Day 22 – Shoes, because without them, one’s life becomes just a little less brighter
Unlike Suri Cruise I was banned from several feminine charms until I was 13 when I was allowed to get my ears pierced and start wearing the most delicate of heels. They were chunky Kickers and although they had a heel they were so alarmingly ugly had it not been for the joy of just being an inch taller, I would have asked to have my patent burgundy flats back. It was not until we went to a wedding for my mother’s uncle when I was 15 I was allowed to wear what I would consider real heels. As my mother had left England for Donegal to help with the preparations me and my father, who will be known hence forth as the giant; he is very tall but more on this later; were left with strict instructions about what would constitute a suitable heel; solid, black and no more than 2 inches. Thankfully I had inherited some of my mother’s cunning and after guiding him into Oasis and realising his only concern was to leave the den of damsels and womanly clothing I ceased upon the opportunity to get my dream shoes. They were black, three and a half – to four inches with silk black flowers woven around the ankle and toe straps; they were also unbelievably flimsy, entirely unsuitable for a autumnal wedding and were also a little above our agreed cost.
Rather than heading straight for them, I saw as clearly as a Queen leading her army into battle the moves to be made to guarantee my victory and the ultimate prize. I went directly over to some clumpy heeled shoes; they were black but pretty unsightly but luckily priced £10 above the others. I tried them on maintaining a straight face as I said, “Oh these seem to be what Mum was talking about, shame about the cost though, we will have to go find another shoe shop.” After letting the cost and the thought of another shop of horror sink in I glanced carelessly over at the prize and suggested I tried them on just for fun, as after all the flowers did match my outfit and they were black and ever just a little bit cheaper; they were mine from the second they touched my feet as even without the added bonus of there coming an end to the search even the giant could not resist the look of glee on my face.
From that moment I have been mesmirised by shoes and their potential for giving one height, style and poise. Other than holidays and eating out they are my most passionate indulgence and right from the day I started working I would save up for coveted pairs from Ravel and Faith knowing as soon as I had a real job I could begin my Kurt Geiger collection. As we know the best plans usually go to way. Though I was for a time able to buy KG shoes, I took a pay cut when I started in PR and a pay freeze when I decided to pursue the delights of journalism. This has meant I have had to rely once again on the KG sales, which for shoes are second to none or eBay purchases. If you do decide to get KG from eBay one tip is to always make sure you check first the shoes are not being sold for cheaper on the real website. Also beware of bidding against me, I don’t play nice when shoes are involved.
Today I am wearing another sample sale dress, the material is chiffon and crêpe silk and it looks brilliant with a clinched belt though today I decided to jazz it up with shoes and a pink head-band. I bought the pink heels today for £8 from The Attic in Market Harborough, a fabulous shop where you can bring in quality clothing which the lovely Tamara will sell on giving you a percentage of the cost. It is a brilliant place to get designer brands as well as quirky unusual bits of clothing. The other shoes are Fit Flop slippers, which tone your legs as you walk round the house which is frankly genius although I did not know about it till the boy grabbed me a t the sink and asked me if I had worked out. Obviously I pretended I had been as it is nice to get compliment but luckily mentioned my legs ached to my mother a few days later who informed me it was a result of me having kidnapped her fit flop slippers.
The other shoes are a combination of Kurt Geiger, New Look and Dune. See if you can guess which ones were the more expensive, unfortunately the shoes are not for sale, they are like children to me but the dress is and details of where to buy the dresses worn so far will be coming soon.
Have a great weekend and thanks for all the hits yesterday, my busiest day so far!
Day 21 – Emerging from the dark and the problem with pradamark
Many years ago, long before Primark came to the shores of our fair cities there was a place far far away in a land called Ireland where the legend of Primark was born. To this day it is known to its followers only as Penneys and it is from the loins of this retail giant from which Primark sprang forth; it took its inspiration from overseas as it came to mainland Britain and the other three (Britain sounds more in keeping with fairytale theme) to help us all “look good, spend less.”
When it first came about I remember being slightly horrified by the quality of the material I came across within. Though I had visited Penneys and its competitor Dunnes store many a time I had never noticed the clothing to be particularly poor of quality, but then again neither was it at that time as cheap as it is today. In Penneys, you mainly went to buy jumpers, fleeces and T-shirts, occasionally of course you would pick up an unusually fashionable item but at the time for a young girl to shop in Penneys (even in Ireland away from her peers) was the equivalent of being seen in Marks and Spencer with your mother. Times have changed, Marks and Spencer has been turned around into a fashion forward shop which caters for the younger generation as much as one’s Grandma, and the food, my god the food. The adverts are nearly as akin to pornography as Nigella sneaking downstairs to lick chocolate, goose fat enriched, pastries from the fridge. Anyway, getting back to Primark, or Pradamark as I nicknamed it a few years ago.
The first time I went was about 2004 when I bought a pair of flippy flops. The one I visited was in Sheffield; I was dating an American Football player at De Montfort then who was one of the sweetest guys I have ever known; and though I had a little look around apart from all the colours I found it quite dowdy and a bit too well-lit for my liking. I was more impressed with them when I returned the flip-flops a week later after using them on a camping/ walking trip. In spite of the fact that I was being a bit of a chancer £9 was still £9 and as I had little money for nasty wine and Baa Baa shots when they tore and the sole started to come up I felt I had no choice but to return them. The woman at the counter was very understanding and though I may have not mentioned the camping usage of the shoes, she was very sympathetic and returned my money straight away. 
The experience taught me two lessons, Primark may charge little but they know how to treat their customers once they buy something if not before; and when going on a camping weekend in the Peaks do not bring heels and a yoga mat rather than walking boots and a tent. I had envisioned singing round a campfire to cumbyea, big pub lunches and a little light exercise, my fellow friends from Canterbury Court, where I was social sec. at the time were geared up for hardcore mountaineering. Me and my fellow city lover Kevin were wearing designer jeans and unsuitable footwear, and though we were terrified at the sheer amount of sheep doo doo, we managed to climb Jacobs Ladder by ourselves. Well I did have to give my rucksack to my stronger friend but climb it so we did!
