Day 109 – The dog from the blog
Over the weekend the dog became ill. I received a text on Saturday morning to say she had been taken (not rushed) to dog hospital at 7am and was being kept in for tests. Apparently she has had a severe case of gastroenteritis. The whole family is currently implicated in a horrible who has done it game. I allowed her to have the rest of my butter chicken, the giant may have given her pork (he refused to comment) and my mother believes it may have been an old bone she allowed her to play with in the garden, though naturally she blames a fox for infecting it with its flees.
After being kept at the dog hospital over the weekend, or Ash Tree Veterinary Practice, the dog returned this morning with a blue bandage and an extremely pathetic demeanour. The poor little thing is quite traumatised. She has had to receive fluids and they are threatening her puppy making powers. The giant has tried taking her on her favourite walks and we have even let her sit in front of a full fire, but she refuses to cheer.
We are all rather worried, as though I like to pretend I am indifferent to the dog she is rather good fun to have about the house and her barking powers are much more effective than a door bell. The first time Bonny came into our lives, it was just a couple of weeks before Christmas and the giant had brought her home in a box as a surprise for my mother after realising a lapdog was cheaper than the laptop she had requested. My mother’s reaction was not good. The giant distinctly remembers her saying: “Good God, my life has just gone down the toilet. When I came home I was equally unimpressed by the yappity ball of fluff, flying around our furniture like a fire-ball from hell. 
She jumped at the antique Christmas decorations declaring immediate war upon our tree, chewed up my underwear and even finished off several of my favourite shoes. Our wicker conservatory furniture was destroyed within months of her arrival, chewed to nothing.
Eventually though she won our hearts and my parents have treated her like a fifth child, talking to her when they get a little tipsy. I know they drive their friends mad with insisting on bringing her everywhere but she does them both the world of good and this weekend has us all shaken up because it has made us have to face the idea of a future without us. Though I doubt asmy mother has suggested, that she can understand what we our saying, the dog does have a distinctive personality.
She is a bit of a princess who refuses to walk over manhole covers, drains or even sand. She has only ever gone to water by mistake; falling in after chasing a duck to a less than sturdy edge by the canal. She is still utterly convinced that one day she will be able to take off after pigeons and she enjoys tea and toast.
The boy says if we were ever to get a dog it would have to be a big one but I do not think he appreciates how cute Bonny O’Neill really is. Though she gets in the way and under one’s feet whilst cooking she fits snugly at the end of a bed like a small hot water bottle and if she misbehaves she can be picked up. Big dogs can not be carried and dressed in dog outfits they just look a little silly. Perhaps we will just have to compromise and get a kitten or perhaps he will tell me I must first take responsibility for my fish who has been staying with him since June.
- I am wearing a dress today sent to me by a mysterious donor. I shall publish the letter in full later this week in the hope that someone will come forward but the donation was extremely generous. Not just dresses but belts as well, I love belts! The dress is originally from Primark but I believe from a label on it that it may have been bought from a British Heart Foundation somewhere. I did not realise how short it was until I got home today and am feeling rather embarrassed that I have spent the day in the office looking like a floozy. Luckily I was wearing thick black tights so I pray the damage has not been too severe to my colleagues eyes but nevertheless I shall strive to keep such shorter dresses for the weekend.
Day 108 – Travelling away from the one I love
I do not know how the boy and I cope with all the goodbyes. Getting on a train and leaving him behind has always been the hardest part of my week and watching him go is no better. It is frustrating to find someone you love who you must always be travelling away from.
I am too sad to blog.
- Today’s dress was donated by HP. It was originally from Monsoon and though it is wasted on the train it is nice to be dressed in a frock which feels like my Sunday best.
Day 107 – Colour blind
After spending a day soaking up the sun, (yes I am aware I still look like anaemic vampire with vegan tendencies), I become convinced we are living in a Mediterranean climate. Though the boy does his best to convince me this isn’t so, I am resolute and insist on going out in the evening without a coat. Five doors down, as my teeth begin to chatter and goosebumps appear on my arm, I can feel without needing to look the expression of incredulity upon his face. He strips off his North Face waterproof jacket and attempts to cover me up with it but I shriek and slither out of his grasp to avoid this horrible fashion crime. Though I appreciate his act of chivalry he is not wise to the laws of fashion and does not understand how dreadful a thing it would be to team a real life Lipsy dress with a boy jacket. 
