All the fun of the flares

You all know about me and trousers, right? 

I rarely wear them, and am in awe of women who can find jeans or trousers which fit and flatter. I look like shit in most pairs I try on, and find dresses are so much easier.

I can happily live without jeans, but I do get the occasional urge for pants. 

And since you asked me so nicely, I'll show you the pair I've made - ta da!

Now I might have a face like a slapped arse, but I can tell you I am delighted with these flares.

They were actually pretty straightforward to make. 

There is a zip at the back, which I got in without any difficulty. The waistband ended up being too big; herein lies my issues with trousers, I think. If they fit my hips and flatter my thighs, the waist is always too large. I overcame this problem by threading some elastic through the waistband to pull it in slightly. A couple of hooks and eyes, et voila, my first ever self-sewn pair of pants!

  I need to press the hems a little better; because the fabric is a synthetic knit, I couldn't use a hot iron. I should probably press them with another layer of cotton fabric on top, then I could turn up the heat to create a smoother finish. 

But I'm feeling the 1970s vibe; are you?

Funnily enough, I found some wide-legged palazzo pants in a charity shop last week, which I also really like.

Palazzos, denim jacket, sunglasses and bangles - charity shopped

Hobbs t-shirt - jumble sale

Sandals - retail (sale)

Now, no post of mine on the vexed question of trousers would be complete without the infamous Penis/Labia Pants, would it?

It's been a while since they made an appearance, and there are new friends around these days who haven't witnessed their insane glory.

(Photos from 2012)

They're Valentino, darlings, found in a charity shop for £2; and they are one of the funniest items of clothing I have ever seen, so I had to buy them.

They would be great Pulling Pants - no mixed messages here, the agenda is written all over the pudenda.

How naughty!

Flares - made by me from a 1973 pattern (gift from Vix) and 1970s polyester knit fabric (flea market)

1970s blouse - gift from Tania
1970s apple necklace - vintage market

1980s belt, sunglasses and bangles - charity shopped

Shoes - retail (sale, ancient)

I'd definitely make some more trousers using this pattern, it's easy enough, and a lighter fabric in a floral print would be great for summer.

And this version will do very nicely in the autumn with ankle boots and my 1970s brown leather/suede Sweeney-style jacket; it's too warm for that now, but I'm planning ahead.

Hmm... what shall I make next? Suggestions?

PS. This is a message for Beth Waltz, who leaves the loveliest, most thoughtful and intelligent comments on my blog and many others. Beth, where is your blog? If you don't have one, you should start one, because you are fabulous! Thank you for always taking the time to say something brilliant, I really appreciate it but had no way of letting you know, other than saying so here.

xxxx

She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls

 

In Welsh mythology, there is a legend about Blodeuwedd, a woman created out of flowers.

 

I always think of this as my Blodeuwedd dress; I feel as though I am growing out of the ground.

Fanciful today, no?

 

I only know about this myth through one of my favourite children's books, The Owl Service, by Alan Garner. It's a sparsely-written, haunting book, published in 1967, seething with class prejudice, tensions between the Welsh and the English, a disturbing atmosphere, and a background of mythical sexual rivalry.

 

 

 

I'm not sure I got all that when I read it as a kid, but revisiting it as an adult was an eye-opener. 

 

(There's a great review here, if you are interested.)

 

Sadly, I have searched the house for my copy and cannot find it anywhere; now where on earth could it be?

 

Blodeuwedd is later turned into an owl as a punishment for betraying her husband...

 

 and look what we have here!

 

The owl on the right was a gorgeous handmade gift to Nina from our dear friend Kylie; Nina wanted to make one, so the one on the left is her version. She did most of the sewing herself (I helped with the buttons and stitching up the gap at the end.)

The Kylie owl is called Owlie. Hmm, I know; very poor.

I suggested Athena for the new owl, but Nina rejected that in favour of Archimedes. Guess who has reached the Ancient Greeks on the school curriculum?

So Archimedes he is.

 

More flowers, but cats instead of owls, and perhaps that's Mellors, come to call on Lady Chatterley.

 

This groovy 1970s tin tray was a charity shop find last week. The ladies in the hospice shop laughed at me for buying it, but I think it's beautiful. It cost 50p.

I'm easily pleased.

 

 

 

1970s maxi dress - Ebay (99p)

Bangles, sandals, belt, and sunglasses - charity shopped 

1960s bracelet - local vintage shop

1960-70s steel pendant - flea market

So what else have I been up to?

We watched Saving Private Ryan, since it was the 70th anniversary of the D-Day landings. I hadn't seen it before, and didn't realise it would be quite so harrowing. Poor Owen sobbed right from the start, but he made it through, and we have had some really interesting conversations about the reality of violence and war, and how it affects people afterwards. And with a bit of luck, it's put him off ever joining the army.

I took my big girl for her first bra fitting. She'll be mortified that I've told you, so keep it quiet, OK?

My mum never took me to be measured, she just guessed a size, and I didn't have a proper fitting till I was in my twenties. Needless to say, it was a revelation and I had been wearing the wrong size.

Don't worry, I'm not going to flash my cleavage again, I'm reining myself in.

 

But I will tease you with a sneaky peak at this;

 

 

 

 

such a quintessentially 1970s fabric could only ever be made into a pair of flares, right?

