Blighty and Lovely B - Living the Dream

Lovely B and I continued to live it up, big-time, during her stay.

Below, we were invited by friends to an impromptu lunch and to watch the England v Germany World Cup match. The husband is an amazing cook and whipped up this paella and made this designer salad. Yum! Meanwhile SuperK, wife to SuperHub and mother of three, had just done a run for charity in the blistering heat. She took it all in her stride that her house had been invaded by the Blighty brigade, went and showered and reappeared in 5 minutes looking fab with impeccable blow dried hair. I was impressed. In her place I would have hidden in the garden until everyone had gone home, and then booked into a rest home for 3 months. Sadly I had to leave early with Boy 2 - as many of you know, he was distraught and inconsolable when Germany scored their first goal, and had to go home for emergency application of ice cream and quality computer time. Thank goodness he missed the England disallowed goal, he would have been apoplectic!

Behold the gloriousness of the paella!


And the beautiful salad arrangement

A few days later Lovely B and I sallied forth to London on the train. Last year I made B get some culcha at the National Portrait Gallery. This year we headed straight to the big Marks & Spencer flagship store at Marble Arch. We stormed through that place! I was brought up on M&S, in fact I suspect my mother got me from M&S, it is definitely in my DNA.

Above and below, we noticed a worrying trend: tops sold with a necklace included. Very worrying, very Stepford Wives, I thought. M&S want us all to go round properly and identically accessorised. You have been warned! Don't linger too long in the store or you will be replaced by a perfect, eager to please automaton replica of yourself. Mr B wants me to go there again. To the reprogramming department.

It was lucky that Lovely B was with me. She found me mesmerised by these, muttering to myself, "must buy, must have". These are the scary cousin of TODs: Leggings from Hell.
Lovely B proceeded with an intervention. She was tough, but it needed doing.

We had another tricky moment later. "Move away from the unsuitable skirt" said B firmly. I whimpered (a bit like Golum and his Precious) but obeyed.

What is it with me and surgical bandage pink?

Lovely B and I tried stuff on. I tried this Roman gladiator outfit. It was not a success, but would have frightened the lions away.

After waiting for hours, Lovely B had to come rescue me from Changing Room Attire Panic - I always seem to get in a muddle trying things on. The fun I had struggling into a full length wetsuit a couple of years ago! The general fraughtness was intensified by Boys 1 and 2 whipping the changing cubicle curtains open every couple of minutes. Bless. After only 4 hours of struggling, I emerged red-faced but triumphant, only to be told I had got the blasted thing on back to front. Those James Bond girls never have all this trouble!

Since our retail rampage I have returned almost all my purchases, including multiple school trousers for boys, which was the good mother bit of the day and the Mr Blighty Expenditure Committee official purpose for M&S trip.

However, I kept these, which I LOVE. But look,the sequin arrangement is not done the same on each shoe! However, since my size seems to be sold out now, I have decided to put up with their imperfections (as they will have to put up with mine!)

And don't worry that I am under-curated, clothes-wise - I have swapped for these tops instead, also returning that peasant top thingie I got from Zara, the beige one I showed you before. I am adept at retail arbitrage and creative accounting, I could teach those guys at Enron a thing or two. ....oh, now I see what Mr B is worried about!

Bit anxious someone might mistake me for a paper doily and put a cake on me, note to self: stay away from tea shops. On the other hand, shame to pass up chance of free cake.

Below, only cost £10 as from big kids H&M, sometimes it pays to have junior bosoms.

But does it look too ickle girlie?

Here we go again - many happy returns!

The Return of Tights of Death and a Surprising Discovery

Hello ladies, just when you thought it was safe to go back on-line - Tights of Death ("TODs") are lurking, waiting to get you!

These are cracking, a fine example of TODs. What was I thinking? The peachy pinky colour makes my legs look like uncooked sausages with nasty additives in them. Just because they came from TopShop is no excuse.

They are equally ugly off. Look, weird pointy shaped feet! And the stretchy lace material is harsh and itchy, with a horrid lumpy seam up the side of each leg.

I even tried to make them work by channelling Kylie in her "Can't Get You Out of My Head" video. Not a success I feel.

But at least I have outdone Kylie in the plunging neckline stakes, my plunge goes all the way down to my feet. Which makes walking difficult.

As if one pair of blancmange like tights was not enough, I bought another pair in the same colour. I thought they would look lovely with this TopShop dress. Instead on me they look vaguely surgical, as if purchased from one of those large specialist chemist shops.