He mutters something under his breath about whether blue lips really are an appropriate accessory for a blue dress, but I ignore him as his ever so slightly colour blind eyes do not see that it is purple and therefore, a perfectly nice match for my tinted blue lips.
- Today’s dress is a donation from one of HP’s friends. It is from Lipsy, which I am a little excited about. Though the dress is truly beautiful its skin-tight, high-cut, low-cut shape does mean it attracts a fair amount of the wrong sort of attention. Luckily I have taken the boy’s advice in at least one fashion area tonight and am wearing a little cotton white top underneath to leave a little more to the imagination.
Day 106 – The boy and his groupie girl
It is hard when the boy has to take to the stage because my usual Onions observer and dance partner is still away touring as part of Bill Kenwright’s Laughter in the Rain. It is not as much fun watching the boys play without Ms Clayton by my side. There is nobody else here in the audience who reflects the same pride in their eyes as I know I would find in hers and it makes me feel a little lonely.
I believe their refusal to recite the usual lyrics focused upon heart break and heart break which makes listening to their lyrics such a pleasure. As well as singing about onion allergies, the difficulty of growing a beard and the closure of famous fairs of the city they have sweet little ditties about Origami Birds and town centre monuments which warm my heart with their sheer simplicity.
I came to realise that no matter how beautiful the women in the audience might be, it was always my face which he was looking to see and though it is silly in a rock and roll kind of way it always made me feel rather special. In the same way, when he finishes his set tonight to a heavy applause and comes straight off stage to where I stand I feel like the cat who got the cream. He might be a little damp from the drumming, but he is brimming with adrenalin and I love that he wants to share his moment of success with me.- Today’s dress is on loan from Sinead Kenny. She very thoughtfully loaned it me after hearing me moan about my lack of work suitable dresses. I did wear it with skin coloured tights and a black T-shirt for the office but wore it bare and plain with Kurt Geiger statement heels for the gig. At a gig largely attended by care free students and hip teen boppers its nice to wear something fashionable so I do not feel like such an aged frump.
Day 105 – Striped and self concious
I had a bit of a dress dilemma today. I woke up late and my brain felt as though it was filled with cotton wool. My dress stocks and supplies are getting low again and though a beautiful one was dropped to the door the other day it turns out it is a little shorter than even I would dare wear for work. I tried on four or five different dresses this morning but I was happy with none. I am conscious that I have put on weight partly no doubt as a result of the appetite stimulant which is another joyful affect of quetiapine and it has left me feeling very self conscious and a bit of a frump. I try on four or five dresses, casting off each one into my newly tidied floor after finding them all too be too hugging of one’s hips or revealing of my chest. 
Though I know every woman wants what she can’t get I can not help but wish at times I had been blessed with slightly smaller breasts. They always seem to be so visible and the only time I have ever considered surgery is for a reduction. They are just so there and have a habit of ruining otherwise conservative dresses or casual T-shirts. I have also had to listen to a constant advert on HFM which has been guilt tripping me into getting measured though I will not be able to go to them as for some strange reason they refer to breasts as boobs. I would be slightly concerned that any measuring done there would be supervised by a page three patron.
Anyway, as I was saying this morning thanks to breasts and hips had quickly turned into a bad body day. As I was starting to run late I grabbed at this T-shirt dress in desperation, teaming it with a grey long cashmere cardigan to tone it down a bit. It was not until I got home and started watching the debate that I realised I may well have gone into work looking like a walking Conservative party banner or worse still a Chelsea supporter.
Today I believe was the first day I tuned into TV for some time. I have been so concerned with making sure I get enough sleep to be ready for work and making sure I do not get behind with blogs that I have had no time to be idol. Though I enjoy the project there are times when the amount of work it creates seems unmanageable. At the moment I have two washing baskets full of dresses. One pile needs ironing, (iron still broken) the other need repairs doing. I was asked this morning what I was doing with all the dresses and how I was going to cope with having them all around for the year and the answer is that at the moment I honestly do not know. 
I have probably washed and ironed about fifty dresses and I have also returned most of those which have been loaned to their rightful owners, still though this leaves at least 80 dresses which will need to be rehoused.
