Day 214 – You’ll never wear Dior
We were in a shop today trailing the rails for a bag for the boy who wanted to find a suitable bag. He forgot his man bag and was refusing to carry my pale and passionate pink beach bag. Usually he is okay with such things but this is Newquay and here there are stag parties which tend to point and laugh at anyone who is not revealing a pimpled pale back and with an ever so slightly hairy crack hanging out the back of their shorts.
As this was the tenth discount shop we had gone in for once my heart was not in the shopping and while the boy looked my attention drifted and I started to trail through a Cornish recipe book in search of the fish dish ordered by the boy last night.
It was a busy place yet I clocked a little girl reaching up gazing at a pretty fine bone china tea set I had eyed up myself moments before thinking it would be a nice piece for the tea time and tots dress swap. The girl was no more than 9-years-old, dressed in black and though wearing Uggs she was charming and indeed charmed by the tea set as was I.
I went back to looking at how to de-bone a fish, which by the way looks rather messy and not at all worth one’s time, when all of a sudden I noticed her mother come toward her. She held her hand and pulled her away from the set as the little girl uttered the things that little girls seem to say, “Mummy please can I…” Before the words were out of her mouth the mother replied. ”No you can’t. You’re never going to have Dior or any other fancy things like that. You’ll never wear Dior darlin’.”
Though she probably had no idea what Dior was, her little face looked crushed at being told that this, a tea set, but apparently something more was never to be hers. It broke my heart to see her little sad face and though she did not throw a tantrum or complain this somehow made the whole scenario even worse.
Was it not for the fact that I have no right to do so being as I am neither her parent, or indeed anyone’s parent, I would have stepped in before she was swept away. I would have bought the girl the silver tea set and told her that though she may not have Dior in her days to come she should not let it make her downhearted as dear, dear, dear little darling, no matter what your mother may say there is always Chanel, Chloe, Christian Lacroix and indeed darling girl, whatever you darn well dare to wish for.
Day 213 – A shimmering silver halter-neck for a night at The Headlands
After a little bit of a sad end to yesterday waking up today a little sleepy and subdued but otherwise feeling okay was a relief. I do not know what happened last night, perhaps it was the result of attempting to catch up on the blog, looking back can be dangerous , or even just the sense that though this is a holiday it is also a whole week without talking things through with the counsel.
We spent the day taking it easy, jumping waves in the sea, having long baths and generally exploring. Dishevelled from the beach and a little hungry we went to check out The Headland hotel which overlooks the coast and is really rather posh. I love our little B & B but the whole place just bowled us over. The staff, in spite of us both looking like the great unwashed, were kind, welcoming and without prejudice.
We had a little explore as we were thinking of coming back for afternoon tea another time. While the boy, who had already eaten one cream tea and whose suggested holiday activity is a cream tea crawl, drooled over the eclairs and cucumber sandwiches I browsed the evening menu. Perhaps it is the downturn or maybe they just feel like having a restaurant which welcomes more than just a select few but the charge for what was being offered was refreshingly reasonable.
He took a little persuading, but with salt water clouding his brain and the mention of pudding to pull at his heart-strings the boy agreed that we could eat here one night. We were going to call to book but before we were leaving I realised that who knew what would happen tomorrow. Was my mood going to drop again leaving me bed ridden and blue or would I make it through the week with no tears and few dramas? The problem is with this illness is that though it is surely set off by certain triggers such as stress, conflict and lack of sleep I do not know what all of them are and even if I did they are not always possible to avoid being as they are a part of life.
We decided after discussing this that while I was still well we might as well make the most of it and after checking his shirt could be ironed the boy made the booking while I bounced about in the background.
Though the lady told the boy that he could wear jeans if he liked as there was not a strict dress code I explained to her that sadly he would not be as we did not want to ruin their restaurant with an untidy silhouette. When I have stayed or eaten at such places before the dress code for a normal evening has been fairly relaxed – no jacket required – but the idea of wearing jeans to dinner seemed akin to snoozing on the altar.
I chose to wear a particularly stunning dress for the evening, with shoes to match the boy’s tie and jewellery which was simple but eye-catching. The dress was donated to me by my best friend’s mum who does not part with clothing lightly quite rightly indeed as every item is stunning and more often than not a treasure from the rails of Millen.
We turn up at the Headlands in a taxi and though most of the people there, presumably residents, are wearing jeans and even a sad little pair of beach bum shorts on a man old enough to know better, it did not matter that we were over dressed as the setting for us was special and our choice of clothing honoured this fact. We had beautiful food, service and a view overlooking the bay which allowed us to break bread as the sun set. We shared a half bottle of wine which is as cute as it sounds and the waitress even gave me the cork to keep for the memory box we are making of our holiday. Well the one that I will be making because I am a sad and sentimental fool.
