Gratuitous shoe porn post of the day...actually, make that doubly gratuitous...for even if the day came when spending $1,000 on a pair of shoes seemed like a feasible/good idea, I am safe in the knowledge that I still wouldn't be able to stand/walk/balance/move (take your pick from any/all of the above) in 4.5 inch heels. Having said that, these be-spatted Balenciaga beauties are perfect for a little idle pondering...

Especially when the most recent foot-related purchase to cause a fluttering in the Hebden heartstrings was a balance board...yes, these are the depths that I am currently wallowing in...where a lump of molded plastic (albeit one that offers relief from my podiatric problems) is preferable to Balenciaga...

I realize that I'm being a bit sexist when I say that Retrovelo's rather lovely leather bicycle frame bag is just the thing for the dapper gentleman to attach to his, presumably vintage-looking, bicycle. To be fair it's only because the bag is very briefcase-y in shape...a style which I would never carry myself...and which I associate with three-piece suits, bowler hats, and perfectly furled umbrellas (there goes that Britishness sneaking in again).

I'm chastising myself internally for thinking this way as I will complain (loudly and at great length) when "girl's" sneakers or other items are only available in depressing shades of pale pink and gray...I'm maintaining a terrible double-standard over a singularly beautiful bag.

My usual reasoning for "oh, how nice it would be to have a garden"...as opposed to the area which the real estate agent whimsically referred to as a 'deck' but which even in the rosy glow of the summer sun is best described as a wooden area which houses the trash cans, some disturbingly fat pigeons, and the occasional city raccoon who feels like doing a little mountaineering...runs along the basic lines of desiring a little piece of land which, while it may not be "Forever England", would spread itself to enabling a patch of grass and space for a few blooms and veggies. Currently, however, my longing for a little sod to call my own is occasioned by the outdoor games from Jaques of London. Life, it has to be said, would just be better with a large jug of Pimm's...a giant outdoor Backgammon set...quoits...clock golf...or the myriad of other exquisitely made classic games. Just the thought of it makes me want to dash round yelling "anyone for tennis?" like the bit-part actor in a 1930's play.

I know what you're thinking...a garden is not an absolute necessity to make this scenario work. Technically I could wander over to the local park with my giant dominoes or outdoor Ludo...but it's not really the same when you're worrying if the homeless guy under the tree is going to try and join the fun...or the golden labrador over yonder is going to run off with one of your quoits.

Sometimes you can look at something crazily over-priced and...thanks to a lot of cost-per-wear math and rationalization...you can justify it (at least in your own mind). Other times you look at something and think that the only person who'd actually part with the funds necessary to call it their own has more money than sense. Case in point this (admittedly cute) bike basket from Kate Spade...the straw basket, patent leather cover, and floral lining are all lovely...but the 14-karat light gold plated hardware and $325 price tag beg the question of who is going to buy it? Surely no urban cyclist, who has enough problems with thieves stealing seats and wheels at the best of times...

For every "Sunday driver" there is a "Sunday cyclist"...characterized by a lack of balance...speed...and knowledge of the rules of the road. I, my friends, am an enthusiastic Sunday cyclist. I may not put foot to pedal too often but, when I do, watch out world.

Of course, Sunday cycling is no fun without the right accessories, like...a wicker basket...vintage bike...or faux python trouser cuffs. Though, truth be told, that last entry hadn't really seemed like a necessity until I came across someone who made them on etsy...

Considering that studs have, by this point, been added to virtually every article of clothing in our wardrobes it was somewhat inevitable that they would move into our gym lockers as well (I say this theoretically, you understand...as someone who has managed to avoid the majority of studded handbags, shoes, coats, tops, dresses, etc, etc, etc currently on the market...and whose non-sporty soul hasn't been near a gym locker in years).

In their typically tongue-in-cheek way, Atypyk has come to the rescue...with a sweat wristband. Of course, this raises the issue of having to remember not to use it to wipe the sweat from your brow...unless you fancy a trip to the emergency room, that is.

As this is my third year posting some sort of game at Christmas I think I can safely call it a tradition...if you haven't guessed by now, for me, some sort of g. is a necessity to while away the post-present opening/pre-feasting time period (though Mr. Heb will no longer play Monopoly with me as he claims I illicit too much glee from buying all the property and sending my fellow players to the poor house in record time).