A friend of mine believes it would be best to wait until the end of the year to sell those dresses which have been donated but this means I will probably have to find myself a two bedroom flat when I move out next month just so I can store them. I do wonder whether it might be more sensible to spread several auctions out over the year but I do not know if enough people would be able to attend. All this though is assuming there will be enough dresses to cover each of the 365 days. I only have about twelve dresses now left in total which are suitable to wear. There are some which need adjustments or to be dyed to make them wearable but with being so busy at work I just haven’t had the chance. If anyone could please approach friends or relatives to see if they have any spare dresses which they no longer want I would be very appreciative particularly if they are office suitable. I am slightly concerned that some which I have worn to work over the past few weeks have been on the wrong side of the smart casual and though my colleagues are too polite to say anything I fear I will be thrown out of court for looking too much like a hussy.
- Today’s dress was donated by my auntie Bredgeen. It is originally from atmosphere/ primark and is very comfortable though I fear the stripes leave me looking a little on the wide side. My mother took today’s photos but she I think is getting a little sick of seeing me in dresses and said this morning, “could you not just wear a nice pair of jeans? As this is the same woman who is not sure who Nick Clegg is I slightly fear she may not be getting the point of the project. She is very clever but will not waste her intelligence on politics which is one of the few things on which the giant and I are united in our frustration about. We both enjoy watching parts of the debate and are quite excited to see which way the opinion polls swing.
Day 104 – The long lock of betrayal
When it comes to my hair I am the dullest dame in town. Over the last twenty six years I have had just three different hair styles. One of these was a cruelly cut, razor edged bob given to me when I was twelve; had I not been blessed with breasts from an early age this clumsy hideous cut could have rendered me completely androgynous as I stumbled clumsily into my teenage years.
The second hair cut and indeed the worst did not occur till many years after the first disaster. After spending the next three years flinching at every snip I had finally found myself a hairdresser who I could trust completely. He was a little bit in love with my hair and I was a little bit in love with him being as he gave the best head massages I’d ever had and to top it off was a little hot. Over the years he managed to calm any whims of mine to just chop the darn thing off and even prevented me from becoming blonde on one of my more high in the sky days. We did spend a couple of years experimenting with colour but I always kept the same long layered style.
When I left for Manchester to study I stayed with him for as long as possible, coming back for regular cuts but eventually we both moved on. He went away to sell styling products leaving the business and his clients behind him. I gave a few other hairdressers a chance but none were ever as good as him and I only ever dared ask for a trim for fear of another repeat of the razor cut. I did think about getting it snipped shorter a few times but my boyfriends always liked it long so I generally let it grow.
After breaking up with the man I thought to be the love of my life however I went a little wild for a while and booked myself in with an unknown stylist in my home town. I am not entirely sure what was going through my head at the time but I remember feeling resentful of the way I looked. I thought that in spite of what my mother said had I been thinner, cooler or just prettier his affection might not have strayed so easily. My hair was the one thing I knew I could change quickly so I bought a load of magazines, leafed through and found a shorter cooler style. To me the cut was a soft bob with a feathered fringe but unfortunately in the stylists mind it was just another chance to try to perfect the mullet which nearly every girl walking out of Toni and Guy that year had opted for. I was given a glass of wine so by the time I realised what was happening it was too late. The fringe was heavy and spiked with the “soft” layers so short I looked as though I had stuck my fingers in a socket. It took me two years to grow the dreadful thing out during which time I had to spend an hour each day trying to straighten down the ridiculously unmanageable sections.
Luckily soon after the incident I met the best hairdresser in the world. She understands hair and does not apply a one size fits all logic to each woman’s locks. She takes into account the fact that generally my only nod to hair care will be a bit of a brush and a plait when its wet and somehow manages to cut it in such a way that this doesn’t matter. She is chatty, funny and never makes me feel guilty for leaving it for months in between appointments. Back in December I had been visited by a strong desire for a fringe. I had noticed you see the first sign of aging and I was determined to hide my wrinkle behind a curtain of hair. Fortunately because she understands my hair she refused to do the deed and persuaded me to just have a few more layers put in to satisfy my need for something a little different.
Unfortunately on the day I was last meant to see her, back about fifty dresses ago, I was struck down by a particularly nasty food poisoning bug which might well have been a hangover. I had intended to rebook but my sister had given me a voucher to get my mane clipped at the third of the price. In my defence Valentines day was coming up and I didn’t want to look like a scruff for the boy but I couldn’t book in for soon enough with my legendary lock trimmer. I made a mistake, a terrible mistake. I went to my sister’s girl. It wasn’t that she cut my hair wrong, or worse, it was just, well different.
