Toby...or not Toby?

I think I am developing a unhealthy predilection for Toby jugs, those vintage ceramic jugs in the form of a seated person.  I love them.  In the last month, I've bought three and my desire for them shows no sign of abating. 

(Curious as to why they're called "Toby jugs"?  So was I.  Wikipedia states that they're named after Toby, the jovial drunkard from Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night.")

It all started shortly after I realized I needed to add a touch of Englishness to my kitchen windowsill.  It held the requisite plants and chic porcelain cachepots, but it still lacked oomph.  What could I find that would be traditional-with-a-twist, satisfy my obsession with "that sceptered isle" and not be totally ubiquitous in a month?

I stumbled upon them during an Ebay search.  I was looking for Winston Churchill mementos, per usuelle, and all of a sudden, there it was.  Or rather, there HE was.  

I love the way he's sitting here, bemused smile on his face, cigar firmly planted in cheek.  I wanted him so badly I didn't even wait for the auction to end. One "Buy it Now" click later and Sir Winnie was all mine.  He arrived ten days later via the Royal Mail and has been beaming contentedly at me ever since.

My next acquisition was Mr. Pickwick, sitting here in his yellow waistcoat, his buttons strained to breaking point after one of his many merry feasts.

Buying him was a no-brainer. "The Pickwick Papers" was the novel that turned me into a raging Dickens-ophile and, even twenty years later, remains one of the funniest books I have read. Upon finishing it, I was so reluctant to part with its brilliance that I filled up a small book with my favorite passages from the novel and proceeded to memorize them one by one.  (I know, I know...can you say N-E-R-D?)

Following shortly on Pickwick's heels came Mr. Pecksniff, the oily moralist and hypocrite extraordinaire from "Martin Chuzzlewit", another one of my favorite Dickens novels.  When I gaze at him, I remind myself that if I do exactly the opposite of everything he would, I will lead a blameless life.

All three of my Toby jugs were produced by Royal Douton and date from around the 1940's-1950's.  I have several friends who collect those vintage doll head vases and to me, Toby jugs are the masculine counterpart of those. Ebay has a great selection of them, but do a thorough check because I found the same jugs listed for various (and hugely disparate) prices. 

As traditional as they are, they feel somewhat edgy and humorous to me. Placed against a stark backdrop, they take on a modern slant and remind me a bit of those porcelain Nymphenberg statuettes they sell at Moss (but for about one-hundredth of the price).  

I say they're ripe for a comeback.  What do you think?

Cn U Hv Lnch? :)

Last night I was looking through an old book I bought recently, a compilation of letters written by Charles Dickens to his best friend, Thomas Beard. 

I always knew that in Victorian London the postal system was famously efficient, making despatches and deliveries up to seven times a day. (Crazy, huh?  My mail comes once a day, at 6pm.)  But what struck me last night while I was reading Dicken's correspondence was how immediate and informal many of the letters were.  Just take a look:

Monday 12th October 1845

My Dear Beard,

I have a confidential question to ask you.  One that may rather amaze you.  If you can come round to me tonight -- do.

Ever yours,

Charles Dickens

Or this one:

First July 1856

My Dear Beard,

Will you come here tonight at 6 (no party) to eat Turtle and a steak?

Ever heartily, 

Charles Dickens

Or, finally, this:

Friday 11th October 1861

My Dear Beard,

I understand from Letitia you are going to poor Austin's funeral tomorrow.  Let me take you.  I will leave here at 10, and will pick you up at 20 minutes past, at the corner of the Edgeware Road in Oxford Street.  One word to say that this is agreed upon.

Ever affectionately,

Charles Dickens

Do you see what I'm getting at?  They don't sound like lengthy 19th century missives, they sound like...emails.

Each is brief and to the point -- just like an email.  Each not only demands an immediate response, it takes for granted the feasibility of it -- just like an email. Each is part of a to-be-continued conversation -- just like an email.  

Suddenly, my perceptions of a ponderously slow Victorian age came crashing down.  I saw a world just like ours, in which messages were dashed off, delivered and replies immediately sent. Write a letter to someone in the morning to meet you at the pub for lunch, and they'd receive it, RSVP, and be sitting at the bar stool when you walked in. I find it fascinating to think that the way people communicated in the 19th century was so similar to the way we do today. We do it wirelessly, they did it by horse, carriage and fleet-footed mailman. What's old is new again.

And in a corollary to that theme, what's new is old again.  

I recently purchased an iPhone and went on a hapless search for a case that would satisfy my admittedly strict design needs. Those ubiquitous rubberized cases don't do it for me.  In my perfect world, I envisioned something that would resemble nothing so much as an old leather-bound book.  Red, preferably.  (Hey, a girl can dream.)

Well, there is a God.

Introducing the Sena Walletbook Case for iPhone 3G.  Isn't it beautiful?  It's practically identical to one of my favorite leather diaries ever, the Smythson 2009 Bijou Organizer.

See how it opens just like a book?  And the front cover folds back easily so talking on the phone isn't awkward.  Best of all, it's just $49.95.

Here it looks completely at home atop a stack of antique tomes. I love the idea of dressing up a piece of millennium technology in the wrappings of a 19th century journal. 

I like to think Charles would approve.