The evening reminded me of a tale my mother told me of a night on their honeymoon. They dined out on their first night and though I can not recall the name of what they had my mother still can, I believe one of the dishes was a Baked Alaska. My mother still has the cork to this day of the bottle of wine that they shared. Back then to order wine as to eat out was a luxury and so the bottle they ordered was less than a half. The story of this night was saved by my mother, a wonderful memory, until the day my boyfriend (a former beau who was not the boy) and I came home one evening with a bottle of wine. It was a Rose, which as a teen I used to love, and my mother looked at the bottle smiled and shared the story of the first time she had tried Mateus Rose.
I am a sentimental fool and perhaps I should dress in a way which is more retiring but the night was wonderful. Though I will keep the name and the bin to myself and save some of the detail of our star-studded, silver spangled night from your eyes, I like the thought that one day it will be shared after a delicate but dry prompting of a bottle bought by my daughter to be.
- Today’s dress is donated by Janice Ryland. A bit of a looker and a good giggle Mrs Ryland and myself both enjoy an eye-catching outfit and when we went away together I thought her wardrobe and the way she wore it was wonderful. The dress is from Next and is more or less backless which was a new experience for me as I hate my back so was forced to straighten my hair to cover it. The shoes are Kurt Geiger and the earrings are Pilgrim, a gift from my mother.
- The boy wore TM Lewin and a jumper which was kept over his arm and draped on his chair till we stopped to gaze at stars on our way home when it was gifted to me to keep off the chill of the sea air.
Day 212 – The defiant dress, the heroic heels and the sweetest scarecrow
We got a little lost in the countryside this morning when we attempted to use my phone and the boy’s navigational skill to make our way to the gardens of Heligan. They are said to be lost and considering that it took us an extra half hour than the route planner said to find them I can well believe how this could have happened.
When we finally arrived, a little fraught and less holiday loved up than this morning due to a few frictions over which way left and right were there was a hideous sign on the gate. Apparently the Lost Gardens of Heligan do not welcome those of us who wear heels and it was stated that appropriate footwear was essential.
As I was wearing four-inch stiletto heels which matched perfectly with this vintage handmade dress I decided that my footwear was indeed an appropriate choice to enter this little Cornish Eden.
Though I accept that walkers require footwear designed to help them with hills and therefore boots and wellies are in these cases essential I am not prepared to accept that a Croc or Ugg is any more appropriate than a close toed, finely balanced beautiful shoe.
We walk through the gardens and find the perfect photo opportunity in a scarecrow standing at the corner of the productive gardens. There is every kind of fruit and vegetable here you could ever want and the gardener even explains to the boy, who is a big fan of the greenery how the seeds are sown. At this point I drift away to follow a bumble bee and butterfly which the boy captures once he drags himself away from talk of the soil.
It really is a rather lovely place and though I occasionally feel a tad tired of the looks one gets when wearing such a dress and such a shoe I try to take and indeed dish out a brighter perception of a filthy stare. I am not sure why some of the women here today took unkindly to my shoe. Perhaps it was because they too had seen the sign and are big fans of the rules, perhaps they just thought red and blue will never do. I am not sure but perhaps it was just simply that they loved the dress and maybe even loved the shoe but thought that my heel was tantamount to murder on the moss.
The boy takes issue with men whose eyes wonder in our direction but as I tell him the dress is bright and I think that rather like silver to a magpie there are some colours which scream out to be seen. Rather than getting cross when a man older than both of our fathers combined takes a fancy to what I believe to be a matronly hemlines he instead smiles at the man before turning to his wife and asking her with a glint in his eye, how did she do.
The heels stay on for as long as they were considered to be appropriate, a time which was extended significantly after a woman in Crocs told me I would need better shoes to negotiate the jungle. I resisted the urge to be churlish and instead cheerily advised her that she should not fear as I have tackled far fiercer terrain in my time. Even still I assured her that as a former Girl Guide and member of 1084 Squadron Market Harborough I had come fully prepared with some suitable shoes should the situation on the ground deteriorate.