The difficulty I have now though is that it needs cutting again and I want to return to my wonderful woman. It is starting to look straggly and though the lovely girl who does my sisters hair did a good job she just didn’t understand my hair and unless I have the time to style it it just looks dull. I want to go back to my wonderful woman because she will be able to fix it but I fear she will know I have cheated on her. With just one look at my locks surely she will be able to see the evidence behind my betrayal. I feel terrible about it but I do hope she understands, I was seduced my discounts and have learnt the hard way that there are some things in life worth paying more for.
- Today’s dress was donated to me by a friend of HP. I am not sure what the make is but it has a wonderful weight and shape to it. I wore it with purple sheer tights which are a little laddered but I wanted to get one more wear out of them as they are a bit cool. I can’t wait to get paid when I promise I will get new tights, re-heel my shoes and hack off my split ends. The only thing I can not buy though is dresses; I am running low again and any that anyone might be able to donate or even loan would be much appreciated otherwise I am afraid the project will come to an early end.
Day 103 – Fairies and flowers
We were up against deadline today which can be at times a little trying. I had skipped lunch but at 2pm I was beginning to fade so I popped downstairs to Emerson and Wests to grab one of their goats cheese and pesto puffs. It is not good for me to be working so close to a delicatessen , especially one which sells cream cakes, home baked biscuits and my personal favourite Longley Farm cottage cheese. I am finding it hard to resist all of their naughty treats and if I am not careful I will soon start having to wear two men tents, in the Homer Simpson style instead of dresses to cover up the confectionery based evidence which seems to be accumulating on my hips.
Anyway as I was trying to avert my eyes from the chocolate coated Gingerbread man I turned my attentions to my phone to find I had missed out on a message inviting me to lunch with my Fairy God Mother. Alas I thought, as I looked at my now sad little puff of goat and pine nut origin. I messaged her back to say would have loved to but stuck at work for foreseeable future. Luckily however we managed between us to establish the time of this future and she managed to book us in along with my mother to Ascoughs.
This restaurant is the cream of Harborough eateries. Everything they cook is delicious and the chef has a talent for combining simple ingredients to create a truly mouth watering taste. They serve the food in artistic ways but still give you a reasonable size portion so you do not feel cheated.
It is fairly good value but I did notice that they have hiked their prices up since I last went with the boy in February, but ah well, it’s still nice.
I do not know whether it was because I had something to look forwards to in the evening or whether I have just started to relax a little more into the role but I did not feel as stressed as I have been in previous weeks before going to press. I wanted to do a good job and write well but I had a little more faith in myself and it helped. I got finished minutes before the table was booked and went running up the high street in my little too big for me shoes trying to sprites myself with a pocket Paul Smith perfume (which I won this time last year for spotting the Coronation crew in Manchester) applying a lip gloss and even dabbing a bit of blush on my cheeks. Oddly enough I think the taxi men I passed may have thought I was a little mad or maybe I had put a little too much make up on in my haste to get glammed up.
We had a lovely evening and when the two most inspiring women in my own life gave a toast to recognise my recent good fortune it was a reminder to me of how lucky I am to have been given this opportunity. I love to write and to be paid for it is to be in a privileged position. I have been a bit down of late and yesterday my mother suggested I think of three things during the day that I was greatful for. I must admit that yesterday I struggled to sieve through the stresses of the day to find my happy hippy thoughts. Today however, standing next to the beautiful flowers gifted to me by my God mother and with my mummy in front of me willing to take another days worth of photos there was no need for me to search far to find my reasons for gratitude, they lay right there in front of me.
- Today’s dress is from Lara. It is vintage and feels quite sensuous as it is all silky against my skin. Unfortunately it is a bit short and a bit low so i am concerned I may have looked like the office floozy today but at least it meant I was dressed up ready for my impromptu dinner date. The shoes were brought for me by mother when I was 21. I only dare wear them when the skies are clear as they are pure velvet.
Day 102 – The shrink
I saw my psychiatrist today and my head is spinning as a result. It has been two years since I first met him and so much has happened since the last time saw him. When we first met I was a little messed up and utterly terrified of psychiatrists in general. I had come across an utter meanie in Manchester who had yelled at me and as a result I had decided to give their kind a wide berth in the future.