This year's festive time-killing suggestions come from The Week-End Book, published in 1931...a time when, if this book is anything to go by, a weekend was considered a dead loss unless it consisted of good food and drink, a hearty dose of poetry, the singing of a few traditional ballads, some bird watching in the morning, and star gazing at night, some discussion on architecture and law, and games (both physical and mental). Ah, the good old days. And so...without further ado...the "sedate, intellectual game"...

The "fun with the right group of people game"...

And the "I really need to get out of the house more" puzzle...and, no, the 10 puzzles before this one were no less ponderous...

With or without games, I hope that everyone has a very Merry Christmas...frolicsome Festivus...or other, suitably entertaining, holiday shindig. Without you, dear readers, it would be very lonesome around here...

I'll admit that I'm not terribly knowledgeable about ski-wear...my one attempt at snowboarding being memorable for a variety of reasons...mainly involving my turning down the offer of lessons...making my way up a medium sized hill...being deliriously happy when I got moving and was actually able to stand up...then being increasingly nervous as I realized that the bottom of the hill was getting closer and I had absolutely no idea how to stop. As I extricated myself from the feet of the people waiting in line for the ski lift (otherwise known as my final resting place) I noticed a few less-than-subtle ensembles...but nothing of the magnitude of this little vintage number. Head-to-toe logomania...stand-up Elvis collar (which has to cut down on your wind resistance)...it's like being unable to look away from a car (or snowboard) crash...I'm transfixed for the worst possible reasons...

I seem to have been traveling quite a bit recently...correction, I have been on the road a lot, and will be hitting it once again when I travel to Houston this weekend...which means I need all the travel-friendly entertainment I can get my hands on. If I had a companion in my wanderings I'd buy this miniature backgammon set (doubly alluring thanks to its anti-plastic real wood and metal appeal)...unfortunately I'm traveling solo...and while I might make friends trying to find someone in the departure lounge who's willing to roll the dice there's also a chance (in the current climate) that I could get arrested. Probably safer to stick (somewhat antisocially) with a book and my iTouch...

You can accurately gauge my level of athleticism by taking note of the fact that I am labeling my acquisition of a vintage edition of the "Game of India"...aka Parcheesi...aka "Mensch ärgere dich nicht" in Germany ("Man, don't get mad")...as "sport". Yep, I'm that lazy...if it can't be played with a cocktail in one hand it is much too strenuous for my tastes...which probably explains my short-lived enthusiasm for softball (it's difficult to successfully catch the ball when you're scared of spilling your beverage). I'm also slightly confused...by the camels on the front of the box...if it was "Game of Egypt" they'd be a no brainer but they seem like an odd choice to encapsulate the magic of India...

I know that, for me at least, when it comes to designer bicycles...some of the thrill has gone. Initially there was the draw of something new and the excitement that comes from being able to buy something that's been "designed" and not just thrown together purely as a way of getting from point A to B...but now that everyone has their bicycle up for sale...including Urban Outfitter's Lego-ish version that allows you to choose the color of every bicycle part...including the chain...I'm getting a little jaded.

Having said that, I couldn't resist a little momento mori...in the shape of this James Perse Beach Cruiser. Matte black and retro-futuristic you feel like it should be ridden on a pathway to hell rather than towards a day of sand and surf...

Many Christmas' ago...when I was twelve-ish...my mother surprised me with a bicycle...it was gloriously bright and shiny...in a snazzy silver and red color combo. Perfect...except for the fact that it was a BMX bicycle...and I was a tall-for-my-age-not-very-athletic-klutz. Not exactly a match made in heaven. Still, I (wo)manfully stuck with it and cycled around the Scottish countryside which surrounded my village...despite the fact that my knees were alarmingly close to my ears and completely blocked my ability to use the brake levers. Thus began and on-again/off-again affair with bicycles that has led me to secondhand clunkers...retro rides...mountain bikes...and now, The Gap. Because, for some strange reason, The Gap has added something new to its inevitable Christmas selection of brightly striped sweaters and hat/scarf/glove combos...an argyle bicycle. I'm not entirely sure what the rationale was but I, for one, love it.

You know how it is with love, sometimes it's a fling and sometimes it's the long-haul...as far as athleticism is concerned we had a few brief meetings many years ago, parted company, and have never really spent much time together since. It was an amicable break-up you understand, we just realized we had very little in common and drifted apart. And, as my interest is more design than sweat oriented, the only time I drift back is when I find something like these leather pieces from Bill Amberg...though I think I'd place the football or rugby ball in the apartment for decoration as opposed to running after them down a muddy field.