Chickens and parrots

Last month, my lovely and funny blog friend Connie asked her readers to recall their Very First Personal Fashion Moment.

I left a comment about my Chicken Dress...

...and here it is.

This photo was taken in 1967; I was 3, and singing into my skipping rope.*

The dress was a hand-me-down, it had been worn by both of my older sisters and dated from the 1950s.

Bright colours, a great print, secondhand - a pattern was established with this dress.

 See?

Parrot print, plus a peacock.

1980s Hawaiian dress, cardigan, bangles and tights - charity shopped
Peacock necklace - vintage market
Boots - retail (sale)

 I had an interesting exchange with a couple of customers in the shop last week. I heard a man telling his wife how much he liked 1970s styles, and we got chatting. I was wearing a 1970s maxi which the couple admired, but the man said that he could never wear a Seventies suit (he had been trying on jackets and browsing the suits).

Why? I asked. He spoke at length about living in a small village, and speculated about what his friends, neighbours and colleagues might think if he wore something unusual and different. I listened, then suggested that maybe he was overthinking things. If he liked a certain style of clothes, perhaps he should just wear them without worrying about anyone else's opinion.

His wife clapped her hands, and said she met you 5 minutes ago and she's got you pegged. You overthink everything!

Sadly he didn't buy a jacket, but I'm hoping a seed was planted. What's the worst thing that can happen if you wear what you love? The couple were visiting their son who is a student in Sheffield, and maybe next time they're here, they will call back into the shop and make a purchase.

What sort of a vintage seller would I be if I didn't wear it myself, and passionately advocate for the beauty and value of old clothes? What I wear is proving a talking point, and I love having a job where my eclectic wardrobe is a positive benefit.

I'll take my parrot dress over to Patti's for Visible Monday.

 This outtake is the real me rather than the posed me - a bit gawky and inelegant, but friendly, fond of laughing, and usually talking. I'd spotted a friend working in a nearby garden and we were shouting across to each other while the camera snapped away on the timer.


*Perhaps that skipping rope prefigures my penchant for karaoke just as much as the chicken dress sets the scene for my style preferences? My mum helpfully wrote on the back of that photo that I was belting out Puppet on a string, the UK's Eurovision entry in 1967. I still know every word.

 xxxx

                                                        

We kissed on a corner, then danced through the night

Cards written and posted.

Presents (mostly) wrapped.

Shopping (mostly) done.

School terms ended.

Tree decorated.

Impromptu Christmas post-work piss-up enjoyed...

and the wearing of festive red is ensuring that I stay bright amid the fog and the drizzle. 

So I'll be joining up with Patti and co for pre-Christmas fun on Visible Monday. (Look at me, getting in early, that's a first.)

1970s Co-op maxi skirt, top, denim jacket, vintage scarf and bangles - charity shopped

1960s tapestry and vinyl bag - jumble sale

Boots - retail (sale)

 

I should also add that the first Baileys of the season has been drunk - this morning, at my friend Joanne's. 

 

Well, you've got to start somewhere.  

1970s Miss Mary of Sweden dress, and bangles - charity shopped

Boots - retail (sale)

 

Nina and I have also had out first Christmas sing-song, featuring a rousing rendition of Slade's Merry Christmas Everybody, followed by our favourite duet, Fairytale of New York.

 

 She loves this song; I heard her singing along to it in a very strange voice, and when I asked her why she was singing like that, she replied that she was trying to sound like the man on the record. 

 

(Tonight, Matthew, we're going to be Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl.)

 

After all, nothing says Christmas like a 9 year old belting out you're a bum, you're a punk, you're an old slut on junk.   

 

 

Her singing is better than her spelling... 

Fart Her Christmas indeed. 

 

 

Look what I got from Jenifer - I will enjoy making these Fuck Yeah Culottes. I just need some time - can one of you send me some more of that please?

 

 

Unlike the kids, I have yet to break up for Christmas - I'm working until December 23rd. But it's OK, things are under control, I think.

 

I don't hate this time of year, but I don't believe the hype. I know happiness doesn't lie in a big gift box with a fancy bow, or the perfectly decorated house/cake/tree. I am neither a Christian nor a pagan, so celebrations of the birth of Jesus or the winter solstice mean little to me. I have family and friends who enjoy the ritual of card- and present-giving, so I'm willing to participate; I like the food and drink, the parties, and the atmosphere of goodwill and bonhomie. I'll even sing a carol or two - they're only songs, and they are embedded in my consciousness just like Merry Christmas Everybody or Fairytale of New York. I like time off work, and time spent with loved ones. As for the rest - the commercial hard sell, the greed, the message that the measure of your love and care is found in the cost of your gift - well, I can do without all that. 

