(First of all, apologies to those of you who are subscribed to email updates on my blog: for spamming you with 5 empty emails this week. I was practising writing a pooter program to upload poem scans and automatically post them, and I did it wrong. Sorry!)
Take a look at this.
This is my bookcase homage to the beautiful Audrey H that I made. I love Audrey because she seemed like someone who retained their kindness and care of all around her even though she was mahoosively successful and famous. I also love her for yelling Come on Dover, move yer bloomin arse! so exquisitely in My Fair Lady. But less us face it. She was a style icon and I love that too. And I, Ladies and Gentlehommes, most distinctly am not.
I occasionally muster up a smidgeon of wannabe style, and buy beautiful hats with feathers that sit in the Sunny’s-Elegant-Lady fraction of my room looking wonderbar, and make it onto my head about once every two years. I made myself a lovely look-at-me-I’m-all-1950s-fun-and-cute polka dot skirt, but then I cycled to work in it and it went in my bike wheel and I haven’t got round to swarfega-ing the oil out of it yet.
I try accessorising with natty scarves, and one of the following always happens:
1) Said natty scarf decorated with birds and butterflies falls in my breakfast. Becomes natty birds, butterflies and bran-flakes combo.
2) I walk deliberately into room and swish my scarf in a decadent manner, with feminine grace. Scarf gets hooked on door handle. Feminine grace ruined.
3) Bleary morning eyes suffer to undetect clash of hue of bright, natty scarf with t-shirt, one of two odd socks, shoes and coat. Which are also bright and pretending that Sunny is awake in the morningy, resulting in plethora of colour-wheel nightmares and general sunglasses wearing requirement of people that meet me.
4) On rare occasion, decide to wear dangly earrings. These always get stuck in scarf, resulting in forced quizzical tilty head look for some time until either hurt ear or holey natty scarf or freed by kind someone in shining armour.
Oh Audrey. Diddest thou ever get into such pickles?
And then there is the question of sportswear. Now come on people, it isn’t fair. How do you lot of lycra and girly top clad, finished off with spiffing trainer ladies do it? Now, it seems to me that you nearly all do, so clearly it IS availably achievable, but somehow the art has eluded me. I tried, and wobbly bits of me kept sticking out. What I manage nearly every time, is to look like I’ve been on an adventure through the Bermuda Triangle, picking up every piece of lost-by-disappeared-travellers Bermuda-ish item of clothing on the way, and wearing it all together. I played uber serious national league hockey for ages and managed somehow to never own all the bits of a team tracksuit, so the team would be trotting round on the uber serious warmup in their matching We Are Professional Kit, and I’d be lolloping alongside in my home made Spider-Man top and some too long trousers. Sigh. Of course it makes me winningly individual. Sigh..
I do lots of cool sports that girlies always look super excellent doing in magazines. Kite surfing? In a bikini!?? Are you kidding? Presumably those bronzed goddesses don’t have the same experience of being dragged face down through the ocean at high speed with every orifice being hooshed with baltic cold seawater that is my general experience. Not to mention the after-snot. That photoshoot wouldn’t sell a lot of kite gear.
Now I don’t think it’s my fault. I think I am genetically predisposed to be an Anti-Audrey. Even when I try it mostly goes wrong. My whole family are a bit like this, although my brother seems to have escaped by dressing his entire family in stripes all the time so that they all match.
Oh, spirit of Audrey, help me!
This is why I am a dedicated unfollower of fashion. Many of you may think it’s because I am boldly forging my own path, away from the confines of conformism. But actually, it’s because I don’t understand how you do it and still have time for fun in the day. And even when I try, disaster normally ensues.
How do you all manage to not look peculiar all the time? Honestly, I try. It just doesn’t happen.
This has been a blog from the not-depths side of life on a pedalo. I thought You might appreciate a little break from me bleating on…