I managed to hold out until the jungle reached a rather impossible angle after which my stubborn hooves retreated into my Scholl flip-flops of festival fame. They did not match and this made me sad but the beautiful flowers, the gentle jungle and my date with the sweet but not even slightly scary scarecrow cheered me up. I was also given hope for my seemingly ostracised shoes when the lady in the cafe who served us a wonderful salad made from what the garden had grown, told me she loved the shoes and wondered where she might get a pair. I was delighted to tell her as I am to tell you that though they look rather lovely they are in-fact a bit of a bargain but at £10 from New Look. I do recommend though that you check the price carefully as they were reduced in Manchester but not in Newquay. Different time zones perhaps? I am afraid that I do not know.
- Today’s dress is a stunner and I hope you enjoyed the pictures as much as we did taking them. The dress is vintage and may be handmade possibly from the 1960s. I am sorry to be so vague but it was a gift which I have to keep on the quiet but it came from an attic of treasures and a kind soul. It will be up for sale at the end of year and whoever will wear it next shall be a lucky girl indeed.
- The gardens were a beautiful setting and should you ever be in Cornwall I recommend a visit but for my sake do not wear sensible or appropriate shoes or if you must then do but please I beg you don’t taint this little Eden with the Ugg or Croc, it’s just too darn pretty.
Day 211 – The blog by the boy
Warned before reading
As I was completely shattered on Sunday when we arrived at our hotel I took a power nap. When I woke the boy was sat at our desk writing in a gardening notes book bought for me as a birthday present by my friend Suzanna. For seven months I have been harassing and asking people to contribute to a guest blog but seeing the boy so animated I thought I might actually stand a chance of a promise being realised. Once I came out of my slumber and had a cup of tea I asked whether he would mind me using his musings on our day as a blog as I was too tired to recall what had happened. He agreed but said he needed longer to write it as 40 minutes after he began he had only made it to our stop at the first service station. I have given him all the time he needed, six days, and here below is the blog by the boy.
Sunday Morning 6am: ’!!!Duhduladungdung-duhduhdung, duhduladungdung-duhduhdung!!!’ Urgh, the worst sound in the Universe but the only sound on the iPhone that can effectively rouse me from my slumber.
Today is the day that I, The Boy, and my Girl (left) depart Manchester for a long needed holiday to near enough the farthest southern most point in all of England.
Newquay is our destination and little did I realise that it would take us longer than I had been asleep to get there, so the early start was not properly accepted until we had arrived.
After a somewhat slow start, a few coffees (two cups shy of a litre) and a few cigarettes later, we set off for the seaside. Having set off pleased that we hadn’t left a thing behind we spent a few hours on the motorway before the early departure began to take its toll on The Girl. Upon arrival at the service station it was apparent The Girl needed a little snooze so waited in the car tucked comfortably under my jumper whilst I ventured in for supplies.
As I wandered in through the sliding doors my eyes could not resist the bright lights of the arcade machines. Most definitely the best part of undertaking a motorway journey in my mind is stopping off for a Bacon Double Cheeseburger, a coffee, and my favourite part of having a blast on the latest edition of Time Crisis or Virtua Cop with a gun that doesn’t have its imitation recoil turned off. This is almost a ritual established by my Dad and myself when he kindly drove me to and fro between home and University and vice versa. Sadly not this time. Not one gun game in sight. Not even something rubbish like a Jurassic Park shoot ‘em up. What I did find was five racing games.
Though I am currently a non driver it would seem to me that someone who had been on a journey long enough to require a service station would rather not get back into a hard plastic chair to race a computer which ultimately can never be beaten and would take a lovely pound sterling from your pocket. Surely a gun game would relieve the road rage of tense travellers as they imagined the drivers of all the cars, who up to the services had cut them up, being filled with bullets from a Desert Eagle or automatic shotgun. It would seem not.
After quickly refuelling the car and ourselves we set back on the road. Most of the route was clear and we made good time before having one last stop at a Little Chef. Having seen Heston Blummanthel’s attempts to bring the road side restaurants up to scratch it seemed like quite a nice idea. The girl, the optimist of the two of us, had visions of Michelin style chefs preparing their culinary delights for weary travellers whereas I, the pessimist (or as I like to call it the realist) came to the conclusion there was no way that a huge chain like Little Chef would ever be able to live up the their culinary mentor’s high standards.
Disappointingly for The Girl the belief of the realist reigned supreme. Having surveyed the inside and out of the cafe for all of ten seconds it was quite obvious nothing had changed. When the waiter took our order I felt it truly unwise to order anything from their menu. The Girl on the other hand, with full enthusiasm, opted for a prawn cocktail and chocolate milkshake. I held my tongue.
“This milkshake tastes worse than Nesquick!” She muttered under her breath. A hit song by the Hives came to mind but I kept quiet and sat back waiting for the prawns. Four prawns which looked sadly like the occupants of a pack of Rowntrees Randoms served on wilting leaves of round lettuce amidst a quartered tomato were placed in front of her. Fortunately a slice of lemon was provided on the side presumably to rid the palette of the after taste.