Years later as Primark’s popularity began to grow, I started to go there on the odd occasion to pick up various basics and watched with amazement at the purchases some of my friends had bought which really did look very high fashion. I would only usually buy basics, like vest tops and jumpers. I once got two cashmere polo-necks which are still in fantastic condition and are the backbone of my wardrobe. One black, one gray. I previously bought them from Coast but found they fell apart too quickly. I think my casual love affair with them started to end however after I started working. Although I had never really got into buying masses of things from there, I did go in to buy a spring coat. I have a gorgeous traditional Burberry trench which I will take to the grave, but I fancied something a bit more fun and light. I got a pale green thin cotton jacket with puffy sleeves and brown buttons. It came to a few inches above the knee and when you spun round quickly the skirt would tail with you leaving you feel like you were a little dancer. A few months after I bought it however I started to see it everywhere and on everyone. I would get on a flight and have to move to the back of the que because someone else would have it. It was not snobbery on my behalf just plain crossness at someone else wearing the same thing as me. There is a wonderful episode of Scrubs when Dr Cox tells Jordan that he does not need to know if she punches someone in the park because they have the same handbag as her and I am sure that whilst most women have never done this many can identify with the annoyance which comes of seeing someone in the same dress, coat or shoes as you. 
This then is my primary problem with Primark; other than of course my ethical issues, but I do not know enough about the general issue to comment with any clout and these ethical issues apply to the majority of high street and even some designer stores so it may be a bit too tough to judge them at the same standard as companies who then go on to charge extortionate amounts for their clothing; the problem is that it is thoroughly ordinary. If you walk through Manchester city centre you can not look left or right without seeing tens of people carrying Primark bags. When me and my friends went it was somewhere we would scoot through as quickly as possible occasionally playing student, chav, chancer - a game where you tried to guess which group people fell into. These days the place is packed out and rather than buying a few choice items and then combining them with some quality pieces from other stores or as I have suggested in the past designer items or unusual finds from eBay, markets and charity stores they buy huge amounts of clothing and wear it all at once. Primark is an excellent resource for people on a budget and they do come up with some great items, the problem one has is making sure one chooses carefully from the piles of clothing within. Not going instantly for the fashion piece but for items like their cashmere, organic socks, shoes which are well designed and not likely to leave you with blisters. It is a pain but it is necessary to try things on. You may tell yourself you have not got time and you will return it if its not right but it will probably end up at the back of your wardrobe with the tags still on, and no item of clothing should be treated so shabbily. MAny of their clothes are unusual in the sizing and just because an 8 fits you one week doesn’t mean you wont be better in a 12 in another item the following month. The dress I am wearing today is from eBay but originally from primark, the ebayer in question cleverly negated to put the make but as I paid only a £1 for it plus p and p I can hardly complain. With regards to sizing it fits well but as I have a larger than normal cleavage I have to team it with a crop top to hide my bra especially as we went to dinner at the Yews.
After having a bath yesterday, a face mask, some sleep and putting on this dress I started to feel better and the darkness started to lift. Thank you all once again for reading and I do hope you will be as happy to read the more serious postings on this feature as well as the frivolous ones but if you comment I will know what it is you favour.
I also must take this opportunity to ask for some support. Although I am going to meet with a lady tomorrow about getting in some dresses for the project I am quickly running out and only have enough I think for another two weeks. I am sure you will all agree that 365 dresses is much more impressive than 36 so if you are able to send any dresses you are finished with or know of any shops who may be willing to help out do please let me know. If it is something you are sending yourself you could choose the charity which the sale of the dress goes to.
Laura Veirs – Live
Hey guys and girls, this is a preview of my first ever live gig reveiw for citylifers, you can see the rest and other music reveiws as well as particular focus on the scene up North at citylifers.co.uk Do note I had to miss the derby for this one and though it was a tough choice it was a great gig and think I made the right decision.
In a performance which draws mainly from new album, July Flame, Laura Veirs lulls listeners along on a barely lit journey through songs of the seasons. A glow of contentment surrounds Veirs which is particularly visible during I Can See Your Tracks, and there is something near spiritual about the silence which descends on the eager crowd which is assisted by the haunting beauty of the viola player. The trance is only broken by comical conversational tit-bits from Veirs, among which are her observations on the joy of keeping chickens; apparently a new trend sweeping America.
The audience sways back and forth with a look of awe and attentiveness more commonly seen on children sitting still on the back porch of an old run down house at sunset, waiting for tales of old to be told…….
….she presents herself as a singer songwriter and has no qualms about coming on stage fresh faced with plaits and a blue polka dot dress. She is fairly heavily pregnant and will be nearing her final weeks by the time the tour ends in two months, but Veirs refuses to let this define her or the performance. She jokes about the awkward position of her guitar, and other than answering questions from an intrigued audience on the sex of the child (they don’t know), and her due date, she puts her music forward far in front of her protruding bump. As one man says in awe, “I never thought I’d see a pregnant lady playing a banjo.”
As a child, Veirs used to camp in Colorado and this has had an ongoing influence on her music. Much of the current album draws first and foremost on the high which comes from being in love, her love of the land though remains clear during the set and is most prominent in To The Country, the highlight song of the evening. Veirs’ vocals awake us from the spell her harmonies and soft voice have cast. She demands our full attention and opens our ears and our minds to….
Day 20 – Colourless days dressed in black and trapped in the haze
“I think this man might be useful to me – if my black dog returns. He seems quite away from me now – it is such a relief. All the colours come back into the picture.”