I'm unlikely to squeeze in another post before next Friday, given my schedule of work and social events, so whatever your take on ancient Palestinian myths or pagan fertility rites, I'm sending all of you a big Christmas kiss under the mistleoe - you lucky sods!

I've got a feeling this year's for me and you

So happy Christmas - I love you, baby

I can see a better time, when all our dreams come true.

xxxxx

Scarlet for me, scarlet for you

I do love wearing red.

It's an instant pick-me-up, and you certainly don't fade into the background wearing a bright pillar-box red vintage coat.  

So I had better get myself over (belatedly) to Patti's for Visible Monday, and the reappearance of my sequin beret means I can join Judith for this month's Hat Attack. These are the only link-ups I do, so I hate to miss them! 

 

I can't tell you how much I love this 1960s Jaeger coat; the shape, the fit, the buttons, the colour, the quality of the wool fabric, everything about it says quality. 

(The little micro-mosaic brooch is another charity shop find, the simple hook fastening would suggest it's quite old.)

I had a look on the Jaeger website; their cheapest wool coats cost £299...

and although this one is smart, I prefer mine. Since it came from a charity shop, it was considerably less expensive - just a tenner.

1970-80s St Michael skirt, cardigan, top, beret and bangles - charity shopped

Ankle boots - Ebay

It seemed fitting to wear my red coat to last night's performance of Little Red Riding Hood, the school pantomime. Claudia and Owen were in the cast, as were various of their friends. The audience booed and hissed the baddie, shouted behind you! when required, and clapped and cheered with gusto at the end. We know the drill.

 I'm working both days this weekend as there is another local farmers' market on Sunday. I don't mind, the atmosphere is friendly and relaxed, and it's a good opportunity to make a bit more money for the hospice.

As for when my new shop will open... Well, your guess is as good as mine, but the manager should be recruited before Christmas, so hopefully we will be looking at an opening date in January. I'll keep you posted.

I'll be getting round to commenting on your blogs soon, I promise; hope you're all OK!

xxxxx  

                              

Some sunny day

A couple of weeks ago, it was the 70th anniversary of VE Day. 

Life during wartime is not an experience many of us have shared or can even imagine, but for people like my mum, it remains a powerful memory.

Here she is; Nurse Rhonie King. She worked at St James' Hospital in Balham, London.

She recently sent me two extracts copied from her diary kept at the time. 

This is from 1944, when she was 20;

The long wailing sirens sounded, warning everyone - an air raid alert... I was looking out of my third floor window [in the Nurses' Home] and heard a doodlebug* approaching our hospital. I prayed it would go over, but the engine cut out, it dipped, and I knew it would soon hit the earth. There was 15 seconds to find somewhere to lie flat and cover my head. Then an awful wait, followed by a shuddering explosion. 

The bomb had demolished one end of the hospital and a row of shops and houses. All our local favourites razed to the ground - the little cafe, the butcher's, grocer's, hairdressers, confectioners, tobacconists. Wards 19, 20, 21, 22, 23 were smashed and everything hung in tatters. It was utter chaos...

There was no time to be heartbroken or tired. More and more casualties came pouring in - crying, screaming, frightened, in terrible pain, shredded clothes, burnt skin, broken bones, blood and gaping wounds, and the all-pervading smell of gunpowder...

All night we worked and all next day, till we were exhausted. But it had to be done. 

(* A doodlebug was a V-1 flying bomb.)

                                                                                                     

                   

 The second extract contains her memories of VE Day itself; Mum was 21. When she and her friends came off duty in the evening, they headed to the West End to join the celebrations.

Once in Trafalgar Square, we were stunned by the noise and the brilliant lights, after so many years of total blackout... Now, here were neon signs flashing on many buildings, restaurants ablaze, coloured lights in all directions, theatres lit up. Searchlights picked out Nelson on his column... Fireworks exploded...[and] people shouted and roared, clapped and sang, cheered and hurrayed.