What ensued was a battle of nerves as I resisted the temptation to say anything and The Girl fought her hardest to eat at least one mouthful. I was quickly sent out of sight to ring the hotel and let them know we were soon to arrive. Having eaten our ‘lunch’ we drove quickly away.
It was only an hour or so before we had reached our destination and after several wrong turns we were relieved to see the hotel. With it being at the top of a hill overlooking Towan Beach we were anticipating picturesque views of the coast. That was not to be the case.
As The Girl was parking I entered our three star AA bed and breakfast to let them know we were here. I couldn’t help but notice the number of awards they had received for the past five years. As well as the AA three star ratings there were various others including a Cornish Tourist Board approval and a Visit England award. Consistently good was the overall impression of these prizes and awards.
I was greeted by the owners daughter, a pleasant woman who, no sooner than I had entered the foyer was quickly ushering me back outside again. ‘Right, so you’ll be staying over here.’ she remarked. This didn’t seem like it was going to go so well and noticing the expression on The Girl’s face I could tell that my return outside was not well received.
‘This is our guest house.’ announced the daughter. As I looked ahead and The Girl turned around it became apparent we were being put up in the annex across a busy road and rather far from the B & B. Presumably this was because we are a young couple. It didn’t look as appealing as the award winning place across the road however and when I turned to the girl as we were showed around I couldn’t help but notice how furious she seemed. Though the girl is quicker to anger and a little less easy going than I am the thought of crossing a busy road every morning for a cup of tea where the chance of being hit by a camper van is a real threat did not sit well with either of us.
“Did you specify you wanted to be in the B & B; did you ask to have sea views?” were questions not well received.
Did we even bloody have to!? Nothing on the website, adorned with soft focus pictures of the interior of where we thought we would rest, or in phone conversations with the owner let on to the fact that we might. Either way it was sorted in no time and with little drama, our accommodation was rearranged and the girl’s budding rage not helped by a seven hour drive was quelled in kind. We were given a view fit for a king or indeed a king and his family. Overlooking Towan Beach and Newquay town, there is a double bed, two singles in case we get bored or fall out perhaps, a kettle, a TV and an en-suite.
The Girl fell asleep leaving me to write but as it would turn out I have written a lot and so though I might now understand what the Girl means when she said she gets carried away when writing posts I have a holiday to get to and so will stop.
By the boy
- The girl is wearing a dress by Papaya. It was donated to her by my mum who it would seem has an eye for this sort of thing. the shoes are by New Look which we had to tell a girl at one of the service stations. I did not realise but apparently we also had to tell her about the New Look Sale, how much they were and how incredibly comfortable they were. The girl has been driving in the shoes she wears as slippers which are called Fit flops but have lambswool in them. I made the mistake of asking her whether they were in-fact Uggs and so she changed each time we stopped into her usual heels for fear of ruining her reputation.
Day 210 – The ones who wade rather than waves when we are drowning
I have been feeling like a lady of leisure today or as the boy’s mum calls it a lady what lunches. As well as having my nails done, sat by the side of a friend chatting and sipping on complimentary cups of tea I have also eaten a delicious dinner at Fuel and lunched with the boy, his dad and his mum in West Didsbury. My dress may at first sight be more suited for Ascot but I bought a rather ladylike looking white boxy bag from eBay the other day and felt it would be best showcased with a daring dress regardless of whether it was suited for the streets.
It turns out to be a perfect choice as in spite of its tendency to malfunction – had to turn into halterneck after noticed rogue straps left me topless in traffic – it matches perfectly with bag and new shoes. It is also a great choice for our luncheon as Alberts, a rather nice restaurant, is decorated with shiny black tiles, tables and floors polished to a sheen which make mirrors unnecessary and underwear for a lady a necessity. I realise that it already is for most but I once had a friend who confessed while wonderfully sober that she had an aversion to knickers and so chose to wear none.
Lunch was splendid in spite of some laughably small portions everything was delicious. The boy’s father is the kind of man who could tell you a story about a lost boot with such vigour that tables two away will find themselves subconsciously tuning in. Today proved to be no exception and it was with difficulty that I left the boy alone with his folks to catch up. Before leaving his mother, The Polish princess, bestowed gifts on us both. For the boy a freezer now filled with home-made meals to help him as he starts his career, for myself a weeks worth of beautiful dresses all suitable for work and each from a charity shop. Though the dresses look suspiciously similar to the style chosen by the mysterious dress donor she once more denies all knowledge but the gift is still a wonderful one as I am once again getting down to those dresses which are either too regal or too ridiculous for the work place.
