Day 141 – A dress disaster
Let me begin by reassuring you that despite appearances to the contrary this dress is not a shirt. Though I chose it thinking it would work quite well for a night on the town as well as a day dozing in the garden it turned out to be rather unsuitable for both.
I decided to take today off so I could squeeze in some extra time in Manchester and finally get the chance to catch up with my friend who has been on a show stopping musical theatre tour all over the UK. After having a lovely lie in I sat outside in the garden to have my coffee and it was so nice that I didn’t really move much during the rest of the day. My friend came to join me outside and I got so lost in catching up that I foolishly forgot about the wonder that is sun cream. By the time the boy had returned I was a ridiculous shade of pink which did not at all suit today’s dress and is extremely painful.
As we are going out to a gig tonight I tried to calm it down and undo the damage by applying layers of after-sun. After the tenth layer I started to wonder why it was having no cooling affect in spite of the cucumber coloured bottle. At this point I had a look at the label and realised that what I had in-fact been applying was body glitter which had no healing affects but did make me look like an orange disco ball.
There was no time to take it off so I slipped on some other sparkly stuff in the hope of creating an overall impression of a woman hell bent on matching every accessory, arm make up included. The gig was set to take place at a mansion in South Manchester so I treated my feet to fancy shoes and wincing from the pain of my arms clambered in the taxi with the rest of the band.
I must admit that when I hear the word mansion my first thought is Mr Darcy’s estate at Pemberley. For this reason when we arrived at a rather beautiful but derelict mansion which had soil where I was hoping for grounds I was a little disappointed. It was still however a location for a gig and once I got over the soil which was staining the bottoms of my feet it actually turned out to be okay. There were bands playing sets in their pyjamas, toddlers singing magic penny to a hundred people and if one dared to explore the mansion there was an artists rabbit run inside. There were books on every subject you would ever want to study from the 60s and beyond, a grand piano, an artists easel and rooms where musicians could record, for free.
It was quirky but it was my day off and with my limbs burning, my shoes ruined and my tummy rumbling we went in search of a more structurally sound place to hang out.
- The dress is originally from H&M, the belt from Topshop, the shoes from Kurt Geiger and the jewellery from Pilgrim. This was one of those dresses donated by the lovely Lara. Though it made for difficult descents from the taxi it is a cute little number and on someone shorter may be rather less revealing.
Day 140 – Holey hoisery
- Today’s dress is from George at Asda. My friend, Monica Kenny bought it for me along with the red dress last week. It is a little on the short side so I try to tame it with black tights. Unfortunately I end up looking like more of a hussy than ever. The tights or so I am told have two massive holes in them. I briefly consider filling them in with a black marker pen but it seems a little extreme and I can only find a purple marker. In the end I go for bare legs and trainers as I am travelling up to Manchester to see the boy. When he sees me he tells me I look cute but I fear I resemble an N Dubz fan, which I am not.
Day 139 – My first front page
So far I have had two front pages. One with a shared by-line whilst working for the Manchester Evening News and one whilst working at the Mail. My first front page at the Mail was a bit of a dud as I didn’t feel as though I deserved the by-line. Though I had done the research, got the quotes and done the running around, when it came to writing the story I stalled. I had no confidence and felt as though I had forgotten every lesson my tutor ever taught us, all in all I bottled it.
For this reason, when the bosses decided the splash for the week was going to be the piece I was working on I wondered immediately whether I would be able to hide under the desk without either of them noticing me. 
Unfortunately today’s dress has minimal scope for manoeuvrability so instead I had to settle for going to get a glass of water.
I am trying to adjust my behaviour to stop myself from self destructing every time I am presented with a challenge so I took the sensible option and discussed the best way to write the story with my seasoned colleague. What was really amazing was that in the end, other than the original urge to hide I did not freak out any further. I wrote the story, submitted it and actually felt fairly pleased with what I had written.