Sir Winston Churchill
There is one day in the year where mental illness is guaranteed to get more press than any other day ; that day came two days ago on the third Monday in January or as many would have us call it the most miserable day of the year. What is strange then is on this day I for one was happily free of any symptons of depression or mania most commonly presented in people with a biopolar type two illness. What was also strange was on this day I was outwardly presenting all the signs of having a mental illness, being as I was sat inside the out patients cliniuc at the Brandon Mental Health Unit at Leicester general awaiting my consultation with a new doctor with whom I would access my current health and discuss alternative methods of medication. I was feeling then surprisingly sparky as I left the appointment because for the first time in months I felt as though a medical professional had actually heard what I was saying and had taken what I had said into account than dismissing it as the Dear Diary ramblings of a troubled girl, very rarely do they refer to me as a woman even though I am now a quarter of a century old.
Rather than just send me away with a prescription for the standard treatment, the consultant, a lady sat and went over my past, present and future before having a frank conversation with me about medication. Being as I am now in remission from depression there is a concern I will fall into a mania. People with bipolar type two are characteristically troubled with depressive episodes but these infrequently peppered with episodes of mania or highs. unlike bipolar type one, the mania one has with type two does not involve hallucinations or delusions rather an extended period of intense energy which tends to last about five days. The difficulty with these highs is in some ways they can be rather wonderful, the problem comes when they stop, and they always do come to an end. When I awake from a high I tend to be 4 lbs lighter and physically and mentally exhausted. It is these highs then which me and my consultant are trying to control and she sat with me patiently as we went through the various treatments. We finally came to a decision one tablet with which we were both happy and a low dose as I feared becoming zombie like as other tablets have left me feeling in the past. Before we reached a solution however we had crossed out salts due to family history concerns and two others on account of possible birth defects for the offspring of women who take them.
In spite of feeling positive when leaving the hospital however, I have since been feeling myself sink a little lower into the haze of the black dog and little by little it is getting harder to see the colours.
It is quite possible this is the result of the tablets working their way into my system, but more than likely it may be the frustration I feel at having to take medicine to normalise my mood. The most troublesome issue is the fact my condition has only recently been recognised as not being merely depression combined with anxiety disorder. Indeed only in the US, obviously, do they recognise the existence of bipolar type two, a type of mania which is not prolonged and where you do not experience delusions or hear voices. One poor man in the waiting room for a second obviously thought he had been given a brand new symptom to tell his Doctor about; as music played quietly in the background he suddenly sat up straight and said rather delightedly, “I can hear voices, I knew it!” The receptionist, apparently well used to his outbursts, told him in a bored voice that what he was hearing was in-fact Chris Moyle’s ramblings in-between the few records he plays. Admittedly we must feel for this man. No doubt many people have at one stage found themselves questioning their sanity as this king of the waves continues to pour out a near constant stream of $£”%!*.
The new tablets make me feel sick on the day after I first take them and I am conscious of being horribly drowsy come the morning forcing me to do most of my work from under the duvet where I am safe from the dizzy spells which are another unwelcome side effect. I try to force myself to not become too disheartened, but as my train nightmares continue into the middle of the week and Dell continue to hold my laptop hostage I do sink a little deeper and though I choose purple tights, my choice of this black dress is yet more evidence of how difficult I am finding it to surface from the haze. The dress is a French Connection number from autumn/ winter 2007 which I got in the sale for £36. I bought it during my first proper job as an events manager and though it now sounds like an extravagant purchase to my poverty-stricken ears, at the time when I was able to eat out a couple of times a week, it seemed like a bargain. It is again rather busty at the front but with a crop top worn over one’s bra it is suitable for day-time and if wearing to the office a black vest would make it more conservative if needs be.
The one thing I try to remember when a black dress mood strikes is the positives of having such a condition. People with bipolar disorder type one and two tend to be rather more productive than the average person and other than the difficulties they might experience during periods of mania the majority can live perfectly functioning if not perfectly ordinary lives. Some days it is difficult to keep the black dog of despair at bay than on others and I do hope I have not assumed too much by commenting on this condition in my post, but I feel it is important that some writers come out of the closet with regards to mental illness. It is not something of which I feel ashamed but I once did and I think the shame many sufferers feel is down to a lack of faces of people who are able to admit to their condition and at the same time be living, blogging, breathing proof of how one can live perfectly happily with a mental illness without it defining you or restricting you as you often first believe it will.
Keeping a mental illness from consuming you is a life long battle and though in this quote Churchill was talking at a time of war, I think it speaks true to the ongoing battle he had with his own illness whilst reminding us of the great rewards that await those of us who refuse to give in.
“Never give in–never, never, never,never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except tp convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy. “
Sir Winston Churchill 1941
Day 19 – The wonder of tights, a tight squeeze at Laura Veirs and the importance of saying ones qs and ones ps.
It turns out my posting on front bottom exposure has caused some difficulty for the boy. Until yesterday he had not been aware of the front rump phenomena caused by oblivious legging lovers all over the country. Following the post he says he is unable to leave the house without seeing the distinct outline of a woman’s most private of parts. At the train station he became greatly animated and, pointing directly at a ladies crotch said in his quietest voice, which is unfortunately quite loud: “Is that what you were on about?” Luckily the lady on display was ignorant of his outburst thanks to her headphones but I did find myself wondering whether it would have been better if she had heard him. If she had she would at least know how much she was revealing to strangers who she was not prepared to share eye contact with as she left the building. When I walked round TK Maxx in December with my dress tucked into my purple fish net tights I was very pleased when a blushing shop assistant quietly advised me to “Adjust your skirt accordingly Madam.” I will be eternally thankful to him and I am sure the residents of Nottingham not scarred by my exposure would be just as thankful if they knew of the public duty he so duly that day performed.