Unfortunately when I returned home I was still in decline and with my long suffering GP and parents at the end of their tether I agreed to give the new psychiatrist a chance. In a state of complete fear, and a little concerned the man may have alraedy made plans to lock me away I took a trip up the long, over excessively illuminated corridors of the Brandon Unit where he was based.
As it turned out he was exactly what I needed. He saw through the fear and tears to what lied beneath and did his best to listen rather than judge. Though he prescribed new medications and did his best to diagnose the best thing he did that day was put my mind at ease that I would not feel forever blue and that some day soon the darkness would lift.
Today however his job is primarily to prescribe and when I leave his office I feel a little lost. The appointment takes only a short time and is primarily a check up to see how the anti depressants are working out. 
I am still becoming tearful and admit I have been feeling a bit useless of late and so he decides to switch me on to a new tablet which apparently has no side affects and which should leave me less tired and more emotionally awake. I am a little worried about this as I do not think my emotions have been particularly subdued of late, I cried the other day over an episode of Glee for God sake. The show is called Glee, surely the aim of it is not to make slightly mentally unhinged people cry?
Nevertheless I shall try these new tablets. The idea of being less tired is tempting as I seem to be struggling to get out of bed of late. It is times like today when I wish I could perhaps be chemical free. I gave up on the pill because I found it too invasive so the idea that I must now take two different hard core tablets to keep me ticking is frustrating to say the least. The boy helped me accept the situation a little more the other day when he compared my taking tablets to keep my moods in check to a diabetic taking insulin at regular intervals. The one big difficulty on my mind at the moment is the cost of the prescriptions. As HSBC are still continuing to metaphorically violate me with monthly charges which would make Fred the Shred shudder a little my funds are fairly tight this month and having to pay out another big wedge for new medications is worrying me a lot. The government apparently announced last year that it would be waiving prescription charges for people with ongoing mental health problems who needed regular medications but I fear that with election politics now in full swing it may get forgotten. Ah well, as always I must be thankful that we have these services at all, even if some do say that the mental health services in our country our the Cinderella story of the NHS.
- Today’s dress has been donated by my auntie Bridgeen. I am not used to wearing wrap around dresses and have several wardrobe malfunctions. I still haven’t got the hang of opening the dividing belt in reception at work and as I can never remember the code I often find myself having to clamber over the belt to see people. Unfortunately whilst rushing to greet a lady who had brought in a story to the office I flashed a little too much leg to her but on the plus side it certainly broke the ice. Later on whilst having a civilised tea with my friend in The Angel the skirt split without me noticing revealing once again an awful lot of thigh to the rather well heeled crowd in the bar at the time. I think the sooner I take it off the better but I do love the pattern and the shape it gives me.
Day 101 – The dress from The Lakes
I brought this dress when I was away with my parents in Lake Garda in Italy. Even though it gives me a rather child bearing shape I love it because it reminds me of the holiday. We were staying at The Grand Hotel where Winston Churchill apparently went for a break and the whole place was rich with history.
The greatest feature of Italy is how beautifully the women dress. My mother once described a scene in Venice during the winter when the canals were full and whilst boarding a boat she saw a woman walking on to the ferry wearing smart trainers with a fur coat. I loved the idea of the contrast of luxury with practicality and whether you are an animal rights activist or not the image is striking.
Wherever we went in Garda we would see women with beautiful shoes and bags which were carefully matched to their dresses. Whether they were old or young their make up was carefully done and there was never a flip-flop in sight. I do value our national ability to embrace every casual trend but I often crave the carefully crafted beauty of Italian women.
The shop where we brought the dress was crammed full of beautiful pieces. Each one looked as though it has been woven together with golden thread. 
I had been given a 100 Euro to spend on the holiday and though it was only the second day I could not resist spending every penny of it upon this dress. I wore it one night to dinner at the hotel which consisted of an extravagant five course mouth watering menu. Afterwards we went to a hotel bar down the road where I was allowed to order a champagne strawberry Bellini, a treat from my mother which is now my favourite drink order though it will never taste as lovely as it did by the pool that night. We were sat by ourselves; just my mother, my brother and I and there was a band playing in the background and little lights which lit their way around the pool. 
I remember walking along the Lake afterwards, listening to a band play on one of the patios and it was such a beautiful star filled night that whenever I wear the dress I can feel the memory sweeping over me.