Tomorrow morning when I walk into work there will be shops selling our paper which will have my name and my story on the front. I remember watching an episode of The Wire when a reporter got up before sunrise and drove down to the printing press to see her first ever front page. Whatever hours you have to do, or how tense things get on deadline day it all becomes worth it when you pick up the paper on Thursday morning and see your work published for all to see; so long as they live within the Harborough district. Doing what you love is an absolute privilege and even if it does make me want to hide under a desk from time to time i wouldn’t do anything else.
- Today’s dress is on loan from my Fairy God Mother. Along with my mystery donor she is perhaps the woman who has contributed the most to the continuation of the blog. As well as loaning me some incredible dresses from when she was a girl she has bought me dresses from charity shops and even lent me jackets to make my racier outfits better suited for work. As well as this she has encouraged friends and family to read the blog and whenever possible comment and rate each post. This dress was one she wore to a wedding. It is from Minuet which is stocked by Debenhams and House of Fraser.
Day 138 – A walk in the park
I went for a walk this evening. After filling in the survey at the stretching class last week I am a little worried that my contact with daylight is on a par with the dark lord Dracula. As I understand it the outdoors and exercise is meant to be a great mood booster and so I join my mother and the dog at the town’s park. Though I do feel good to have taken a positive step towards my mental health other than swallowing down another dose of pills or watching reruns of Glee walking round the park I feel just a little jealous.
There are people playing tennis, lying down in the shadows drinking cider, couples holding hands and a massive man taking a tiny dog for a walk. 
Some of them seem a little strange but from what I can see they are happy and content and this of course is what I long to be. Once when I was 17 my parents phoned up the on call doctor. I remember him telling me that the sun was shining and that I was a pretty girl so what on earth was I doing crying in my room. As far as he could see it I had no right to be depressed because outside the day was beautiful and I should be frolicking in a meadow somewhere along with Judy Bloom and the cast from the Famous Five. Had I not been so shocked by his attitude I would like to think I would have found a more articulate way of telling him where he should go.
I wish my moods could be improved by the size of the sun or the length of the day but in truth it makes me feel like more of a freak for not being able to revel in it like everyone else. I want to be a part of this world, truly I do but I feel like I am looking in on a private party which I am not yet permitted to join. I am low and I know I am but I am not an idiot and am aware that at the moment I am crap company regardless of the weather.
- Today’s dress is from H & M; it was sent to me in the latest package from the dress donor. It is just a tiny bit too low cut for work which would usually be fine with a cardigan to cover but I have a meeting today and want nothing to detract from what I have to say. I use a tiny little brooch pin to increase the coverage but it keeps coming undone and in the end I just have to let my hair down. The practical perks of having long hair are often underestimated. It can keep one warm, covered and during inappropriate fits of giggles or unexpected tears covers up ones face quite nicely.
Day 137 – All the small things
Getting behind with blogs always bums me out. I do like to make sure I am up to date but there are times like today when I have so many to catch up on that the task just seems too much. After many attempts to bash out a birthday blog, a tribute to the red dress and even a recollection of the night of my birthday celebrations I had to give up because I just couldn’t get them right and because in the case of the celebration blog my memory has been compromised by too many cocktails. Who knew something so delicious could be so lethal, darn you Oat Hill and your sorcerer ways.
There are times the blogs just fire from my fingers and in a matter of minutes a medley of words will shoot up on the screen. Today though no matter how hard I try I can’t finish even one, or even start it for that matter. My mind is all over the place and I’ve been on a downward slide ever since I woke up on Sunday morning. They say that alcohol is a depressant and the state I was in at the end of the day would seem to support that fact.
I do try to cheer myself up, I really do. I abandon Yoga for a three episode Glee marathon in the hope that the cheesy tunes would prove to be more spiritually cleansing than another session of singing oms. Unfortunately I fear I may have made the wrong choice and find myself wishing I had given the hippy healing another go. Glee is great but if I am honest its a little like Harry Potter, you always find yourself wishing it was real and knowing that there isn’t really a magical world or a place where spontaneous song is totally acceptable makes me a little sad.
In the end I decide to abandon my attempts to become a professional singer and opt for an early night. When I enter my room I am instantly cheered. 