The alternative to leggings as an integral part of one’s outfit is tights. One episode of Goodnight Sweetheart gave me the shivers when I was a girl as I had no idea women had once had no hosiery choice other than stockings. 
Although I enjoy wearing stockings from time to time, they are extremely restricting on how short one wears one’s hemlines and if others can see the tops of your stockings; always look at your outfit from behind before leaving the house; one tends to find cars and not taxis stop to ask. I found this much to my embarrassment when wearing a red and white checkered pleated skirt with black stockings adorned with pink ribbons to a lecture one morning . I had to go past the science department on my way to the bus, where English undergraduates (the subject not the nationality by the by) were most unwelcome. If it wasn’t for the fact I realised what all the fuss was about by the time I got to the physics department and duly macced up I may have satisfied my mothers wish for me to marry an engineer, or attracting one for all the wrong reasons at the least.
Tights, like leggings now come in every colour, denier and pattern and are the saviour of girls heading straight from work to a date with friends, lovers or family members. Even swapping black tights for tan can transform an outfit instantly and make it suited to a light-hearted cinema outing. Opaques lined up the back lend one’s legs a 1940′s starlet quality which has the effect of attracting every eye in the restaurant to your pins whilst you shed your coat into the arms of the maître d’ (please imagine circumflex over “i” as I can not work out how to use accents on word press).
When wearing tights there are a few basic rules to remember. Try not to go too crazy with colour clashing; when done right, (think colour blocking and not teaming bright vivid prints with shocking green tights) this look is breath-taking but very few people can pull it off and other than an old university pal of myne who was an expert at colour clashing most women who carry this trend off only do so for the time it takes to get from one end of the runway to the other. Some tights, like the ones I own which are covered in French revolution soldiers, (I promise they will make an appearance) are statement pieces which border on being art. When you wear them you must have absolutely no insecurity issues, at least for the day, as they are bound to attract as much resistance as they will praise from friends and strangers alike. When I wore these tights in London, somewhere I would consider to be open-minded to unusual pieces they caused rather a stir and upset some girls on the tube. It may have been however that the girls were descendants of French royalty and only took offence at the sentiment and the subject of the tights and not the accessories itself.
Tights can serve as a wonderful way of wearing a trend which you like the thought of but can not bear to part with too much money to follow. I love metallic and shiny glittery pieces at the moment as I am missing Christmas. The tights I wore today however are wonderfully sparkly and allowed me to look like a Christmas tree when I stepped out for the night. I failed to find a star hair clip so settled instead for wearing silver dangle ornaments on my ears and spilling a pot of blue glitter eyeshadow down my front.
Last night I did my first big review for City Life at a Laura Viers concert at Manchester Academy. I was excited and terrified in equal measure as gig reviewers are usually of a very high calibre and I was to attend the gig with the music Nazi or the boy as he is more commonly known. On the way to the gig he bombarded me with helpful tips about gig reviewing, the genre of which LV came from and the kind of questions “us musicians” like to be asked. The last straw came when on returning home from the gig I stumbled across a review on the screen written by The Boy before we left. I tartly told him that regardless of what he may think of my musical taste, I was the reviewer and he was my companion at the gig and insisted unless he immediately ceased to pepper conversation with awfully snobbish musical vocab’ he would never again attend another gig as my plus one. 
One thing which did strike me about the night, other than the poor woman was having to balance her guitar on a second trimester tummy, was how rude some of the audience were when moving forward to the front. Though the music was at times loud it was hardly impossible to hear an excuse me, and having someone elbow you in the back whilst trying to absorb the vibe is very distracting. Thankfully for once I had no need to excuse my way to the front as I was wearing my most wonderful Kurt Geiger shoes ever; my purple, navy blue and gold “Africa” stilettos. They are extremely comfortable and put me at a height from which I had no need to stand on tippy toes and was even able to make eye contact with a real life giant who was at the gig. If giants are over 6ft 6″ that is?
The dress I wore was a wrap around green number from another sample sale. It is ridiculously low-cut and perhaps would have looked better on reflection with a necklace to draw attention away from the cleavage. I love the colour but it does have a tendency to cling and if you fail to stand correctly bad posture has a habit of revealing every lump and bump. Though thankfully due to my lack of leggings the only hump revealed was the one taken by the boy when I forced him into retirement from his short career as a musical journalist.
Day 18 – Fashion is for fools following endless rules, style is for those in pursuit of what it is they will suit
We are pretty near convinced the dog has developed post traumatic stress syndrome from being present in the car at the time of my accident back in December. Immediately after the car had flipped over three times and spun 360 degrees, she seemed rather eager to repeat the experience and showed no sign of trauma apart from desiring to be tickled a little more often than usual and being a bit clingy with me. Over Christmas however we soon realised when left alone in the car she would start to tremble and not stop until a while after we returned. Although we have not yet been able to secure the dog psychiatrist, though I strongly suspect it is because of his myth like qualities, we had hoped she was starting to recover.
When we called her over to her usual favorite spot underneath the Aga today for photos we realised just how damaged she has been by the incident. 
Usually she is happy to pose for photos and my parents long-suffering friends have had to sit through various images dog sitting, lying, or (and I kid you not) laughing. Today she refused to come over and spent 15 minutes hiding under the table where she ignored treats, calls for walks and the temptation of coming to love or more often shred to ribbons her toy pup. As a result we used a stand in for most images and so I may guarantee no animals were hurt during this shoot. Obviously had the dog been willing it would have been her who was put in the Aga.
We based the shoot around an advertising campaign Aga started with a girl lying in front of an Aga with her dog. I am not sure why she was lying beside it but it made me laugh and meant I got to stay in the warmth without having to attempt to look like a domestic goddess. Saying that it may well have been quite easy to do so in this hip hugger of a frock though I would have had to use the pup for extra padding on the old north face. 
