Wedding Cake and Corporate Scumbag Tours

Just two hours before our wedding in October, I decided it was time I did something about a wedding cake.
So I wiggled into a random French bakery all dolled up in my 1950s cocktail frock and pointed out a cake I thought looked pretty wicked and yummy.
I happened to mention I was getting married in a couple of hours and could they deliver it to the Italian restaurant we were eating in that arvo?
That's the great thing about Melbourne.
Very rarely does anyone raise an eyebrow at such "odd" behaviour, which would certainly be frowned upon here in Brisneyland.
I mean one is supposed to have some hideously expensive monstrosity to show guests what an amazing couple you are right?
Like zis?

Sorry wrong one.
I meant something like this.

Yikes!

As it turned out, we had our wedding dinner the night after the ceremony which wasn't planned, but turned out to be a really good idea.
We were well-rested (bahahhahahaha!) and it was a super relaxing evening.

I wore my wedding frock because the lovely lacy tart just needed a good thrashing for the second day in a row.
But I carried a gold lame clutch bag gifted to me by Hot Pants Helga instead of the beaded tapestry bag I used on the wedding day and kept the jewellery pretty casual plus some different stockings - ooooh err!

Wedding shoe fetishising ... 

Notice the bed-hair?
What a flippin' disgrace!

The flour-less chocolate and almond mud cake was even more yummy as breakfast for the next two mornings in a row!
A couple of days later The Phoenix's ankle was still giving him some serious shite and luckily the hotel had an excellent wheelchair we could use so we went for a whirl around the city.

First stop, the Occupy Melbourne camp where we spent lots of time talking to people and getting to know some of the different issues people were campaigning for.

The following day, police encircled the camp and moved wire fencing in little by little until the protestors had only a couple of metres to move.

Of course, that's when the shit kicked off.

It was pretty bad as we'd met and talked with so many of the people we saw on the news being dragged away and they were genuinely passionate, highly-intelligent and peaceful people.

Calm before the storm.
The Melbourne camp was the first in Australia to be targeted by authorities.

Oh we is tired!!

The following morning I went for a walk for morning coffee and danish and enjoyed "losing" my way down alleys and newly-discovered tiny streets.

While waiting for the coffee to brew, I spied this pair of shops across the road.
I instantly longed for my darling dump-ring sister Helga to just appear out of nowhere, as the restaurant and "liberated" bookstore seemed an appropriate way to spend a couple of hours with the gorgeous hornbag.

This is Darryl - owner of De Mille Vintage - an outrageous vintage store on Crossley Street, where all the precious stock is in MINT condition.
Among his talents Darryl is a film and television art director and perfectionist and did all of the art direction (ie. everything you see except the the actors' wardrobes) in Season One of Kath and Kim.
We talked for about an hour about Italian films, his wild adventures on many sets around the world and current projects.
I was in heaven and believed for a while that I was so fabulous that I bought this 1940s heavy Czech glass green necklace and a men's top hat.
I was supposed to be buying coffee and pastries.

Next door was another shop with a totally different vibe - Madame Virtue.
I thought I was backstage at a fashion week runway show.
The shop was RAMMED with the most amazing clothes, which were flying around the room as a customer stood at the front door stripped off to her smalls, slipping on everything the owner Dean threw at her, with shrieks of excitement from them both.
Even the black Prada disc dress - drool ...
For me it was like watching a show ... nothing to buy but lots to perve over ... then I spotted a stack of vintage hats hiding in a basket near the front door.
A 1950s orange-striped straw hat beckoned and I caved.
Again.

Back at the hotel, here's what my dressing table looked like.
There's the top hat and green beads, orange striped beret, my beaded wedding bag, red sunnies from a shop in Fitzroy, lame bag and leopard-print bow-tie, both gifts from Helga.

So much vintage shopping naughtiness ... weeeeeeee!!!!

The feather vest was from Shag, which you may have seen in this disgraceful post.

 There's certainly nothing disgraceful about the woman in this lovely painting, one of many in The Hotel Windsor's lobby.

A rare peek out of our hotel room door.

And in honour of Darryl's talents, if I end up like this, feel free to boot me up the arse.