The boy stayed over last night and I confessed to him that I was fed up of getting behind with blogs and having a room that was constantly in a state due to having a hundred dresses with no real place to put them. He has tidied up the room, put up my birthday cards, hoovered the floor and I even detect a hint of polish in the air. As well as this he has found the picture of liownn and I and mounted it on the wall opposite my bed so that the first thing I see when I wake up is the colourful drawing. Admittedly the dresses are still in a pile at the end of the bed but they are in a neat pile. This makes all the difference. Though things are tough with us living apart he still seems able to find ways to make my week easier even when he isn’t here. Now if only I could remember how to write.
- Today’s dress is from Florence and Fred sent from my mystery dress donor. Unfortunately I still know no more about the identity of this person and feel as though I am getting nowhere after ruling out my only suspect. Though I had thought the Polish Princess was the sender, the boy’s mother was away in Spain when this package arrived and unless she has gained an accomplice I think I must look elsewhere to find the culprit.
Day 136 – Very vintage
Everyone has to go back to their respective homes today and as we gather round for a fry it feels like the last day of a holiday which has ended far too soon.
When I wake up this morning there are several mysteries which need to be solved. First and foremost:
Why is it that I still have my dress and shoes on?
What happened to the dancing?
Why does the boy have a fairy cake beside his pillow?
The only one question I do have the answer for is why on earth my head feels like it is going to explode; cocktails. 
The boy and I spend a little time trying to figure out answers for the other three which is when I discover my sofa sleeper antics and the fact that I refused to take off my dress because I insisted I would very soon be able to go to the club and therefore getting undressed was a silly option. The reason the boy has a fairy cake beside his pillow may be because he was afraid of someone stealing it. In his defence they are quite yummy.
We are all extremely lazy this morning and as we piece together last nights events over breakfast I am reminded of why I hate Facebook. Tagging. Unfortunately the gang have managed to get some pretty horrific photos of me fast asleep and I look more like Dracula than Sleeping Beauty. Perhaps because my lips are stained red from all the strawberry based cocktails. 
The boy at least finds me cute when I am asleep but he is blinded by love and an unreliable source.
We end up eating out for dinner as well as lunch and I start to worry that my vintage frock will fold under the weight of a fry and a Sunday roast. Luckily though the tailors of yesteryear were rather more skilled in their crafts and the dress withstands the extra weight with no noticeable strain.
We eat out at Enigma (place of the monster munch massacre) and also at a pub called The Stags Head. My mother treats us to the roast as she has been thwarted in her plans to plane it out to her hideaway in Ireland by the ash cloud. Luckily it has not upset the nice weather and once our hangovers subside it is a lovely lazy Sunday which ends all too soon.
For the first time in months the boy is able to stay the evening and not having to say goodbye to him makes for a much nicer end to my birthday celebrations.
- Today’s dress is from Best Vintage in Manchester. The manager there is an absolute sweetheart and gave us the dress along with three others for a reduced rate. I know I am pale but it does seem to suit something this delicate so I do not feel as self conscious about my milk bottle legs as usual. Saying that one of my bestest friends has spray tanned her legs last night and they looked gorgeous. I am seriously considering getting myself some which might make images a little more glamorous in time for the summer months. The label on the dress said it is from the 1950s and the shoes are again from Dune via ebay. The car is my mothers which sadly I am uninsured top drive though it doesn’t stop me wishing.
Day 135 – A birthday diva and a northern surprise
As I have been a little low of late I decided to place my birthday in the capable hands of my loved ones. Usually I like to plan everything to a tee and surprises are usually greeted with a grimace and an all too sincere sounding, “You really shouldn’t have.” This year though I have been such a miserable lady of late that I just couldn’t be bothered to plan out the way to celebrate. It sounds severe but if I had my way, at the beginning of this week at least I would have spent the day hiding under the covers. Luckily though my friends had other plans and for weeks there has been talk of a big surprise. Naturally I assumed it was a stripper and have been harassing them for weeks about when my man whore would arrive.