I'll show you the finished article next time, I just need some hooks and eyes for the waistband.

 

And such is my new-found sewist status that my friend Sue asked me to come and chat to her daughter, who wants to start making her own clothes. We pinned and cut out a pattern for a skirt on Friday night (thankfully before I drank too much wine...) 

 

We're all getting the sewing bug, isn't it exciting?

 

 

 

 And that's been my weekend.

 

I am woefully behind on commenting on your wonderful blogs, so I will rectify that as soon as possible. 

Hope everyone is well!

xxx

 

Rare and Racy

I've had a week of this, that and the other, odds and sods, doing all sorts but not quite finishing anything.

That's my winsome I know I'm a bit useless, please don't be cross pose.

Is it working?

I did achieve something; I managed to rescue this little critter from the clutches of Charlie the Killer Cat;

though getting a squirrel out from under my cooker and into a pet carrier was quite a task. 

Still, he seemed unharmed, enjoyed the grape I gave him, and scampered away when released in my neighbour's garden.

Charlie hasn't forgiven me. He's still looking at me as though I might be next on his Hit List.

1970s Modelly cotton dress - gift from Vanessa

Denim jacket and bangles - charity shopped

Boots - retail

1980s sunglasses - vintage shop

I spent today pottering around, food shopping and birthday present buying, with a wee bit of charity shopping too, of course.

I can't resist a vintage children's book.

A 1925 publication, with some gorgeous illustrations. It's a little foxed and battered, but that's OK; so am I. And we are both worth two quid of anyone's money.

When I met up with my university friends, I promised I would take some photos of our old haunts to send them. This may prove to be quite a project, since we all lived in various houses, and drank in a lot of different pubs.

So I started with the university, noting the survival of some buildings, and much change in others.

The Drama Studio, Arts Tower, and Firth Court.

Nearby Weston Park is a pretty place to wander.

Although The West End pub, in which I spent far too much time and money, is looking for a new landlord/lady.

Every student needs an independent record shop...
 

and Record Collector in Broomhill is still going strong.

And a secondhand book (and music) shop too...

so it's great to see Rare and Racy has survived. They play the oddest music, often incomprehensibly dissonant jazz, in the background. An old friend used to tell me I should just listen to it as sound, and not think of it as music, in a traditional sense..

I struggle with that. I am old-fashioned, and like a tune.

I love this frock, it's got darling Squirrel Miss V written all over it; feminine, pretty, floral, and sweet.

Hmm, well, I am not always sweet...

 but I am rare and racy.

Isn't it great when your faux lesbian girlfriend treats you to something pretty? Thanks, Patsy!

 

 I felt it was time for a gratuitous boob shot, what with the new bra...

 

 

and you all know I have no problems with making a Thomas Henry Titt of myself.

But now...

it's time for bed!

  xxxx

A grand day out

I had another child-free day out at the weekend.

I went to York with my old friend Patsy.

 

Selfies in the Museum Gardens!

My 20+ year friendship with Patsy is very forthright and honest. We have been taken for a lesbian couple on many occasions, which I think is because we do that affectionate bickering and teasing in which couples often engage.

 

And of course we laugh uproariously whenever that happens.

 

 

 

We've been on some great trips together over the years too. These photos are from holidays in the USA (1997) and Greece (1998).

 Saturday's location might not have been quite as far-flung, but York is still a fine place to visit.

 

 

There are beautiful sights and incredible buildings at every turn. 

 

Of course, the Minster is spectacular.

 

We enjoyed strolling the streets along with the many, many tourists, but really, we were on a mission.

 

Did I mention York has a lot of charity shops?

They're a bit pricey though. Out of nine - count them, nine - shops, I only bought one thing, a replacement sequin beret (my old one is getting decidedly ratty and I am thinking ahead to autumn.)

But I promised the nice man in the vintage section of the Sue Ryder shop I'd give them a mention. They have an upstairs room which is just like a vintage shop really, not ridiculously expensive, and very well stocked and displayed.

 

 The nearest I'm ever going to get to a wedding dress!

 

Now Patsy was kind enough to buy me an early birthday present from this shop;

 

 

 

and since I am impatient, I am wearing it today.

 

 

 

 

A delicious 1970s cotton dress in great colours and contrasting prints. I love it. 

 

 

And because Patsy is ridiculously generous, she marched me into Fenwicks to try on bras, and bought me this one. 

 

I do like a decent bra. 

 

I nearly flashed a little boy in the changing rooms, could have scarred him for life.

 

I had a really lovely day.

I was wrapped in a bubble of good humour and affection afterwards, sufficient to allow me to smile indulgently at all the extremely drunk people at York Station when I caught my train home. There had been a race meeting, and there were a lot of very rowdy folk, most of whom seemed to pile on my train. No one was being aggressive, it was all good-natured enough, but it's a good thing that I am not offended by swearing. 

Mind you, I have had previous experience of York station on a race day. I was with the kids, and we watched in amusement when a woman flashed her be-thonged backside at her friends who were on a departing train; in return, one of the women on the train then lifted her top and squashed her bare bosom against the window.

My kids' eyes were out on stalks. Mine too, actually. 

 

 

And I was worried about that little boy in the Fenwicks' changing room; in comparison, I am the epitome of ladylike dignity. 

 

 

 

No. You're mistaken. That's not me.

 

xxx