEM BY GRACE PILKINGTON...

...written on the tube. I'm in love with it.

Oh you, you spacious disabled loo,
Rarely engaged and always bright, 
Like Bethlehem's star, on December's night.
... The other cubicles can't begin to compare, 
They offer nothing, not like you 
Oh you, you spacious disabled loo. 

It's Thursday and I'm going on a date, 
Running home would make me late,
I run into Pret, in a minor state, 
your presence will decide my fate.

Please be there darling disabled loo,
But alas, there is not one of you, 
Regretably I join the ladies queue.

Now it's a series of squeezes to endure, 
Oh no! my blusher has spilt all over the floor. 
I squeeze into my dress,
My hair an afro mess.
It smells horrid in here and on me it will stick,
I hear grunts outside 'be quick, be quick' 
I panic, checking my phone to see the hour
before I know it, splish, splash splosh. 
Yes it's taken my phone the evil loo. 
My mind drifts to memories of you. 

I make a promise then, 
Never will I cheat. 
I will always hunt harder,
And kneel at your feet. 

Oh you, you spacious disabled loo. 
You dearest, darling disabled loo. 

SO special you are to me with your warm embrace, 
Your large door handle winks - welcome grace. 

In your fold, I'll hide from the cold, 
And the hostile stare of other loo goers. 
Who cannot understand you, or me 
They are scared of you and think that I am sick 
But they should choose carefully the fights they pick.

With your handle bars and alarmed string, 
There's no end to the pain we could bring. 
I could do a ninja kick swinging from the bar, 
The string would get us back up from near and far. 

And if there was an armed robbery in the garage store, 
I know where I would go - straight to your door. 
You'd let me in and keep me safe, 
And immediately restore my withering faith.
You wouldn't ask questions or hint for me to leave, 
Telling me tales of Narnia, Christmas, Adam and Eve

No, the other loos they're just not like you, 
You spacious, darling disabled loo. 

I would never expect priority over you, 
Like you have over me,
But if anyone asks, I'm dyspraxic 
And really need to pee. 

Crotchless Pants and a Hand Gun

Put this on RE-peat and try and concentrate on yer Friday afternoon spreadsheets!

Told you, you couldn't.

And the point is....

Damaris's BEAUTIFUL underwear OF COURSE

AND that you'll look a whole load better in it with a pump action shot gun.

Or perhaps that's got something to do with Liberty Ross' arse.

Tse.

OucH!

AND MIGHT I ADD....

... a fuck of a lot better than Tracey Emin's arsing bed.

Nicky Haslam's Bed

        Who else could have come up with something this fab and this impractacal but Mr Haslam?

Well, when I found out my bf, one of Nicky's design team Beata Heuman was involved, things began to make sense....

A giant gilded sea-bed stolen from beneath the feet of Botticelli's Venus with that all essential lethal carpet of oyster shells, complete with perfect flower fairy model children? But of course. 

And it's clear the point is not to make life easy for the upholsterers either:

What every girl should have in her room - one of these sequinned beer dresses created by desgin GeNiUsEs Rodnik. (Dresses I dream of... and they create!)

And if sold out - only a shark dress will suffice in place of a beer dress:

with appalling joke going hand-in-hand

We're moving house soon. Do you think if I just snuck this little number into our bedroom, put our usual cream and floral John Lewis never-knowingly-undersold bedcover on it and plumped up the pillows, my boyfriend would notice?

I think...

I could get away with it.

Yup.

No question.