I had my nails done and dinner with the musical legend that is Ms Anna Clayton. Belle of the ball and star of Laughter In The Rain, I have felt lost the last couple of months without her. She has cut her hair and is in search of her next role but for the moment she is here and we are in the same city and I could cry with joy for having her by my side again.
We do not stop chatting from the moment I pick her up till the time she falls asleep on the giant sofa in the boy’s house. She is inspiring, intelligent and a bloody good laugh to boot and by the time she slips off to sleep I feel lifted and so lucky to have been able to catch up with her. She has been on tour for months and though we used to see each other weekly for Scrabble bouts and nights at Fuel my job and her six day weeks means so much time passes since we see each other last. It is tough maintaining friendships when work takes us to where the other is not. As we all know though there are the friends who are worth making the effort for and indeed going the distance for. They are the ones who we do not see for weeks, months or years and yet when we do other than a few added lines on our skin there is nothing else to tell the time that has passed since we saw each other last. I have been lost this last month but spending time with her makes me feel sane again and even if it only lasts till tomorrow it is nice to feel found.
- Today’s dress was a donation from Danielle Star. She did warn me about its potential for malfunction but I did not listen carefully enough as I am sure anyone on the M6 at 3pm could confirm.
Day 209 – Dressing only for you
The boy has a début tonight as a drummer for a Manchester band. I am quite excited for him as he hasn’t played with another band for three years and I think he is looking forwards to the challenge and getting a little taste of the unknown. They are gigging at Sound Control Manchester, a place I have reviewed in the past which I am hoping has taken off as when I was last there it had all the right ingredients but had forgotten to heat the oven before bringing the cool kids in. As we have both had a difficult couple of weeks, both together and apart, I decide it is high time I treat us to a little fancy dress. I feel as though I have been wearing nothing but conservative dresses for weeks and I want something that stands out, sparkles and is so short I don’t dare cough for causing a stir or a sit down ride in the back of a police car.
The boy’s new house mate is a bit of a legend and though I was a little concerned about the idea of him moving in with five women if they are all like this one I am happy for him to be surrounded by long-haired ladies. I shall protect her identity and refer to her as queen of hair as she seems to master all styles, colours and cuts and as I have only ever had two styles, long and disaster and so I am in awe of this woman.
The boy had told her about the project and when I arrived over tired and ready to see the boy for a dinner on the town she was ready and willing to lend me a dress to impress. Unfortunately the boy had left for sound check which was sad but also quite cool as it has been ages since I have got to surprise him. When you have been going out for a while and spend the weekends together you sort of miss out on those wonderful date nights where it’s all about looking great and getting that “you look jaw hit the floor hot” expression on their face.
I still like to look good for the boy but these days he usually sees me getting dressed up so the opportunity to turn up and get that date night feeling once more is rare. Today though with the aid of the dress which is on loan I donned a new pair of Kurt Geiger heels bought off eBay for £40 from a model who wore them just once on the runway before smudging my eyes with more Kohl than an army cadet on his first ever night-ex. I know this because when I first went on mine I refused to wear the camouflage paint and got invisible with Rimmel jet black and khaki instead.
By the time I was spruced up, bare-legged with cheeks bronzed I was admittedly looking a little too leggy for the magic buses of Manchester so splashed out for a taxi. I do love the boy and stepping out to see him in something sparkly gives me the kind of kick that could erase even the hardest week. He played brilliantly for the three songs I saw, but a friend called and so I rocked the sequins sat against the sink of sound control’s ladies toilets. It also got a look in back stage and I had a bit of a boogie before two glasses of wine too many saw us head home on the bus magic. Though the sequins still sparkled my white handbag was now teamed with a snare drum and the dress was modestly covered with a grey hooded top which sat lower than this slinky number.
- The dress is as I say leant to me by the queen of hair. I am not sure what make it is but it is possibly my favourite party dress so far and was an absolute pleasure to wear and was definitely the boy’s favourite to date.
Day 208 – A much needed break away with the boy
The boy and I are going on our holidays! This is extremely exciting because though I got him drunk a few weeks ago and had him sign up to a week away in Cuba in the cold light of morning and day he checked his balance and confirmed it was an impossibility. The problem is that we are existing at the moment on one wage as he hasn’t been able to find work over the short summer from teaching the noise cylinders. He did sign up with a Manchester agency called Select but they are so unbelievably rubbish that in all the time he has been signed up to them, at least two years, they have never found him more than six weeks in total. To be fair to them it is a recession and I realise that employers have cut back on taking on temporary staff even during sickness or absence but he has been on their books for ages and as he is available even outside of the holidays three days a week I rather thought they could try a bit harder.