The reason I wanted to cover this theme now, of the difference between fashion and style, and the necessity of recognising the difference between the two is because of several frustrating magazine articles I came a cross over the weekend. As well as promoting Uggs and leggings as two of the top trends of the decade, they were also littered with rules about what one should and should not be wearing. The difficulty of pushing a trend like leggings on an entire nation is it does not recognise the fact they suit a small minority of women. Although I am not a fan and have never worn them I can no doubt see the appeal. Thicker and cozier than tights, when worn with boots they can I am told feel refreshing and leave one feeling a bit less restricted. They also allow women the freedom to be a bit more racy with the length of their hemlines which I can not see as a bad thing.
The problem I have with leggings which the magazine was pushing is the idea they suit everyone. Worn with high heels or cut off shoe boots they can very easily give even average sized women cankles. When wearing tights one tends to be more conscious of how one sits and stands in a short skirt. With leggings however some women forget they are exposed on all fronts and far too often one sees sights more commonly associated and indeed more welcome in the deserts of Egypt. 
I shall save my rant on Uggs for another day, but I do need to point out these boots are not suitable for the snow if they are to keep up their lovely dusty colour. Ralph Lauren are doing fabulous snow boots in lovely colours for £150 whilst hunter wellies will last a lifetime and take you all the way from snow through to summer festival. Uggs need replacing all too often and considering the cost I can not help but think there are better alternatives out there which should first be explored before settling on something so unsightly. 
Although it is silly to dress for men, it would be wise to ask yourself if your boyfriend or indeed any man in your life has ever said, “Oh I am so pleased you are wearing those boots, they make your legs look so long and slender and I really think we should go out on the town as they should not be wasted inside.” Far more likely I believe this may be what goes through their minds, one would hope they are wise enough not to voice their opinion, “Oh no she is wearing her slippers, she is clearly giving off the pyjamas vibe again so I may as well go play with my Wii.” Or whatever it is they call their man toys these days.
Having said this if you enjoy wearing Uggs and or leggings, do carry on, just bare in mind they are better worn for casual day wear and not as a constant staple of your wardrobe. You would not always wear your hair up would you?
Carrying on with the rules, the one I decided to defy today was that which instructed the maxi dress was now back in fashion. Although I keep an eye on the runway and love flicking through fashion magazines, I prefer to let them inspire what I wear rather than serve as a direct instruction. 
Long dresses are a great staple of any wardrobe and hopefully you have not thrown yours away due to it having been out of fashion for two years. If you are tall or curvy especially, long dresses look great in winter and summer and have a really lovely floaty romantic feel to them. Another trend which comes in and out is anorak. Often written off from season to season I often see women wearing them with wellies and denim skirts in the rain and it looks fantastic even away from Glastonbury’s mud soaked fields. The best advice I can give is if you find a trend which suits you, such as black, skinny jeans or even though I hate to say it flat boots, stick with it. Do not throw it out just because a magazine or even a blogger tells you to. Take advice from people, and especially from friends. Listen to what they say with an open mind about what they like best on you. If you constantly receive compliments on a coat, do not feel as though you must equip yourself with a new one come next winter just because it was on the going down list or because it is last season. Wherever possible stick with key classic pieces and then build on them. To get the most out of fashion always ask yourself whether you will be happy to wear it next winter or summer. If the answer is no and money is tight maybe do not buy it or if you can not resist jumping on board get a smaller take on the trend; if you like metallic you do not have to buy a whole dress just get a T-shirt or a lipstick or nail polish in bullet silver.
In the magazine I purchased at the weekend, not only did they say the maxi dress was back they also told me it was back but only if worn with a battered belt. It also failed to recommend on how one is to wear a sleeveless dress in the middle of winter, something I had considered to be crucial information. I chose not to wear this dress with a belt as I think the pattern is just too pretty and the shades too subtle to be interrupted by accessories. I may not have enough of a waist in it but I feel a lot more floaty than I would have done otherwise and worn with a sleeved low-cut top I was able to leave the house for a hospital appointment at Leicester General to review my medication. I was tempted to wear yesterdays nightie but i guess there’s no point in asking for trouble. 
Thanks for reading and I would just like to thank you all for reading and continuing to recommend the blog to your friends. My hits reached over 1000 today and I am delighted, (see photo of delight). I have also got some interest from Amnesty International about them being a charity for whom the sale of the dresses would raise money. Any suggestions or feedback on this would be much appreciated. Thanks again, Ellie.
Day 17 – Lay lady lay on a lazy Sunday dressed in a tshirt sold to you as a dress from ebay
In spite of having only arrived home ten minutes ago, well over two hours after my anticipated arrival time I will resist the urge to wax lyrical on the many joys of the rail system and save my fury till tomorrow. Sunday, particularly for one brought up in the catholic faith or even those who are familiar with the Sunday terrors of completing a weeks worth of homework will remember childhood Sundays as a day characterised more by resistance than of rest. These days I am a major fan of Sundays as no matter how fuzzy I feel as I emerge from the duvet I know I have a whole day of completely free time where I can indulge every lazy bone in my body guilt free. Usually I feel dreadful if I lie in past but come Sunday I can sleep past eleven quite happily.
The boy is a major fan of the day too as he does not have to fear sneak attack by surprise hug (not as welcome as one might think) or as the minutes turn to hours stubby fingers (ice-cold works best) to lull him out of bed.
When we first got together and we both smoked we used to spend our time hanging out in Withington reading the papers, drinking coffee and getting to know one another at Fuel or Solomon and Grundys. Both bars have a great laid back – we are happy if you stay in here all day but do not mind if you leave now – vibe which we both revel in. Now we have left lectures and essays behind we do not have as much time to do nothing and although this is a healthy part of growing up it does mean when we visit our old haunts now we appreciate them all the more.