I had intended to cook some kind of BBQ but a bubble bath and the opportunity to use heated rollers was too hard to resist and rather than marinading meats I scrubbed my legs, played with my new epilating toy and turned my head into a plastic paradise. The boy agreed to get some nibbles but I still didn’t manage to get ready in time for the first guest. Feeling a little flushed I had my first glass of the night in rather a rush and I am afraid to say the spiral of sozzledness began at exactly this point.
I had just about finished painting my face when I heard the girls at the door accompanied by a male voice. Aha I thought the stripper is here. The girls came crowding in pink fairy cakes and prettily packaged presents in hand but before I had a chance to say hello in walked my long lost friend Geordie. Geordie, or Jon Young as he has been known ever since his return to the North is an absolute star, he was part of our crew at college and is just the greatest guy friend you will ever have. He can dance, wears wicked trainers and is a wonderful listener and is now officially the best birthday present ever.
We haven’t had a chance to hang out since I met him at Glastonbury a few years ago when we just chilled out lying in the grass sipping through cider. He told me at the time that he had landed himself a lovely lady and he brought her along tonight and she truly is a sweetheart. Geordie once came away with myself and six other girls to the island of Faliraki and it speaks volumes for the man that he never complained about our bad behaviour and insistence on dancing on tables, bars and wherever else we could shake it.
The girls have surpassed themselves this time and I spend at least the next half hour after he arrives shrieking in surprise. I can not believe that they have managed to keep this from me and the whole weekend is just amazing being back together. We all hang out in my kitchen, the place of many a past party for hours, partly because my rollers have become stuck in my hair and I refuse to leave with them still buried in my barnett. Because they are my friends they tolerate my hair disaster and help me to break free with most of my hair remaining. We put on Glee and have a bit of a sing song and work our way through way too much wine,
At one stage I think I should slow down, I know that technically I shouldn’t really be drinking but it is too much like the old days and I don’t want to have to be different. We all pile in taxis to go along to the pub and my three best girls and I get in one cab together. I am chattering about Glee and wondering whether the Oat Hill will play some songs when the taxi driver tells us he has Don’t stop Believing. This journey is surely fate. We wind down the windows and all crow along refusing to get out of the car until the song has ended.
The night is epic. We try out nearly every cocktail on the list and even the prospective parliamentary candidate for Harborough bought me a Mohito, without insulting me once! Sadly I end up having too much to drink and when I lie my head down on the boys shoulder and tell him I need a disco nap it is decided by all that I may well have to miss out on making moves at the club. I was hoping that now I am a year older I would be blessed with greater stamina but it appears this is not the case and I am as much of a lightweight as ever. At least the part where I was conscious was fun.
- Sadly I was a little too tipsy to remember to get any official blog photos done but there are plenty of photos of me sleeping, dancing and singing. In the photo are the three girls responsible for all of my birthday surprises including flowers, cakes, balloons and man from the North. The dress I am wearing is one of those gathered up by Hannah Cantrell and sent to me a couple of months ago. I have been saving it for a special night and this was it. All of the girls who came out don dresses which was really sweet as I get so jealous when I see people wearing skirts and jeans. I am so lucky to have such lovely friends and feel quite overwhelmed by all my nice cards, presents, messages and other lovely tokens.
Day 134 – The girl in the red dress
Wearing a red dress, perhaps because of all of the popular culture references which stand alongside it can be a bit like playing a part in your own private theatre. There are few things in this world which lend femininity more readily than a red dress. The little black dress the six inch high stiletto and the black pencil lined silk stockings are a short cut to traditional sex appeal but the red dress is more about the way it makes the wearer feel.
Wearing it today I feel stronger than I have been in some time and throughout the day I can not help but be pleased as punch with my reflection which betrays someone who is smiling, actually smiling! 
The colour is so bright and vivid that whenever I walk the light catches the red in the windows and just for a moment I get a glimpse of the person I become when I wear red. Though I have been at war with my body for months I finally feel happy with what the dress is draping.