Along with everyone else, we danced and sang and cheered all the way up The Mall...Young men climbed lamposts waving flags, there was music all around, bagpipes, mouth organs and drums, groups of complete strangers linking arms, dancing, kissing, hugging, singing - anything to express joy.

At Buckingham Palace...thunderous cheering broke out as King George and Queen Elizabeth and the two princesses appeared on the balcony.

So somewhere in that vast elated crowd captured by the Pathe News film are my mum and her friends; every time I see it, I think perhaps I'll spot her, though I've seen it lots of times.

And as coincidence would have it, look what I rescued from the charity shop skip recently; a World War II gas mask in its original box. 

I know they aren't particularly rare, but I was sad to see it being thrown away, so I asked if I could take it and give it to school. Every year, the Y6 classes do a topic learning about World War II, and I thought it might make an interesting resource.

Mum went on to train as a midwife after the war, but eventually left nursing in the late 1940s to become a member of the Women's Land Army. 

Don't mess with a woman carrying a scythe!

My mum, like so many other of her generation, lived through so much hardship, destruction and misery. And how glad I am to be living a different life, in different times. 

1970s Miss Mary of Sweden dress, 1960s vinyl/tapestry bag, shoes, sunglasses and bangles - all charity shopped

This 1970s dress has a 1940s look about it, so it seemed a fitting tribute to my mum's wartime experiences.

Though I very much doubt she wore bright red, polka dots, or heart-shaped sunglasses.

Thank goodness I get to live in full colour!

xxxx

Special knowledge holds true, bears believing

We had a dusting of snow this week.

I cross our local river, the Sheaf, on my walk to work on Wednesdays.

Like many urban rivers, it's home to the occasional shopping trolley and bike, plus the usual detritus of takeaway cartons and beer cans. But despite that, it's healthy enough to support four pairs of mallards, several moorhens, a community of rats, brown trout, and a visiting heron.

The snow didn't last long, but the treacherous conditions did cause this awful scene, just up the road from us. There is an incredibly steep hill just opposite this house, and the driver was unable to stop at the junction across the road. Thankfully, no one was hurt.

 (source)

 So here's a question for you all.

How far do you trust first impressions?

Our immediate responses to people and situations are based on our ability to assimilate information quickly and relate it to our experience (and our belief systems) thereby coming to a view, a conclusion about that person/situation. I don't know if that's quite the same as instinct, but I suppose it's what we mean by the phrase gut reaction.

For me, there is a fine line between trusting those initial instinctual responses, and making unfair snap judgments. I am well aware of our tendency to attend to information which supports our existing opinions and beliefs, and ignore or dismiss anything which does not.

Yet, when I think about it, I can cite many examples of that first reaction proving correct.

A man came in the shop on Wednesday. I immediately bristled; I didn't trust him, but I sternly told myself that he was a stranger and had done nothing to warrant my suspicions.

He stole something.

I still can't articulate what it was about him that made me feel suspicious, but I just knew he was dodgy. And I talked myself out of being more vigilant, because I didn't want to be judgmental. Yet isn't it true that we make judgments all the time? Don't we have to, in order to make decisions and negotiate relationships and life, to survive?

What about you? Do you go with your gut?

Faux fur jacket, sequin beret, flower, and knit/sequin top - charity shopped

1970s pussy-bow blouse - gift

1970s Brettles lurex skirt and boots - Ebay

Leather gloves - retail (sale)

Jess - Sheffield Cat Shelter

 When I first set eyes on Jess, I fell in love. She was just one of a large litter of kittens, all as cute as anything, but she was the one for me. She still is. I just knew. 

Something I didn't know, but have learned this week, is what happens to unclaimed lost property recovered from trains which terminate in this city. It is donated to charity, and on Tuesday our shop received several bags full of the belongings which rail travellers failed to retrieve.

Bags, hats, scarves, gloves, books, umbrellas. Lots of umbrellas.
Sports kits.
Dry cleaning.
Suitcases.
A pair of trousers.
A pair of knickers.

Hmm... Is there an equivalent to the Mile High Club for rail travel? 

But who leaves their Burberry trench coat on the train and doesn't move heaven and earth to get it back? Or their Barbour jacket? Someone with more money than sense, I suppose.

People.
Endlessly fascinating with all their quirks and foibles, aren't they?

