The Betty Rubble Blue Blouse

I have found myself doing two very uncharacteristic, dare I say it, odd things in the last week. Number one – craving summer in a fairly major way. Any long time readers of this here blog will appreciate how utterly unlike me this is. I enjoy all things involving woolly socks, dark evenings and stew. I definitely do not enjoy my mascara dripping from my face by midday or the potential horror of having to lob an errant Frisbee back to a group of park dwellers as I scuttle between Starbucks and a nice cool museum. But! For some reason, perhaps because I had such a cracking summer last year and thoroughly intend to again, I am mega in the mood for afterhours drinks in beer gardens and long lazy weekends in the city.

The second weird thing I have found myself doing this week is lusting after and then actually purchasing an item of clothing I saw someone wearing on Instagram. The person in question was the very talented and always chic Sam Chapman of Pixiwoo fame, so I guess it’s not that surprising. Sam always looks like she is decked out head to toe in YSL so when I discovered that this blouse was Topshop I was all over it like a stylish if slightly creepy rash.

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I love this shade of blue. I suppose it is cornflower technically but I always refer to it as Betty Rubble blue, and as demonstrated by the diminutive Stone Age sass pot, it’s a colour that looks great with dark brunette or black hair. So off I trotted, armed with a trusty gift card from Christmas (thanks Fiona) and after a few dead ends, picked up the item in question in Westfield. I wore it today with these Collectif trousers (which are now on facking sale! Typical) and felt like Faye Dunaway in Network, so mission accomplished really.
I heartily recommend you all go and buy one of these because A. it will work well as a ‘hey it’s spring, I better break up all of these winter florals and black jumpers with something perky just to show willing’ in the coming weeks. And B, a woman came up to me in Paperchase today and said that I looked nice, so there you go. Cancel Fashion Week! The voice of the people has spoken and she had excellent lipstick on.

If you do act on my faultless logic and purchase this, a word to the wise; there is a deceptively large amount of fabric knocking about in this number, so go for a smaller size than you anticipate. I got a size 6, which in Topshop-world is like a 2 or something because everything is very oddly sized in that place. I have no idea who decides the dimensions of Topshop clothes but I can only assume it is a little elf who is kept in a workshop/cave and has only ever seen one woman in their entire life to use as reference and she had breasts the size of Lola Ferraris and legs like Sponge Bob. I tried on this very nice dress at the same time as the Betty Rubble blouse and I honestly could have stashed a baby kangaroo down the front.

 

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Never Complain, Never Explain

‘Nobody cares, just work harder’. I saw that written somewhere the other day and it chimed with my own sensibilities very closely. I have always believed that the more you moan about how tired/busy you are, the worse the situation appears to you. And let’s be honest, no-one really cares. I mean, the people who love and support you will empathise, of course they will. But it’s 2017 – they are busy and tired too! The whole world is busy and tired. Not in a bad way you understand, but there is just so much world available to us that everyone is up to their eyeballs with things, even if that thing is watching Netflix from dawn until dusk. ‘Nobody cares, just work harder’ has quickly become one of my new favourite mantras, second only to, ‘never complain, never explain’ – this was apparently a maxim of Disraeli, but truth be told I first read it in an interview with Kate Moss. I find people who complain often faintly amusing. I like to cock my head to one side and gaze at them with a curious fondness I also adopt for the pygmy hippos in London Zoo, before busting out a sympathetic ‘oh dear’ on a long exhale and then cracking a daft joke at my own expense to lighten things up a bit.

This is not to say that you shouldn’t talk to friends and family about how you feel. Of course you bloody well should. If you don’t, well – that way be monsters. In addition, it hardly needs to be said that the ‘never complain’ sentiment does not extend to observable injustices in the wider world, say, oh I don’t know… just off the top of my head… rampant racism, xenophobia and bigotry dressed up as legitimate legislation….

 

For my own sake however, I prefer to get my head down and keep my mouth shut when I’m up against it workwise. As you may have already guessed, this is all leading up to me addressing the prolonged dearth of new posts on this ‘ere blog recently. Well, all I’m going to say is that I had my first PhD deadline last week. End of transmission. Nobody cares, just work harder after all.

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To wrap up this brief public service announcement with something pretty; my lovely big sister sent me this last night, with the succinct, yet accurate statement ‘a bit of you’. Ah how right she is. I immediately felt that I needed to own this, you know – for sipping ominously smoking acid green cocktails by moonlight and such. After all, I have been working so very hard recently….

 

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The Fog!

John Carpenter eat your blood-curdling heart out. Richmond was one foggy mess yesterday, so I took it upon myself to trek to the Park and try to take some atmospheric photographs. Fun fact – about a month ago I spent four hours taking (if I do say so myself) some rather lovely shots of the Autumn colours before realising that I had failed to insert a memory card into my camera; a small life-lesson about living in the moment perhaps. Anyway, this time I was fully SD’d up and so made my way like a doomed Hammer Horror priest, through the ominous fog to meet my foe – the Richmond Park deer.

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The fog really was very disorientating. I know the Park pretty well and yet failed to find the two huge lakes I usually like to circumnavigate. Instead I found some completely new areas that I had never ventured upon before. Or had I? Who knew in this damned chaos?!

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The atmosphere was freezing and soggy, the landscape – alien (Captain’s log, stardate thirty-twelve-sixteen). Sounds were muffled and visibility was only a few feet. Stags silently loomed in from the mist with nothing but disdain in their eyes.

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After some time I realised that I was tipping towards being lost, and not wishing to become fog-fodder I made my way home to an even more mysterious and vengeful beast – the cat.

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