Dotty

I am including this as an attempt, firstly to shame myself into not being such a slut and secondly to make the rest of you who do feel sluttish to feel much better about yourselves. Those who are virtuous already know you are virtuous and I shall try to be genuinely happy for you.

Today (1st May 2009), from left to right, we have:
Telephone: I HATE having a telephone in the bedroom and have attempted to hide it behind my jewellery box: but I’m not sure that is very effective.
Jewellery box: it is an object of beauty and within lie fine gems, costume jewellery and handmade painted pasta chains from my boys: every single piece has a story, a memory and is nearly as evocative as scent.
A duster.
An empty can of furniture polish.
A necklace which should be in the jewellery box.
A rather revolting off-cream pillar candle with purple thistles painted on it. I think one of the boys chose it for my birthday – but it could have been Mr Dotty. It will have to go.
Another smaller beautiful box that currently has no real purpose – but I know it will one day. Sometimes I put my specs in it – more often I don’t.
My darling little pink notepad: I LOVE it.
A make-up mirror bought and left behind by my sister-in-law when she stayed to look after the family while I was in hospital. It gathers dust, and shouldn’t. (Ooh – could use duster!)
An essential oil vapouriser and a huge bottle of lavender oil.
Perfume – should be in a high-up basket.
No 7 Essential Moisture foundation: should be in make-up bag.
Instructions for some drug or other.
Empty blister pack of some drug or other.
Glass which needs washing.
Penknife.
Box of matches.
Specs (on top of box of matches).
I can make you sleep CD by Paul McKenna.
Ball point pen on top of CD.
Make-up bag!!
Jo Malone pillow spray (pressy from lovely s-i-l).
Another set of instructions for some drug or other.
CD Player/alarm clock.
A bear called Paddngton CD.
2 used facial wipes.
Another empty blister pack.

There – now don’t you feel better? Knew you would….
Oops! Missed an empty lightbulb packet hiding behind the pretty pink notepad…

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

This is SUCH a difficult one for me. In my old child-free corporate-salary days, life was simple. Margaret Howell suits and Russell & Bromley (or LK Bennett) shoes for work, Boden (I know, I’m sorry: I was that girl) and R&B loafers for the weekend. Shift dresses from Austin Reed or Jaegar, scarves and wraps from Accessorise and Bob was my uncle (as indeed he is).
Now, with two boys, a different figure that I still don’t quite ‘fit’, a pesky dog who insists on jumping up, a shedding cat, all my own housework to do and a minimum of 3 hours walking to do every day… I just don’t know anymore. I seem to lurch between jeans, trainers (or wellies) and any sloppy old fleece, then get depressed, so go to the other end of what I would have termed ’smart-casual’ in the old days but which here makes me look as though I’m off up to Edinburgh for a secret liaison.
Any suggestions would be very gratefully accepted. It is no good telling me to utilise the old clothes because during any manic episode the first thing to go are clothes – capsule wardrobe is an understatement. Earlier last year I found myself in the middle of February with NO knitwear: this is Scotland! I think I had reasoned that it was nearly spring, everything was frumpy anyway, and it all had to go.
Trying on clothes is a nightmare, I just don’t have the time or confidence, and to be quite honest I get pretty overwhelmed in a shop with narrow aisles and strip lighting. One of the Trinny & Susannah books recommended jeans (OK), plimsoles (OK, but not when it rains), white t-shirt (OK-ish now that the puree and projectile vomiting phase is over) and a chic jacket. Therein lies the problem: the chic jacket. I bought 2: one from a charity shop, one from eBay – both very beautiful in a modern tweedy way. I have tried to wear them for normal everyday activities, but they don’t fit under my winter coats (which get used from autumn through to spring – and beyond!), I am terrified of getting bread/pastry dough pressed into the jacket sleeves and they don’t roll up to do the washing-up. The back rides up quite uncomfortably letting the Siberian wind attack my kidneys while I attempt to hang out the washing to dry. Jackets are also just not cuddle-friendly: I wish I was more of a cuddle mummy, or maybe that the boys were more amenable to being cuddled, but on the odd occasion that they do want to snuggle in, I do not want sartorial elegance to get in the way.
So, this season (ha!!), I am going to try out the jeans and white t-shirt thing, but with soft and pretty cardigans. I might even attempt to customise and embellish the way other clever, wholesome mummies manage to while simultaneously darning a sock and preparing a gourmet meal for their adoring husbands to come home to.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites