Silent Sunday ...

The Oldest Thing In My Wardrobe....

As part of some misguided, and subsequently abandoned (much like Spring itself), spring cleaning attempt, I have been into the very depths of my wardrobe and emerged slightly dusty but nostalgic after unearthing the dress that has been with me the longest of any item of clothing, ever. Longer even than my very first wedding dress, even if I got rid of that dress's particular husband 14 years ago.

The dress, my oldest dress, is one I bought from a second-hand market in the early '80s for the then vast sum of £5. At least it was vast to me, a then-impecunious student living on a grant cheque of £200 a term. It had, according to the man who sold it, been hand-made for a ballroom dancer. The dress spoke to me of sophistication and cocktails, only one of which I was overly familiar with but I always had hopes that I would achieve sophistication. 

Which is probably why I still have the dress hanging in my wardrobe. I'm still waiting. *Sigh*

It is, though, a beautiful dress, beautifully made and once upon a time it's ruffled semi-bustle gave me a sashay that said more eloquently than a knee in the bollocks that I was more than a half-a-pint of lager girl.

Thirty years and four children later, my sashay is more of a waddle and although I can still fit into the dress, it is in a very much don't-sit-down, go-out-in-public kind of way. That zip would never get closure, that's all I'm saying.

So I made TeenTwin1 put it on....

She hated it. She thinks it should be shorter. A lot shorter. *tuts* 

So here I am in the only surviving picture of me wearing the dress, aged 23, at the infamous Motorway Service Station Ball in my final college year, 1986 to 1987. 

And yes, it was a ball in a motorway service station. We WERE students.

What's the oldest thing in your wardrobe?

Are You Feeling Brave, Disney?

Last year, on my daughter's 11th birthday, I took her and a few of her friends to see the Disney/Pixar film Brave. She'd picked it as her birthday celebration of choice. That, and a trip to the local extravagantly priced pizza emporium. Obviously.

She and her friends, as is traditional on such birthday party trips, sat as far away as possible from me in the local Sinning-World after negotiating our way through the foyer with only the one major casualty (my purse). Gorging parentally unchecked on inflatedly-priced popcorn and buckets of ice with a dribble of fizz, my chaotically haired daughter fell in love with the equally chaotically haired heroine of Brave, Merida.

Flame-haired Merida is feisty, sporty, wild and unruly. A tomboy tearaway, she argues with her mother, resents restrictions and wants the freedom to be herself. There is nothing about her, including her hair, that doesn't make my Tween-age girl see her as a kindred spirit. I'm only thankful this particular Tween doesn't know the name of a local witch.

And now Disney want to take Merida, a proper girl's girl if there ever was, and transform her into one of the same vacuous, improbably-bodied, silken-haired princesses that they normally pedal to the world? *rolls eyes*

OI, DISNEY! NO.

*Gets out drum, starts banging*

There is a petition. I've signed it, at the time of writing nearly 200,000 people have signed it, and you can sign it too. Organised by A Mighty Girl, the petition to Bob Iger, chairman and chief executive of the Walt Disney Company (and co-incidentally father of two daughters) is a plea to save Merida from a future as a pale shadow of her former self, rescuing her from a makeover that leaves her newly sexualised yet strangely sterile.

And I've got just the way of delivering that petition. You see, The Tween identified with Merida just so much that she's developed an interest in archery, her name is currently on a waiting list to join a local club. Right now her aim needs some practice and we can always apologise for any stray arrows that land in the Disney boardroom, can't we?

The Tween aims to get her point across to Disney 

Leggings: The Rules.

I'm no fashion blogger I'll admit.

I'm not, if I'm being entirely honest, very taken with the idea of fashion at all. It smacks too much of being told what to wear and when and ever the rebellious soul, I gave up the idea of dressing like the next sheep in the field when I was about 16 years old. My wardrobe consequently is an eclectic dressing up box of entirely unsuitable clothes for a woman fast approaching 50 garnered from vintage emporiums, by which I mean second hand markets and charity shops obviously. And an awful lot of jeans.

But there comes a point in even the most fashion-unconscious when enough is enough. When it's time to stand up and point out, like the small boy in the Emperor's New Clothes, that fashion is well, taking the piss.

I remember the first time (and the second time) leggings were all the rage but in those days *looks nostalgic* they were worn with what can only be described as decorum. Camel toes as anyone knows being only acceptable on an actual camel. 

But leggings are back in fashion because if you haven't noticed, fashion repeats itself more regularly than My Dad after eating onions. Clearly this time around we're having a Save The Camel Toe parade. And we're not just saving the Camel Toe, we're also quite keen on protecting the Hippopotamus bottom as well.

Apparently.

So. Hello women of England *waves* I AM terribly sorry that you didn't receive the memo that is USUALLY sent out with every pair of leggings *exasperated face* but please remember:

Leggings are not a bad thing. Leggings are comfy, They're stretchy. They are the best thing to wear when you're pregnant. They're soft. Unrestrictive. And leggings can be embraced at ANY age. I wear leggings. I've always worn leggings....but there are RULES 

THE RULES.

1: Do not wear a pair of leggings that you can see through if you hold them up. In candlelight. In a cave.

2: ESPECIALLY do not wear a pair of leggings that you can see through if you hold them up. In candlelight. In a cave. Whilst wearing a g-string.

3: Camel toes SHOULD be protected *supportive face* but that does generally mean putting something between one's particular camel toe and the general public.

4. If your arse stretches your leggings into transparency, WEAR SOMETHING ELSE...

5: You do not look like Rhianna #truefacthard

And this might not be a rule but please remember, flirty skirts, long swishy tops and jeans are freely available just about ANYWHERE *rolls eyes*

Leggings

The Right and The Wrong

Next week: Teenage boy's bottoms and why I don't want them in my face.

Silent Sunday ...

Man At Work ...

Last week The Man went to work.

This in itself is not unusual. That he was leaving at 5am to go to Central America WAS slightly out of the ordinary but in his line of work, he tends to travel to where the work is. That usually means Europe, Russia or, much more frequently, somewhere in the UK for The Man is in that most nebulous of professions: Music.

We're used to it though. Not just the lack of money *rolls eyes* but that sometimes he is here and sometimes he is not, whether it's just for the night, a few days, a week or more. Sometimes it can be inconvenient, like the time he was called on to deputise for a recently arrested drummer whilst halfway through plumbing in a new radiator. He was in Ireland by tea-time and we were left with a large hole in the floor and no heating for a week. *Sigh*

Oh yeah, and fitting in the C-section birth of The Boy around the tour schedule of New York guitar-burning rockstar* Adam Bomb.

But the children have all grown up surrounded by instruments and music, which is a good thing, and musicians, which isn't always. *Has a flashback to TeenTwin1 ripping the shirt off a former member of Black Lace when she was five years old.* *Sniggers*

And sometimes because we're all so used to it, we forget that the youngest child of the four might not be as used to it as everyone else.... as I discovered when The Man went to Central America. The Boy, aged seven, sleepless at midnight, snuggled up with me on the sofa while I showed him a map of the world, where Daddy was (no educational opportunities knowingly missed) and, finally, what Daddy was doing which was this ...

..  So alright it's a Pink Floyd tribute band. What of it? The Boy was beyond impressed. His daddy (the good-looking one on bass and vocals) on an advert. An actual advert. JUST like the ones on proper TV. On the other side of the world admittedly, but boy The Boy was proud.

So proud that the next day he insisted on taking the link to one of the band's YouTube videos to school for Show and Tell.......

And we're still waiting to see how that goes down.

The teacher SAYS she has a problem with her laptop, her whiteboard and time. I SUSPECT she doesn't want a class of seven year olds suddenly discovering "Another Brick in The Wall" and frankly, I don't blame her ...

*wanders off singing "We don't need NOOOOOO..." etc*

Meanwhile, over in El Salvador...







*not an actual rock star, but should be

Silent Sunday ..