Hope you have a fabulous weekend. If you're intending to have sex on a train, can I suggest you take your underwear home with you? I just instinctively know that's the right thing to do.

xxx

Black and white and red all over

 

I love colour - you all know that. 

But I can appreciate the drama of monochrome too, so Saturday saw me wearing nothing but black and white. Oh and a splash of silver.

 

1970s white faux fur coat, Wallis dress, lurex leggings, vintage silver gloves, 1960s tapestry bag, and sequin beret - charity shopped

Boots - retail (sale, ancient)

  Off we go to town...

 

on a girls' shopping trip...

 

 to H&M...

Claudia had a gift card (Christmas present) burning a hole in her pocket.

 

She's on a black and white kick too. She really wanted a bright blue jumper, but there wasn't one to be found in H&M. Lots of black, white, grey, some mustard and red, but the Fashion Powers That Be seem to have decreed that blue is not in. 

 

I was decidedly unimpressed by the clothes (and may have expressed that view loudly enough to be shushed by my offspring), but Claudia enjoyed getting to choose something from a proper shop, just for a change. 

 

 

Nina and I entertained ourselves while we waited outside the changing room.

 

Mirror mirror, on the wall...

The purchases - striped top, patterned jeans (half price), pack of socks, and a floral hairband.

(I'm not linking, cos I do not love.)

 

Clothing bought, we headed off for lunch...

 

 

and I had to explain why this made me laugh quite so much.

 

Who's he? asked my girls... 

 

Chip off the black'n'white block.

 

But today...

 

 

I thought it was time to add some colour, and try out this rather flamboyant new-to-me 1970s blouse, a gift from Marie of The Queen's Drawers (linking cos I do love.)

1970s pussy-bow blouse - gift from Marie

Jumpsuit, ankle boots, beret and belt - charity shopped

Vintage faux fur collar - gift from Sarah Misfit

 

This outfit comes in at under a tenner. Including shoes.

 

And I like that a whole lot more than shopping on the high street.

I'll be joining Visible Monday over at Patti's as usual. 

Nothing says visible like a vintage lipstick-red pussy-bow, sequins and some faux fur!

 

PS. Guess what? I found my purple glove, a little grubby and utterly sodden, lying on the pavement just up the road.  I am ridiculously pleased!

 

xxx

A flash of Feminella

I'm not quite sure why, but I feel as though I am chasing my tail at the moment, and I don't like it.

I especially disapprove of having insufficient time for blogging!

Our school Christmas fair appears to have sucked the life out of me, but it's done now. Successfully, I think, but without a single photo taken... Oh well, you weren't bothered about seeing the tombola and a shedload of craft stalls, were you?

My fabulous 1970s Feminella coat, on the other hand, is a Must See.

 If it looks pink, it's a trick of your screen; the coat is a tiny red and white houndstooth, and I always feel happy when I wear it. It tends to garner compliments, so it's good for the ego.

Peacock pendant - vintage street market

Most bangles - charity shopped

Narrow gold bangle and beret - gifts from Tania

  

Austin Reed silk dress and cardigan - charity shopped

Ankle boots - Ebay

A quick scout round the local charity shops today resulted in a few purchases. 

This Indian-made silk beaded top is exquisite - and very heavy. Just £4.

I'm slightly concerned about the peachiness of the 1970s St Michael pussy bow blouse, but I have to say the colour suits me far better than white or cream.

The 1960-70s Danish stainless steel party dish is still in its original polythene bag.

And look! My favourite find, a Tufty board game.

Only Brits of a certain age will remember Tufty the road safety squirrel. He was first introduced in 1953 as a vehicle to teach young children about safety issues.

I'm sure I remember being given a handkerchief featuring Tufty and his friends when I was attending a pre-school playgroup in 1967-8.

(Can you imagine giving a child a hankie now? They wouldn't know what it was.)

Who's that sniggering?

Helga!

This game was produced in 1973, as were the animated public education films in which Tufty and the gang featured, voiced by Bernard Cribbins.

                                                                              

   

             Harry Hare and Willy Weasel are clearly the bad boys from the council estate.

I'm late, but I am sheepishly popping my head round the door over at Patti's for Visible Monday, and Judith's for Hat Attack, and apologising profusely for my poor time-keeping.

Must Do Better.

Nothing says sorry I'm late like a quick flash and a cheesy grin.

I'm on a mission to catch up with you all now - what's the gossip?

xxx