At one stage a pigeon swoops over my head whilst I’m passing by Sainsburys and though the wretched things usually scare me stiff my body just folds forward away from the tips of its wings and standing as it soars up and on above me I smile at the strangeness of it all. I do not respond so well to compliments these days but in this dress I accept them with grace. A man in the market tells me I am a sight for his sore eyes and rather than frown, looking away and having a sulk I turn and thank him.
When I woke up this morning I did not feel confident. I fell flat when I caught sight of my now 26-year-old reflection. My footballers wife blow-dry had fallen flat and one too many glasses of wine saw circles round my eyes more fitting for a panda. Yet once I put on this dress I felt strong, feminine and elated. This will be one of the dresses that I wish I could keep if only for the way it made me feel.
- My good friend Monica Kenny picked me this particular red dress up from one of the charity shops in Kettering. It is originally from Next and the material is wonderfully heavy so it clings kindly. I don’t usually push this as I do not know when the dresses will go up for sale but whoever gets this one will be a lucky lady.
Day 133 – The birthday blow dry
Considering that up until yesterday I was still behaving like a slightly deranged toddler by insisting to anyone that might listen that I did not want to have a bloody birthday this year, today actually went rather well. Though I have been a little low of late I have always been happiest in the spotlight and having a day which is all about me is actually quite fun.
When we were kids birthday cards and presents were presented once one was settled in pride of place in the middle of my parents king size bed. All of the siblings would squeeze together under the covers whilst the giant went downstairs to make our mother a cup of tea and collect the cards from the door and the presents from the only drawer we were yet to search. 
There is one photo of the six of us crammed together whilst Catherine my sister opened up her toy truck. It is my parents favourite photo as it shows that once upon a time there was harmony in our home.
These days birthdays are rather different. Though this is the first one I have spent at home in a while rather than bouncing out of bed I tell my brother who comes in at seven to deliver my present to be quiet for the love of God. In my sleepy state I have forgotten what day it is and it is not until he hands me two Glee CDs before he heads out the door that I am visited by my inner birthday diva.
Some time ago a friend of mine dedicated his entire birthday to listening to every Queen album. I decided that to make my birthday perfect I would ensure I listened to as many Glee songs as I could, singing along wherever possible. The giant enquired what the awful noise was coming from the kitchen, but I decided that he was just jealous of my ability to hit the high notes without wavering. Either that or my damaged ear drums are causing delusion. Either way its my birthday so I continue to crow as I open my cards at the breakfast table much to the delight of the dog whose hearing is equally impaired.
My wonderful God mother has given me enough money for my birthday to get my hair chopped so I leave work at 11 to return my prodigal mane to the best hairdresser in Harborough. She gives me a footballers wife blow-dry which makes me giggle as though I am now 26 my humour is just as childish as ever. The last time I got my hair blow dried I rang up browns in Harborough and requested an appointment at their blow-job bar. It was a Freudian slip why mother to call and book it on my behalf.
I spend the rest of the day swooshing my hair back and forth and pretending I am in my own private L’oreal commercial. Though I have already taken one lunch break my boss surprises me when he suggests we all go for a birthday beer. I have a small glass of wine as I have become a terrible light weight of late but even still I leave the bar and head for the public meeting feeling ever so slightly squiggly.
Up for discussion by the board is a hospital for the town which is long overdue. When I was a child I joined my mother on a march to protest against the closure of the maternity ward and with this in mind I consider taking to the stand to share this story when I remember that though I am a little bit pissed I am a professional and professionals do not make public outbursts even on their birthday.
My friend decided yesterday that as I was incapable of making a decision about what I wanted to do she would take the reigns. She books us a table for dinner and sorts out cakes, balloons and flowers. My sister and God mother make it to the meal and the whole day just turns out to be quite lovely. I get a bit tearful whilst looking through my messages because I miss everyone so much and wish they were here in Harborough. It seems a cruel trick of the world that everyone has to keep moving on and if I could have just one wish I would ask that they all had to stay put in one place for one day. I miss my friends.