The label on the tights says it all - I am a "soft touch" to take strange TODs home.

I was so unsettled by the TODS I had to play dress up, to restore my image as a style guru. Note my lions head brooch, all us fashion bloggers are majorly into animal head accessories. And see how I followed the lovely MaiTai's example by folding a silk scarf into a top. I think my colourful outfit looks very "What Katie Wore". Katie wears wonderful clothes in a very original and often quirky way, and is such a pretty girl. In fact Katie often wears vibrantly coloured tights or leggings but never TODs. She carries off her tights with great panache, due to her youth and slender limbs.
http://www.whatkatiewore.com/

The scarf is Kenzo. I like it a lot, not least as it came from the Oxfam charity shop (ever the bargainista).

Finally, look at this, found at the bottom of the bed!

I picked him up at the airport in Sweden years ago and took him home with me - what can I say, I was single at the time, with a weakness for Scandanavians. His name is Anders and he still likes to keep in touch. Mr B is very understanding. The other night Anders and I sat up late drinking Aquavit and talking about the old days; I don't remember anything after that, but it must have been a wild night for him to end up in that state, with my Pervo Glove entangled round his antlers. Life really is full of surprises.

Have a nice weekend everybody and stay away from Aquavit (and moose)!

Good Sport

Great excitement in Blightyworld today as it was Boy 1’s Sports Day and Mr B had actually taken the day off work to attend (OK, I admit it, I hid his train pass).

It did not start well. Early this morning Boy 1 burst into tears due to Performance Anxiety Issues. He came last in the 800m last year and was doing the same race again this year, and predicted he would come last again this year, the next year, the next year after that and after that. It is good to see he has developed a positive mental outlook. I got into a complicated discussion with him about winning not being everything; it was all about taking part etc. which somehow evolved into a heated debate about how much footballers earn and why we don’t have a Bentley. But the offer of a pizza after Sports Day smoothed things over.

It was pouring with rain and I kept hopefully checking for a text message calling it off. But those sports teachers are hardcore, nothing short of a blizzard puts them off, and they wear shorts all year round. I wouldn’t recognise those guys with trousers on. If you see what I mean.

Mr B and I dressed for the weather – Mr B even put on his waterproof over-trousers.

We set off for the Sports Ground. I confidently advised going through the town. Mr B favoured the motorway route. I prevailed. The town route was clogged with morning rush hour traffic. I helpfully pointed out that I had said the motorway would be better. Mr B went very quiet.

Once there it was the usual organised chaos: the boys and teachers knew exactly what they were doing, the parents did not and got in the way and failed to Do as they were Told.



The day was all based on the 4 “houses” in the school competing against each other. I am a bit hazy on the house names, they are something like Lumbago, Sciatica, Hernia and Verruca. No, that’s not it, that’s my medical history. I think it’s Leopard, Cheetah, Tiger and Tortoise.

It all turned out well: it stopped raining and Boy 1 did not come last in his race. I had a lovely time chatting to other parents and shouting “Come on darling!” and taking photos of my blonde haired athlete, till Mr B pointed out that it was not Boy 1; Boy 1 was in fact sitting on the grass happily guzzling Lucozade. Some terribly smart and organised parents had brought chairs and light refreshments in the form of designer cupcakes and Moët. I found an old boiled sweet in the bottom of my handbag.

I talked to an amazingly clever and interesting friend, who is also very funny – she explained she had just been hiding behind the Cupcakes and Champers set, hitching up her hold-ups. We had a useful discussion on hold-up malfunctions (so odd that I just mentioned this problem in Tights of Death) and she strongly advocated the use of Pritt Stick glue.

Gradually the sun broke through, it really began to warm up and I told Mr B loudly “Take your trousers off, you’re hot!” I haven't seen Mr B go so pale since our wedding night.

At the end the Headmaster gave a short speech about the building of the school’s new aromatherapy suite and helipad, and asked for contributions to the proposed indoor ski slope. Medals were presented. Boy 1 was then taken away by his proud parents for pizza lunch.




After lunch Mr B, determined to enjoy his day off to the full, went to look at TVs.

I sneaked off to inspect glamour items.

I considered the purchase of Burt Bees cuticle cream as recommended by the nail polish ladies but felt I could not rush into such an important nailcare commitment.