Part of the problem with visiting these places these days is we are often recognised. The boy is in a band and though I like to pretend people come over to say hi because they are just being friendly, it is usually because they have met him in some musical capacity or another. Usually I do not mind as the people he knows are generally lovely but being as today I had nothing to wear but a t T-shirt which was falsely advertised as a dress by a naughty ebayer, I was feeling a little self-conscious and getting up to hug people could well have resulted in me causing a stir.
Yesterday I mentioned how wonderful eBay can be when you are able to see the potential of a dress or item of clothing as it could be off the mannequin or a model. Todays “dress” is a perfect example of what can happen when this is not the case. When I bought this dress from eBay back in December I was extremely excited about it. It was only about £5 and even when I had forgotten all the purchases during my online post christmas spree this remained in my memory till the day it arrived in early January. In the photo on eBay the girl wearing it looked very cute in the dress teamed as it was with a brown belt, but not so cute you thought she was wearing a nightie. Images as my own photos from today show can be misleading.
I saw the dress and thought it rather pop-art inspired, more casual than I would usually wear but was sold I admit on the pink. I like to resist the pink pull when possible and only began to like it after my 16th birthday but the socially engineered girl within wanted a bright pink dress and it was she who pressed the bid button faster than I could type bimbo.
When you buy clothes on ebay, in-spite of the bargains you can score, at one time another you will be subject to a shocker of your own and the worst thing is that when this happens you will usually have little grounds for complaining to the seller. Take this dress ; in all fairness I should have looked more carefully at the measurements of the girl I bought it from. Clearly she was a midget of the hobbit variety with an unusually small torso and tiny legs, either that or much more upsetting perhaps I am the one who has an unusually large torso and am a giant by proportional analysis.
With this in mind, and trying to take comfort in the comfortable material of the dress I decided if I was going to wear it I might as well do so as I went about my normal routine. Admittedly I think my arrival upstairs in Fuel did give the Sunday stitch and bitch club a sight to bitch about but by hiding at the table and getting up with my back to the wall I managed to keep up as much dignity as one can expect when wearing one’s nightdress in public.
Once we had met up with one of our bestest friends, a musical theatre legend who understands the need to end a good night out with a good old sing-song, we headed home for our new rock and roll activity, Scrabble Sundays. Having had a couple of glasses of krupnik and feeling a little giddy we decided all swear words would receive an extra point, childish, yes, funny, very. We managed to wrap up the game in time for my train, on which I hasten to say I kept my coat firmly belted, but even with my travel complications and wardrobe malfunctions it was the perfect lazy Sunday and I wont even need to change for bed. 
Day 16 – Saturday passion from followers of football and fashion
When I was growing up and my baby brother was still, well a baby, my Dad had no choice other than to take me along to Premiership football games at Coventry City. This was back in the days of Dion Dublin, where every single season we managed to hang on from relegation by the skin of our teeth. Although my father spent much of his time trying to shield me from curse words and hooligans; politely informing them if they bumped into me one more time he would have to punch them into next week, fellow supporter though they may well be, we used to have a great time together and until my brother started to come to the games it was our little father and daughter day out. One of our collective favourite memories of going together, I would say my own was when I met Kevin Keegan when we played Newcastle but I think my father was too busy trying to prevent me defecting teams to enjoy the experience; was when we scored a goal in the last minutes of play thus escaping relegation for another year. It had snowed and everyone was so overjoyed that there was a massive pitch invasion which my father joined in with. I felt extremely proud as I watched him return his face aglow having thrown a snowball at one of the opposition players. 
As I got older and my brother got taller my Dad started taking both of us along to the matches. It was a pity really but the costs just got too high and naturally he felt obliged to bring his son along to an experience which is more often associated with father and son pairings. I had reached the wonderful age of answering back and instead of attending matches in a pom-pom hat and baby blue corduroy coat I wanted to go in tight leather trousers, thick green statement knits and berets. It was not that I wanted to be a wag I had just started to become as interested in fashion as I was in football and I guess it was difficult for my father to take a Faux French daughter to a football ground. I still went to see Coventry play from time to time and watched football on TV when I had the time, particularly match of the day if my Dad had it on and I had been allowed to stay up, but slowly but surely I started to spend my Saturdays hanging out with friends in town shopping with the little money we had, drinking hot chocolate, chit chatting and checking out boys.
These days my Saturdays are spent in much less clear-cut pursuits, but I would do myself an injustice if I did not admit that football and fashion are still the main focus of this day. If I am not checking the web to see how the games are going, I am bopping about town looking for bargains whilst glaring at anyone foolish enough to mention the results, hoping I can catch them on match of the day before anyone gives the scores away. I have been lucky enough to report on matches for the non-league paper, and got to take my father along to a spectacular end of season final between Durham City and Woodley Sports where visitors Durham came behind from three down to win the match and rise up to the next division.
As I wondered round Manchester yesterday however I was struck by how many things have spilled off of the field to become everyday behaviours which have a negative effect on my fashion finding. As I waited outside the Arndale I was shocked by how many people emerged from the double doors to spit out the contents of their mouth, be it spit or chewing gum. Assuming these people had not been engaged in rigorous sport inside the shopping centre, (though shopping can at times be a fast paced activity 
it can certainly not be compared to the cardio kick which is the great game) I could not understand why they thought it was acceptable to spit in a public place. 