It used to be a dream of mine that one day I would return to Garda with a family of my own. It was without a doubt one of the happiest family holidays we have ever had. Perhaps I should have saved it for a more special day, but the boy is going away this evening and I wanted him to remember me looking well.
Day 100 – Back in the driving seat
Being without my car for four months has taught me a number of valuable lessons which will not soon be forgotten. Public transport is as atrocious as ever, people who listen to their personal music devices loud enough for everyone around them to hear have been sent by Satan to test my patience and walking anywhere takes an awfully long time.
After a number of sit down negotiations, five ferocious fights and countless cat calling the giant has decided to allow me back behind the wheel. There are conditions to ownership. Some of them are a little militant but to be fair to the poor man he is still little shaken by my near death experience at the back-end of last year and I am just glad he is giving me another chance.
I am so excited about having the use of the car back. There are so many things I will be able to do that I have had to put on hold since I have been without it. My Grandma lives in Brinklow, which is nearly impossible to reach and it will be brilliant to be able to visit her again. I have not been a great granddaughter of late but I am determined to do better. My Grandma is a fantastic crafts woman and has promised to teach me how to knit as it is apparently a great way to rid oneself of anxiety.
In all honesty the first day of having the car back has not gone entirely to plan. After being dropped off at the garage to collect the car my baby brother volunteered to show me the controls. There is a grass verge between the forecourt and the road so I, sensibly, or so I thought went to drive straight over the grass on to the road. My brother did not react well, he said: “What in the hell do you think you are doing, that’s illegal.” Well, well I thought, you learn something new every day. I went along to the petrol station to get my little car ready for the journey and nearly had a small heart attack when I noticed the price of petrol has gone up 13p in the three months I have been off of the road! Resigning myself to a more fuel efficient way of driving I set off to collect the boy for a trip out to Foxton Locks. It is a really beautiful canal base and one can walk along the tow path for miles or even just sit around the ponds as we did, chomping on a choc-ice and watching lazily as the boats worked their way through each of the twelve locks.
When we arrived at the car park the attendant asked me to back on to the hill. Now, though I am really quite a good driver the one thing I struggle with is reversing. I am quite short you see and even with my giant heels it is a big effort for me to see all the way around the vehicle. I am also a bit bad at clutch control and as my little purple Ka reversed, slipping and sliding through the mud it somehow managed to chew up the perfectly groomed grass; see the image above. I did feel quite guilty about ruining this particular beauty spot, but after being charged £2 to park for two hours the weight was lifted and my conscience cleared considerably. In the Markets of Harborough we view a 20p car park charge to be an utter travesty so £2 is frankly unacceptable especially as one has to pay to get into the museum.
I can not believe that we have reached day 100 of the project. Back just a few weeks ago I had feared we would not make it till the end of March and now here we are on day 100 and still I have dresses in the cupboard. I hate to say it but I am getting short again. Though many people have kindly sent me dresses through if the project is continue through the whole of 2010 I will need more.
Sometimes I wish I had more time to dedicate to the project. I wish I could spend more time on promotion, on approaching local shops for dresses or even just proofing through each of the last 100 days to make them as perfect as I possibly can. The issue at the moment is that if I am having a down day once I get home from work I struggle to summon the energy I need to be the scribe that I wish to be. I do not want to write boring blogs or fail to give everyone a daily dose of dresses but some days I feel exhausted from the effort of trying to keep the tears at bay and all I want to do is crawl under the covers and hope for a happier tomorrow.
I want to take this day to thank you all for sticking with me. For not getting cross or impatient when posts are late or when I fail to proof read and make silly mistakes. I want to thank everyone for the dresses, for reading and for recommending. I know I can drone on and sometimes make the posts too long but I have loved writing every single one. If anyone has any dresses going spare, to loan or to donate please do get in touch, to carry on the project till the end of the year or even the end of the month would mean so very much.
- Today’s dress is another one from Lara. It will be available at the auction but I will be sowing up the hem. I wore it in the evening to the Oat Hill with bare tights which felt liberating. It is rather short at the back but because it buttons up high I think it is just about acceptable. I love the colour and contrast it with a pink leather jacket and a thin yellow leather belt for the evening. I receive a compliment on it from one woman who tells me it is a nice dress but would look better on her. I did consider giving her a business card and advising her to bid for it in the auction but decided I didn’t want my dress to be worn by such a woman.
