And you may ask yourself...well, how did I get here?

You know me and the dreaded post-event slump syndrome; I am struggling to drag my head down from the top of The Shard, and my heart back from the 1980s, and am feeling a little melancholy and reflective in the process.

 

 

 

 

 Bizarrely, I have developed a painful neck strain over the past couple of days; it's the price you pay for looking back, obviously.

Or it's the result of carrying my bag at the weekend, and a shitload of shopping on Sunday, take your pick.

Either way, thank goodness for Ibuprofen.

 

 

A delicate wisp of a 1970s frock in a soft watercolour print suits my delicate, wispy state of mind.

It came from my local hospice charity shop's Vintage Corner, which often has something tempting to offer.

 

 

Thankfully, they haven't put the prices up; the vintage Irish linen peacock tea towel, 1970-80s sheer blouse, Miracle pendant, and green plastic beads set me back the princely sum of a fiver. 

 

I consider that cheap therapy.

 

 

The kids are on half term holiday this week, so we did a spot of shopping, Nina admired the various souvenir dolls in the 50p box, and then we went to the cafe for a drink.

1970s sheer angel sleeve dress, denim jacket, belt, bangles and tights - charity shopped

Necklace - gift

Boots - retail (sale)

 

The tote bag was made by darling Tania from 1950s barkcloth and gingham - delicious!

So yes, I am settling back into my everyday existence after a sweet taste of the high life, and a large helping of nostalgia.

 

 

I suppose it's inevitable that a reunion like ours will stir up memories, and provoke reflections on the person I was then, who I am now, and whether there is someone else I might have been, an alternative path I might have taken to a different destination.

Generally, I think I am happier in my skin now than my younger self ever was. I spent a lot of time at university, and afterwards, feeling scared, inadequate and intimidated. I rarely feel like that now. I know what I'm worth.

 

A fiver spent in a charity shop and a cappuccino, apparently!

 

While I do agree with Socrates that an unexamined life is not worth living, one can have enough of navel-gazing (and I'm not going to compare my twenty-something belly to the almost-50, had three babies version...)

The here-and-now is where we live, isn't it? Better get busy enjoying it!

xxxx

Fruits, flowers and frock love

          I probably say this about a lot of my clothes, especially maxis, but I think this one really is my favourite.

I bought it from a little community centre fair last year, which I had seen advertised as having a vintage clothes stall. Now I've been fooled by this before - you rock up to find not a single vintage item, and leave disappointed and empty-handed. This one was different, there were a couple of vintage stalls with some really interesting things, and nothing cost more than £3.

At the time, I was following vintage-loving blogs but not blogging myself, and buying vintage to sell but not wearing much.

                                                This dress changed all that. Thank you, Favourite Dress!

It fitted. Perfectly. It was a maxi. With angel sleeves. And a beautiful print. It was love. Is it wrong to love a frock? Nah, I knew you guys would understand!

                                                                         Look - raspberries!

                                              My favourite strawberry brooch adds to the general fruitiness.


I bought this brooch from a lady at a car boot sale who was selling a lot of her late mother's costume jewellery. She had lots and lots of brooches, her mum had worn one every day, along with earrings and a necklace, even when she got very elderly and ill, the lady told me sadly. I assured her I would keep wearing this lovely piece, along with the other two I bought. I think she felt a little guilty for selling her mother's things, but I hope she realised I would continue to wear and treasure them.

                                                                   Heaven must be missing an angel...

My garden does have other colours in it apart from pink, honest! My yellow rose bush is under attack from greenfly, so the poor buds looked a bit scruffy. (Oh Helga, I can hear you tittering!)

                                            Does anyone know what these priapic little beauties are called?

As I was pottering about taking photos in the garden accompanied by the cats, another little creature came to find me.

       Feel free to add your own caption. Just don't call him a priapic little beauty. Not yet, please not yet!

In these shoes?

So these are nice enough tan studded leather wedges, aren't they? Or as the fabulous Desiree describes them - flatforms. Oxfam, £3.99. Bargain, I thought.
But they are the wedges/flatforms of the very Devil.


Off I go one Sunday morning to take the kids to their swimming lesson, and we are late.
I have only that morning had a conversation of the slightly heated variety with Other Half, who always insists on being extra early for everything and allows ridiculous amounts of time to get anywhere. I had roundly mocked him for this habit, so to find myself now late for swimming was... embarrassing.
So I told the kids we had to hurry, and set off down the road in my new not-too-high-easy-to-walk-in wedges.
Kids run off at high speed, I try to follow, while simultaneously switching my phone on and putting it back in my bag. And my right foot slides out of its wedge, my ankle turns over, and in slow motion but with all the grace of an elephant on ice, I fall.
I fall over, on our road, at 10.30 in the morning, without any alcohol having been taken. The kids haven't even noticed, so I have to pick myself and my bags up off the pavement, dust off my very bruised knees, and catch them up.


We made it on time to swimming. I still have a bruise on my knee. My too-posh-for-me phone now has a chip out of it. One wedge now has a scuff on the front. And I'm not wearing the bloody shoes ever again. They are cursed.

Hmmm, got a bit of a grumpy face.
Do you blame me, after the indignity I have suffered?
Wearing a 1970s angel sleeve maxi with a raspberry print (my favourite dress of the summer and possibly all time, not least because it cost £3), and ancient tan flat sandals I can actually walk in. Without falling over.


Have a listen to what the late great much missed Kirsty MacColl has to say on the matter.