Due to this and the difficulties of doing a job that you love but which doesn’t pay an awful lot plus shoe addiction, deposit paying and therapy we are both a little broke. Imagine my surprise then when the boy came down at the weekend and said he had been looking at “affordable holidays” that we could take. Unfortunately it turned out that an all expenses trip to Cuba did not fall under the affordable category but nevertheless even looking at a holiday is rather exciting.
It sounds awful but we often have these great ideas and then realise that it is not possible so I kind of tucked it to the back of my mind and resigned myself to going on a holiday with the girls. We have all been talking about doing it for months but just need to find a date we can all take the time away from work, kids etc which is harder than one might think.
On Thursday though the boy gave me a bell at lunchtime to tell me he had found somewhere and this evening using the medium of facebook and a smart phone we booked our first ever summer holiday together! We are staying in a B and B which is all very Mr and Mrs Smith and going to Cornwall for a whole week. There will be surfing for me and maybe even if he likes it for the boy and regardless of the weather there is such a lot to do down there. I don’t even feel upset that we are not going abroad. There is the fact that going away these days either involves endless security checks, which rather remove the glamour of flying with the incessant insistence on shoe and jewellery shedding and the horrifying handbag policy which means scarves, books and even lipstick are unceremoniously stuffed into pockets and even, god forgive us a plastic sandwich bag. Add to this the tendency of airlines and holiday companies to leave people stranded and unpredictable weather and a journey on the M5 seems retro, quaint and romantic.
The other thing I am rather enjoying about the thought of our holiday is baggage. As I will be driving we can take as much luggage as we wish. I started packing tonight and so far there are two suitcases, a make up box and a book bag. I read in a book about France a couple of years ago, I believe it was Life In The Merde, that the reason the French economy is stable (a few years ago maybe) is that they tend to buy by patriotism. Rather than jumping on a foreign owned plane to a country in Spain, driving to the airport in a German car, the French will holiday in France and travel to their destination in a French car.
I loved the idea when I first read it and doing this, especially in a time of recession seems not only thrifty and romantic but also patriotic and supportive of the British tourism industry. Saying this though at the same time as booking we also agreed to start-up a saving for Cuba fund so do not think my horse will be high forever.
- Today’s dress is from Warehouse but was given to me by Ms Julia Echeverria at the swap shop. It fits like a glove and due to an open back I had to use the hair to cover a nude coloured bra but it makes me look like I have breasts again so nevertheless I am a big fan!
Day 207 – Food for thought
Though I try to keep it under wraps, scarves, hats and oversized jumpers my perception of my figure is totally warped. It is probably the same way all women look at themselves but just recently I wondered whether I need to get a grip and look at facts rather than fat. Not so long ago, perhaps six weeks I weighed a few pounds over the nine stone mark.
Though I myself was aware that I had lost a little weight I am still convinced that I look like a right fat ass. I still hate my face (cheeks too chubby) my legs (too stout) and my hips (wider than a jack-knife lorry). The worrying part is that on the scales I now come in at eight stone three, this is odd. I have not been exercising excessively – yoga and walking to walk most days and I am eating loads of cheese, chocolate and even meals.
I guess this is what should be appreciated, the joy of being able to eat what I want without consequence. It has been rather nice having eggs, green and blacks, hot chocolates, deserts and multiple mini chocolate brownies without having to worry about it. When I am depressed I forget to eat or eat too much but at the moment I just eat when I’m hungry but unfortunately, though I have smaller portions I seem to be hungry all of the time. As a surfer once said to me: “It is truly time-consuming having to eat so much.” He was very hot so I decided not to trip him for making such a silly statement to a girl who, at the time, was having to work hard to maintain a size ten to 12 figure.
In spite of this I have continued to drop figures on the scale at a rate which would alarm even Atkins himself. It is all a bit strange but in real terms what it means for the every day is that I am now a small eight so dresses are being belted or pinned or just cast aside till a curvier time.
Perhaps I should be worried about such sudden weight loss but based on previous experience I guess that it is just stress. Rather than freaking out about it I am trying to just relax, eat when and what I can and just get on with it. This is made difficult by the boy – who worries that I am not trying hard enough to eat lots while being seemingly quite keen on grabbing me at any opportunity. He claims he likes me whatever my size but I believe he is full of it and prefers me when I am petit. It would be nice to be one of those women whose size is consistent whatever it may be. It is hard to dress according to one’s figure when one’s figure keeps on changing.