- Today’s dress is from Florence and Fred. I did think it would look rather rubbish on as the material is quite thin but it fits better than I’d hoped. Admittedly I look a little dressy for the office but I needed something which would carry through to the evening and even a birthday diva like me didn’t dare to wear a plunge neck. This is one of the dresses that came in the first box from my secret donor. The shoes are from Dune but I bought them about a year ago from ebay for £5. My hair is by Lotty of Moko in Market Harborough.
Day 132 – Upsy daisy
After yesterday’s mini breakdown I went to bed wondering whether I’d ever be able to get up again. When I woke up this morning therefore with no need for an alarm and feeling fairly fine I was a little surprised but pleasantly so. Today you see is my Grandmother’s birthday and though crying on one’s own birthday is fairly acceptable I would be a bit of a spoilsport if I was to cry on hers.
Had I been in more of a rush, her and I would have been born on the same day, I was delivered at 1am on May 13. There are rumours my father passed my mother a message from my grandma, at home looking after my two sisters, to try to hurry up but they are unconfirmed as yet.
One of my earliest memories of my grandma is baking cakes with her in the kitchen. She won prizes for her baking when she was a member of the Women’s Institute and still today she makes wonderful cakes and puddings much to the sweet toothed giants delight. I had always been allowed to lick the spoon but on this particular day there had been a health warning issued about the dangers of salmonella and my grandma was not taking any risks. She put the spoon on the side ready to be washed but as she turned around to put the cakes in the oven I reached up and snatching the spoon from the side ran upstairs to hide behind the wardrobe where I triumphantly licked off the remains of the mixture.
During the war my grandma lived in Coventry where she worked in a factory. She had three children, Margaret, Gilbert and Ian. When my father met my mother he told her his name was Paul. He was rumbled however when my mother rang his house to speak with him and was told by my grandma that there was a Gil but no Paul living there.
Until a few years ago she was still driving and did not only cut her own lawn but her neighbours lawn too. Though she struggles with arthritis she continues to knit blankets for anyone we know who is expecting a baby and crochets the sweetest little mats and crosses which are perfect for bookmarks even though she tells my mum they are to be distributed at her funeral.
We have taken her away to ski in the past and though she was not on the slopes she feels the cold as badly as me and bought herself an all in one red ski suit which clashed brilliantly with her white hair and meant we could always see her from the top of the lift. She is as big a cheat when it comes to board games as I am and while playing Scrabble on the skiing holiday she attempted to cheat a number of times including one occasion when she insisted gitesex was a word. She had put down git herself which had left us all in hysterics.
On her 80 birthday we brought her to The Grand in Brighton and though my parents had been planning to take her away for her 90 in the end she preferred to go out for lunch with us all. We took her out to The Three Swans in Harborough today and she wore a beautiful blue pussy bow blouse. As well as following the football I can still speak politics with her and she is great company. The other day I had to turn down a 90-year-old man who wanted me to do a write up about his wife’s birthday. I felt dreadful because we do not cover 90 birthdays any more. I think my grandma would enjoy seeing her name in print so the next time I see her I am going to give her a mini interview so I can tell her story through her own eyes rather than mine.
I know her as my grandma. As the woman who rocked me back and forth in a washing basket, who made us all jumpers with our initials on and who would bake us jam tarts and a chocolate coated cake with buttons. I know her as the woman who once chased off some bullies on bikes who were being mean to me and the one who basted butter on my forehead when I bumped it whilst running around with my sisters. She would give us toffees and cakes while my parents were looking the other way and still repairs cardigans and sows on buttons for all of us. I do not want her story to be of only these things, I also want to know her and write her as a worker, a mother and a woman.
- Today’s dress is from the mysterious dress donor, they arrived last week with a new cryptic message included addressed to an even stranger name. The donor asked whether I would mind putting on a bit more weight as it is difficult to find dresses in my size. This one is originally from Next and feels lovely. I felt it was dressy enough for The Three Swans but was annoyed because my epilator is yet to arrive still and so I had to wear horrid tights.
