Yestheweatherislovely. Yesitisveryhot. Yesitmakesachangefromtheusualwindandrain. Ohyeshere’shopingitlasts. Blahblahblah.
The thing is though, I can’t come to the park. Or go to your BBQ. I can’t hang out on the pavement drinking cider or stroll around the market. Why? I’ll tell you why. Firstly, I am from S-c-o-t-l-a-n-d. In temperatures above 14 degrees, my make up falls off, my hair sticks to my forehead, my ankles swell and I get migraines. That’s just the way life is. There’s nothing I can do about that stuff. Secondly, Scotland doesn’t really ‘do’ seasons properly. Mother nature tries her best to keep us right by making leaves fall off stuff at certain times of the year and by cueing the arrival of crocuses, daffodils, primroses and so on at others. But where the weather is concerned, aside from the rare heatwave, every day kind of feels like autumn and I’ve come to dress accordingly.
You know when you hear about people rotating the content of their wardrobes to suit spring/summer and autumn/winter? I’ve never had to do that. I wear tights all year round. And cardigans, vests and boots. My woollies have never been sucked up in one of those weird vacuum storage bags and my winter coat is just, ‘my coat’. Well, that was until I moved from the big city to the Even Bigger One. Since then, whatever semblance of style I had has been thrown into utter disarray and I find myself (particularly in nice weather) unable to leave the house for lack of suitable attire.
One day, I will grow my summer wardrobe. One day, these will be in my accessories drawer/on my face…
[You can buy these now if you like. They're by Tatty Devine and cost £126]
And one day, I will look like this…
And when I do? I will gladly go with you to the park/come to your BBQ and/or hang out drinking cider on the pavement.
Just to be clear, I have borrowed these photos from http://www.tattydevine.com
Despite the glorious weather and things generally taking some interested turns for the better this week, I feel a little bit crumpled up today. I’d be much happier folded up into a neat triangle – like an empty crisp packet.
I bought some crumpled up clothes to match my crumpled up face.
Baby pink linen isn’t usually the first thing I reach for when I’m scouring market stalls trying to find for nice clothes I can afford. But wham on a scalloped edge, some asymmetric buttons, a bit of granny embroidery and a pair o’ flappy sleeves and for £5? I’m sold.
Another £5 find, this top is my new favourite thing. I wear it back to front because it’s nicer that way. I am a fashion innovator. A fashion innovator who’s a bit disappointed my hair doesn’t look that nice from the back.
It is impossible to be in a bad mood wearing this coat – though somehow I still manage to look Pure Ragin’. I feel a bit like toddler me when I’m all buttoned up in it. Bargain at £10.
Um. I’ve got to go now. I have some important ironing to do.
Twitter just told me it’s National Vegetarian Week this week. Stylist Magazine is sharing lots of delicious recipes online and making my tummy rumble. I can’t afford to eat meat. I guess I’ve been celebrating vegetarianism without even knowing it.
Never mind your spinach and feta parcels and your pumpkin risotto. Last night’s meat-free meal in The Basement didn’t even contain vegetables! What does that make me? (Don’t say, ‘A tink’.).
Half a fistful of wholemeal spaghetti
Half a tub of sour cream (of dubious freshness)
Quarter jar of green pesto (mouldy bit avoided)
A squirt of tomato puree
A shoogle of pepper
A dribble of olive oil
Half a part-baked baguette (though I did bake the other part before eating)
DELICIOUS. KIND OF.
Ok. So this wasn’t really the look I was going for.
Now, you crazy kids might be as happy as lambs in spring bouncing around in your MC Hammer harem pants all hours of the day and night, but I did not care for ‘em in the 80s, I did not care for ‘em in the 90s and I do not particularly care for them now. That’s not to imply I do not understand (and wholebummedly enjoy) the comfort of a baggy trouser. I do. I really, really do – and in actual fact, I enjoy schmooshing around in the comfort factor of these babies more than you’d ever believe but – let’s be frank. They’re not doing much for me, are they?
I bought my big trousers for £5 from a market stall near Broadway Market yesterday. A case of mistaken identity. I was excited that they seemed roomy enough to house my enormous arse but also excited that they were nice and narrow at the ankle. I thought they’d behave more like a pair of peg legs. They don’t. They behave like a big pair of wind breakers.
So. There was only one thing to do. Two things actually. The first? Resign myself to the fact I will never be able to wear my new trousers outdoors. The second? Do high kicks.
£5 well spent if you ask me.
Coming soon on Not The Kind Of Girl You’d Marry…
Carrie does high kicks in a blue jacket, rocks a rainmate