Nail porn - phwoar!

I really need a zippie bag with a cute doggie or puddy on it. Just can't think what I need it for.

Then home for a soothing cup of tea. I feel quite tired now after all my athletics.

Tights of Death ("TODs")

This topic is inspired by what is going on in my drawers.
Sorry, I’ll re-phrase that. Let’s try again.
As a 40++++++ woman you would have thought by now I would have learnt to stick with what suits me, sartorially. I have short legs. (I suspect I am descended from a Welsh pit pony, which raises questions about my forbears I don’t even want to begin to think about). So I know that the most flattering tights for me are plain, black, dark brown, and if I want to be adventurous, grey. Plain, plain, plain. Any sort of pattern will increase my calf diameter visually by 100% and will further emphasise the shortfall in the leg length department. Bright wacky colours will also draw attention in the wrong sort of way, risk provoking a migraine and, most seriously, cause Mr B to enquire when the pantomine season starts.

Please don't think I'm against groovy tights in principle. Gals with long lanky limbs can do fancy: the other day Sea of Shoes was sporting a very nice leopard patterned pair, but she has very long, slim legs and so can get away with it. The lovely Faux Fuchsia was totally rocking some fishnets a few months ago, but she has Killer Pins. They are just not a good idea for me.

Also, I am old enough to have already tried lively tights in the 1980s and so Should Know Better. (I still get horrific flashbacks of a royal blue pair with black polka dots, which I paired with a matching royal blue jacket, yikes).

I include in the TOD category those annoying tights which are so voluminous they pull up to under my armpits and the kind, big or small, whose crotch creeps persistently downwards leading to manoeuvres normally only seen in certain bars in Bangkok.

And don't get me started on my adventures in stocking and suspender land, and the dread holdups, which malfunctioned on one leg at the end of a meeting during my former life as a lawyer; how come normally at the end of meetings everyone scarpers leaving me alone gathering up my papers and eating the last of the biscuits, but on this occasion I appeared irresistible to one chap who lingered, thus preventing a discreet rearranging of undergarments?

Plain tights are a good and classic option

No, no, no, TOD alert!

Why then do I have a whole drawer full of TODs? And when do I buy these? I can NEVER recall doing so, but unless there is some sort of random tights fairy who breaks into the house and deposits strange tights while I am sleeping, I must have done.

The TOD drawer can really drag you down

Finally, I should explain why TODs have this rather tasteless moniker. Apart from my sad need to over-dramatise trivial everyday annoyances, the story is as follows: A few months ago, I pop on what I considered to be very jaunty black dotty tights. When I appear in the kitchen Boy 2 shouts cheerfully, “ERRRRRRRRRG, Mummy’s got spots all over her legs. That means she’s going to die!” How lovely, what a sweet, caring child. Boy 1 chips in, “No you mustn’t say that.” My heart lifts, at least one of them is developing some sensitivity and so may not grow up a psychopath after all. Boy 1 adds in a deep, lugubrious voice, “You must say “Mummmmmmmeeeeeeee is going to diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie.”

Eeeeek!

Bowled over by fashion

I can’t put it off any longer. I need to deal with one of the most Important Issues facing us today. An issue upon which Vogue, The Sartorialist and other influential fashion commentators and stylists have remained sadly unhelpful:
How to Style Bowling Shoes
No expense is spared here at Blighty Inc. I quicky pulled together a team of top models for an on-location shoot to show how to pull off Bowling Shoe Style. I seem to recall Bruno saying there should be a Nobel Prize for Fashion. Well, I’m definitely in the running now.

Boy 1 rocks the look with long shorts and ankle socks in dishwater grey which cleverly match the bowling venue floor

Boy 2 goes chavtastic in Primark white trackie bottoms with blue go faster stripes, and completes the look with grey and red stripey socks

Mrs Blighty goes for broke with synapse shocking tomato red skirt and some tights she found in the bottom of the drawer that morning

So there you have it! Effortless bowling shoe style. And did you notice the tights? More to come on these in my next post, the All NEW and EXCITING FEATURE, TIGHTS OF DEATH

Don't miss it!




Blighty Models stayed at Lane 15, AMF Bowling, bumpers were used at all times, Boy 2 won after an unfeasible number of strikes, Mrs B got her fingers stuck in the big purple ball and everyone got cross and grumpy, and had to be taken home. Mrs B would like to thank the management of AMF and hope they can reopen soon.