Perhaps the reason I did not realise about the weight loss was because of the dresses. Being in other people’s clothes means I am not as aware of putting on or losing weight. As I am not a massive fan of going on the scales, makes me to anxious and once I start it becomes a daily necessity, the way I usually monitor my weight is whether my jeans are too tight or whether I look good in a polo neck. With no polo neck and no jeans the only way I guess is to look in the mirror and regardless of the weight loss I still hate my reflection, my legs, my hips and my chubby cheeks so I guess there is little hope for my warped weight perception.
- Today’s dress is from Dorothy Perkins. Another acquired at the Swap Shop. I really should have written down who gave it to me or what I swapped it for but the whole experience was rather stressful and I was too busy trying to figure out how exactly the process was going to work. If you were the kind individual that donated this dress do step forward, if not remain in the shadows but know that you are thanked. It is rather lovely and the comfortable material and conservative cut meant it was perfect for slumming it in the office hammering out the keyboard on deadline day.
Day 206 – Back to basics
Yesterday was one of those days where I cannot see a way out. Though I managed to make it through work the clouds started coming in around lunchtime as the boy left for home and by the time the end of the day came around I was fighting back the tears. I do not know what it was, an inevitable crash resulting from a week where I have by any standards done a lot. Had a borderline break up, made it into the headstand position in yoga, moved house, fallen out with parents, bought new phone, stepped up to twice weekly therapy sessions, had brief shoe spree and salvaged aforementioned relationship from break up. Really looking at it like this a crash was a coming and the only thing that is strange is that it did not come sooner.
By the time I saw my therapist last night, actually I think I will start referring to her as my counsel. Therapist sounds too clinical and American and she is neither and gives me the sort of balance of thought that I struggle to find from myself or from anyone else. So by the time I saw my counsel I was exhausted, had been crying for an hour solid and having finished work had practically crawled under the covers hoping to die before I wake.
Luckily I managed at the boys insistence to drag myself to the car and head off to salvation. After a brief attempt to salvage another relationship, which turned rather sour following a passing mention by another that perhaps I should be in hospital, I arrived at my counsel in rather a state. I do feel awfully sorry for her seeing me twice a week. My moaning mug must always be a chore but to see and hear it twice a week must be quite the challenge. The worse part about yesterday is that on Thursday I had been doing so well. Excited about moving into the house though damaged by the troubles with others I was optimistic and hopeful for an independent future. When I arrived yesterday I had nearly come to the conclusion that perhaps I should be in a hospital for my own sake.
Thanks to my counsel I decided that rather than try to heal or do everything at once that night that perhaps rest would be for the best. I went home, and it does feel like home, had a cup of tea and a chocolate eclair and turning my phone off for the first time in a week I snuggled under the covers and fell asleep.
When I woke up this morning I felt fine and if I am honest wondered whether I had dreamed the madness of yesterday. It would seem that all I needed yesterday was sleep. I had only slept a few hours on Sunday night, having received serious chemical burns from cilit bang’s kitchen cleaner. Though it did work I seem to now be lacking at least eight layers of my skin which I was still rather attached to. No more. It is possible that I no longer have finger prints but as I understand it this can make life a lot, more interesting.
If it was only sleep then that caused the troubles of yesterday than how scary is that. For the sake of forty winks I reached the stage where I could see no way out and no return, the s word was once again a very real option and hospitalisation was being considered by all. It is a shame they will not just give me a panic button, a red pill to be used when the only option seems to be the s word. It could just send me into a deep ten hour sleep thus avoiding all the drama, panic and angst. Do not misunderstand me I am sure there were reasons behind by mini meltdown but it seems that these can be controlled and kept under the covers so long as there is sleep which has been had and food which has been eaten.
- Today’s dress caused several wardrobe malfunction moments until I located my emergency dress project safety pin. It has been placed there since other days of peeping bra syndrome and though I am of a smaller size these days it is still not really appropriate to have too much trying to get out in a place of work. The dress is another acquired at the Swap Shop, I believe it was from Sinead Kenny who has a good eye for dresses from websites of which I have not heard. Unfortunately I am rather limited in my internet shopping abilities, mainly for the fact that I once struggled with a slight ebay addiction so tend to keep away from click and buy outlets. I heard on Saturday that though one of the dresses from the blog that was swapped was taken home and found not to be the right fit it has been born again as a headband. This made me sad but also happy that new life is being breeded into the blog. The headbands are being made by a friend of mine, Danielle Star who provided yesterday’s dress among others. She is quite the little designer and is making her own headbands. So far the ones I have seen have been lovely and I look forwards to letting you know when she has a collection available to buy. Who knows perhaps you will be able to pick up a former 365 Dresses: The Mind Project used to be a dress but now I am a headband item. Time will tell.