I wish I had had the courage to face them but foolishly I had read an article about a woman who was knifed after asking someone to be quiet in the cinema and my usual interfering nature escaped me. The other fashion I noticed whilst waiting for the boy to emerge from the shops was bear bellied girls. It was not that I found the sight of these girls stomachs particularly hideous, they were extremely tone tummies, it was just that they looked so completely wrong in context. Although most of the snow has left Manchester it is still utterly freezing, even I have lately had to abandon outside shoots till the weather improves, and yet these women were walking round like they are in the Bahamas. Although this dress leaves little to the imagination in terms of length (I did have to exclude some photos from the blog) when on the street I was cloaked in many layers and more importantly other than my face and hands no bare flesh is being exposed to the Northern elements. In a club or on a hot day you expect to see flesh, on the football pitch you hope to see it either in appreciation of the beauty of the male form or because your team have just scored a goal and the scorer is celebrating by whipping off his top regardless of the card he will receive, but outside in Manchester in January bare flesh is about as unexpected as the spittle which lines the pavements.
Today’s dress is 1980s vintage Miss Selfridge. The material is thick and heavy and although I had to wear a vest tucked firmly into tights to protect myself from the elements it does feel like a winter dress with minimal need for remodification. I must admit I was thinking of saving it for an interview or a film inspired post but I was feeling a bit low yesterday and needed the kind of lift which wearing such a brilliant item can give you. Like much of 80s fashion it has the all important power dressing factor. The shoulders are so wide that even my cloak hanger upper form struggled with wearing it. It has really unusual braces which you pull in and clip to the material to give you as little or as much of a waist as you might want. I wore it 
with patterned tights and Kurt Geiger statement purple and dark blue heels from last years collection. They are all of about sis inches high with a platform at the front and mean I do not feel at all intimidated by lout returning through town with too much drink in their bellies as I am usually several inches taller than them by the time defeat or alcohol has bent their back. I went full force with the make up, tracing gold and beige shadow up to the brow and leaving my hair naturally large to fit in with the time although I had to wipe off my lipstick as I was looking a little too lady of the night. I got the dress from eBay for 0.99p plus postage and packaging. Sometimes you get really lucky on eBay if nobody else can see the potential of a dress off the model or the floor especially if you decide what you are paying and take into account postage and packaging. I think I had to pay £4 to have this delivered, but even for £5 I think it is a good bargain and am already a little sad that I didn’t have the energy to wear it out last night and settled for match of the day and Poland’s finest export to date krupnik instead. 
Day 15 – what is one going to do with all one’s trunk – manners in motion
I arrived today in Manchester off a nightmare train journey to be greeted by gifts from the Gods. Prior to this project, during my days of despair I developed a slight addiction to eBay and purchased several dresses in the space of a couple of weeks for less than twenty English pounds, inclusive of postage and packaging. This was in early December and what with being in Ireland, strikes by the Royal Mail and my being absent from the North for a few weeks, it was not until I got to Manchester to see numerous brown parcels that I remembered the five dresses which had been lost in the darkest depths of her Majesty’s service. They are beautiful! Miss Selfridge vintage pin striped wool with silver braces, a pink T-shirt dress which I can wear to bed as well as around the city and various other fantastic frocks. It was a gigantic relief as after sorting through my wardrobe yesterday I realised I was down to all of about ten dresses and without serious personal pimping in Harborough town I would be wrapping myself in blankets and belted “shirt dresses” by the end of January. 
After failing to persuade my father to hand me the keys to the 4 x 4 (he is still a little sensitive after I rolled the fox going round an icy corner in December on the way to collect my mother from her work do), I resolved myself to another day on public transport. Over Christmas I came across an article which suggested train fares had risen on some routes by over 50 per cent. I dismissed it as sheer poppycock due to it being reported in the Daily Mail which tends to fall on the sensational side of reporting. On this occasion, I am sad to say that the report is entirely correct. I usually spend £25 maximum on fuel travelling from Market Harborough to Manchester but at the station I was charged £25.30 plus the cost of a rail card without which the journey would have been over £35 for a super saver return. I was so outraged by the hike that I spoke to several other commuters and will publish a post on Monday about the horror which East Midlands railways and other operators have subjected their customers to.
I got this from Oasis a few years ago for £10. It is cotton and very clingy so I tend to only wear it as a top with tight jeans. As dress supplies are low I decided to change it to make it suitable for day time. Although it is designed to be worn with little more than lady tape, by donning a knickerbox vest and placing a tiny safety-pin just below the bust I was able to leave the house with my reputation intact.
The nice thing about this piece is its versatility. Paired with a polo-neck and heels it can be worn to the office; with a vest top and slouchy boots toa lazy pub lunch and on a big night out with a black crop top, spangley sheer stockings and towering stilettos. The only difficulty is that it does have a tendency to cling to ones curve leaving precious little to the imagination. In view of this it is prudent to wear a long and a short jacket if heading out for the evening. In this way you can layer up and layer off according to where you are, what the weathers like and who you are out with. Do make sure you check your audience carefully however for if you misread your social situation the consequences can be dire. On the train today I stripped down to jumper level too fast and as a result was greeted with so many bitchy looks that I had to hide in the luggage rack until I had managed to wrap myself once more within the cocoon of my Wallis winter coat.
Having spent at least three and a half years in one long distance relationship or another and having been driving just a year I have had my fair share of train journeys; the one thing which sticks out as much as delays is the various manners of commuters I have met upon the way. In a strange way it seems to be those who are brought up best who act most rudely on the train. Perhaps it is because they are angry at themselves for not having paid to upgrade to first class but the chip on their shoulder leaves them decidedly unpleasant to be around.
Having emerged from the luggage rack a kind man getting off at the next stop directed me to his unoccupied seat. When I arrived I wondered whether the reason he had vacated it was in fact the result of who he was sat with. A woman who wore a frown which made her young face seem nearer to sixty than thirty who was wrapped up in a sleeping bag inspired floor length black puffa-coat. For once, I felt rather nervous when I asked if I could sit down. After glancing up from her newspaper, The Evening Standard with a look of contempt she stood without a word and glared at me whilst she waited for me to take a seat. I for one was not ready to take such behaviour sitting down. I sat beside her, removed both jackets (layering is very important to survive dress project in winter) waited till she looked settled then asked apologetically with as broad a grin as possible if I could pop back to get my paper.