Day 205 – Playing house
Though the moving out process began on Thursday it was only today that I felt properly moved in. As anyone who has flown the nest will know, returning to it even for a short time can be painful and have a rather detrimental effect on parental relations. Obviously there are the benefits for those of us who have been unemployed, a bit mad, trying to pay off debts or indeed all three it is a struggle for all parties. The new house is I am please to say so far fantastic. The boy and I spent most of yesterday playing at house, and bless his heart he did his best to unblock the bathroom which was a rather unpleasant surprise from the previous resident. The nicest thing is that my room as well as the living space in the house is huge and for the first time since ever I have properly unpacked. I have all of my books from forever, my clothes, my coat and shoe collection and all of my jewellery easily accessible rather than shut away in boxes stacked on the top of the wardrobe.
After spending a silly amount on cleaning products the boy and I went food shopping where we bought only reduced food. I had rather forgotten how expensive food is and if I am to maintain my shoe allowance in the budget as well as all the head fixing therapy cut backs must be made somewhere and I’d rather eat noodles than end up back in A and E any-time soon. Which reminds me I must get round to writing that blog, but for the time being let us just say that it was not a particularly pleasant place of an evening.
What was incredibly strange was that after spending two hours cleaning, rearranging the furniture and unpacking I felt strangely at home, as though this would be the place I would live until the boy and I are able to live in the same place once more. It has a lovely garden with nice furniture, a wood burner and BBQ and plenty of room to host dinner parties, swap shops and brunch clubs. There is also the lovely idea that I can now say to friends here there and everywhere that when they visit they can come and stay at mine.
I have the en-suite which once repaired means communal living should be fairly chilled. And with all my kitchen stuff shelved and spices bought, I can cook again. I have missed it so much and got carried away yesterday making some kind of lamb and haricot bean dish last night with no recipe other than that looks yummy. which I have missed so much. I am hoping that being in control of my own food again might prove to be better. I always seem to cook more when there is no chance of it coming from elsewhere and I can buy the food that I am more likely to eat.
The difficult thing was getting to the point today when everything was moved out of my childhood home and all that remained in the room was a few bits of furniture and the things I may never need. There are people viewing the house at the moment and so it already feels more like a show home than a place to live but with my room bare it felt empty and sad. It is strange to think that soon there will be another family living here, one maybe like we were when we arrived, full of hope for the future with no clue of what lay ahead.
There was no thought of endings, of deaths, betrayals, anger or sadness. I remember my sisters and I running around the garden, picking peas, blackberries and rhubarb and asking what on earth a gooseberry bush was. My brother was still a babe in arms but the rest of us went wild in the garden ignoring for a while the climbing frame and swing while we clambered through the rockery and attempted to gain entry to the gardens next door.
While my baby brother was put in his cot in the front room my sisters and I set up in the back with one bunk bed and one single. We made dens, grew accustomed to reading without the light on and learnt to make perfume in the sink by borrowing blossom from Mr and Mrs Peak next door. My darling sister would go round there to listen to war stories her thoughtful caring face filled with awe when she returned. My grandparents built us a shed soon after the move which replaced the peas and it became the jail during cops and robbers and the club house for the WC – Wildlife club not toilet.
The house is now haunted with memories and though there are the painful ones that make my mother want to move far from here there are also the wonderful ones. It is these that left me sitting in my sisters room crying like a child when I found a letter sent to us after she died by a friend who remembered coming here for birthday parties. There was another that made me laugh which she herself had drafted to Tony Blair because she was so furious about him invading somewhere – this was even before Iraq so the man is lucky that she never had the chance to literally abuse him with her fountain pen and skilled calligraphy.
I miss my sister and leaving the house and the thought that this, the home of our childhood, will be in other hands makes me so sad but it is nice to think of it having a new beginning. It has seen enough endings to last a lifetime.
- Today’s dress is from Dorothy Perkins, one given to me at the Swap Shop by my friend Danielle Star of It’s A Gas in Harborough. It is really very pretty and though I had a bit of a blue day today it feels lovely and though very pretty feels all silky so was like wearing a nightgown to work. Though as I understand it nightwear and underwear as outerwear is currently the fashion so though it seems I have gone for comfort my choice is far more carefully thought out than that.