Once we were both sat down she continued to make her displeasure at my presence as clear as possible by occasionally tutting and turning her pages aggressively. In retaliation I started to read The Times whilst painting my nails in the hope that the fumes would render her more pleasing.
In spite of coming across several freaks on my travels up and down the country, including a drunken lout who suggested I joined the hundred mile long club with him, I have met some truly lovely people on the train. Earlier in the journey I had sat at a table with a journalist from the Guardian who told me an amusing anecdote about receiving a phone call from a certain head of states lawyer about an article due to be published the next day, and a girl who had just started a PhD in biomedical science in London. We all passed the time quite amicably, suggesting places to go for the girl in Leicester and discussing the merits of different papers as well as the age old debate of Northern versus Southern living. We parted our separate ways at Leicester all enriched at having taken the time to simply be nice to one another.
In the past I have met musicians, models and more recently only a day after my crash a man in the car business. He had just got back from driving on ice in Latvia and has driven with the lady who tests cars for Top Gear when The Sting is unavailable. We are still in touch today and as he like me is an O’Neill. I hope to see him again soon in our native land or for a good night out in Manchester. One thing which is important to know about the O’Neill clan is we are robust and competitive. This was most clearly demonstrated by Red O’Neill during a horse race between the kings of Ulster back in the day. Fearing he might lose a race, he cut off his own hand with a sword and threw his hand on ahead of him to ensure victory! The reason me and my fellow O’Neill discovered we were distantly related was because he aided me with my suitcase and I with his. It is important to remember no matter how stressful your journey may have been you should not turn your frustrations on your fellow passengers. You might cross the wrong person or worse lose the chance to spend a much more happy hour in conversation with a kindred spirit.
Day 14 – My strong desire for denim on the day I am being driven demented by Dell
I woke up to the realisation that on some days this project will feel overwhelmingly daunting. I have now separated my skirts and silk tops to another wardrobe as I could no longer bare to look at them, I have also covered all the dresses I have worn to date, washed and pressed with a pashmina. In spite of this; perhaps as a result of having had awful nightmares about the fish being poorly and having died of frostbite whilst we were away in Ireland; all I wanted to do was pull on a pair of jeans and a soft jumper. My desire for the comfort and ease of denim was increased by knowing that all today held in store was waiting patiently around the house for a Dell technician to turn up to fix my inspiron; an inaccurate name, when one considers that the only thing it has inspired in me is mechanical rage and a desire to revenge myself on the pesky critter which refuses to turn on in spite of all the stroking and praying to St Anthony in the world. Upsettingly the boy has foiled all of my plans to just throw the thing away and get a Mac, reassuring me that when the technician arrives everything will be alright. Needless to say, he lied.
Usually I love lazing round the house on Thursday. This day of the week serves as a lovely gap in my week, an intermission before the madness of Friday when I usually spend all day commuting across the country. Knowing as I do though that today I have no other choice than to stay at home I quickly become restless. I am itching to leave the house but have been placed under near house arrest by the full force of the Dell support team; I must, or so I am told, stay here from nine till half five. Because of this barbaric curfew, I have had to forfeit my lazy Thursday bubble bath and exfoliating shower, wake up before nine to get ready for the technician and skulk about the house with only the internet and the dog to entertain me. Even when the menfolk came up at lunch time, all they did was create a dreadful mess and moan about my use of the printer and the lack of tomato soup. I think they are starting to see me as a kind of house servant who is there to make tea and cheerily enquire how their day is going. It would be a lot easier to contradict this flawed way of thinking if I had actually been able to leave the house.
When the Dell technician finally arrived, I nearly hugged him with relief. It soon became clear however that the man had been sent by Satan to test my patience. After taking my lovely little laptop to pieces in a way which I felt amounted to technological assault he yanked my motherboard unceremoniously from its resting place and replaced it. He seemed quite pleased with himself until the laptop decided it was not being turned on in such an unloving way. It had an almighty sulk and started beeping again; I like to think it was calling him a tactless £”!$%£” but I can not be sure. By the time he had decided there was nothing to be done other than order more parts for which I would have to wait around the house tomorrow, I was quite happy to see him leave along with his various tools of torture. When he comes tomorrow I think I will let him work in private. Like the alleged beauty of a woman giving birth, I think there are some things that only a professional should see in order to keep any hope of future love and intimacy in a coupling.
As I am not yet in pocession of a denim dress, ha hem, I was forced to go with the next best thing. A silk zig zag patterned light blue dress and slinky blue tights with T bar blue and white rimmed courts with a modest house bound heel. The dress is extremely short and due to the placement of the panelling below the bust does not lend for much room or maneuverability, however, as I had no great plans today I thought it best to wear it. 
If one was wearing it and expecting to see people it would be wise to make sure one sat down on the very edge of a seat or if possible not at all. Bending over in any capacity is strictly prohibited in this dress. I got it from another sample sale, (keep a look out for any in your area, if I hear of any I will let you know), this time for a pound. The sale to which I went had a lot of dresses which were originally designed for Marks and Spencer, Next and other high street retailers but were turned down for whatever reason by the buyers at the viewing stage. There is something so wonderful about knowing the item of clothing you are wearing will not be seen on three other girls when you step outside, obviously I will not be seeing any other girls today but this is not the point. It has a really nice feel to it and although it is short, the underskirt does serve to give you the boost of confidence to leave the house. I usually wear it with boots as it is a bit leggy but having worn a pair every day whilst in Ireland I couldn’t resist pairing it with these blue and white beauties.
If anyone is sorting through their wardrobe and has any dresses that no longer fit or that they no longer want, I would really appreciate any donations as though I still have a few left and am speaking with various retailers about getting supplies, any help to keep this project going would be great. 
