Friday, 6 September 2013

a round-up of spring fashion? perhaps not

It is a glorious day here in the City of Sails - well, from my desk anyway.  I ventured out to purchase that most necessary of all office staples (diet coke) at lunchtime and there is a chilly breeze, but nevertheless, the sun is out, there are boats on the water and there are teenagers wearing ill-advised high-cut denim shorts sans tights.  All is right with the world. 

I have that peculiarly spring-y feeling (plz to tell if you suffer from this as well) where I want to go out and purchase all manner of sandals and floral dresses.  This is a particularly dumb idea in circumstances where:
  1. Said dresses and sandals cost money, which I have basically been flushing down the toilet recently;
  2. My legs bear a close resemblance to neon glow sticks except hairier and fatter;
  3. All the shops appear to be stocking just now are crop fucking tops and dresses that will barely cover my crotch LET ALONE my granny sized underwear. 
I wandered through Glassons the other day, in search of cheap inspiration and was really stoked to find a fine knit Breton stripe top (just the rage with all the cool bloggers, I hear).  I picked it up and was horrified to find it stopped just below my navel.  Look, I know I'm 31 and am borderline being banned from Glass on the basis that it's just inappropriate for a woman of my age (hey, I don't shop at Supre at least), but I do expect that as a high volume manufacturer of polyester for the masses the powers-that-be would be aware that the masses are generally in possession of muffin tops and look absolutely fucking ridiculous in crops?  Or is that just me? (that looks ridiculous.  Says the woman of questionable taste wearing a jumper with what appears to be a mullet-y bridal veil hanging down from the back.)  And before you ask, IT WAS NOT A SIZE 6.  I am dim and am always imagining that I am MUCH slimmer and taller than I am (with smoother, glossier hair too) but I tend to pick the correct size from the rack before I hit the changing rooms. 

Whew, ranty. 

Moving on: culture.  I has none.  I wasted a bday Whitcoulls voucher on Mortal Instruments: City of Bones I don't know why because it transpires that it is terrible, terrible teenage fantasy-style fiction which features:
  1. the supernatural
  2. a love triangle
  3. a heroine who doesn't know her own talents
Sound familiar?  And yet I have been consuming it rapidly.  I suspect A aged 14 has been all up in my head with her heart racing as the heroine chooses between good looking guys and saves the day.  I have since discovered that the movie being made of this book features Lily Collins, so I guess I can't hate it.  Lily Collins = Phil Collins' offspring and I HEART PHIL forever.

Digression: you know how in rhythmic gymnastics and synchronised swimming they do team items coordinated to music?  Well, there is a similar sort of thing in dressage (horses for courses) and at the ages of 12 and 13 respectively, my sister and I choreographed a routine to "Another Day in Paradise" for four of us and our ponies.  I can't remember whether we won the competition but I can tell you Phil Collins writes excellent beats for an extended trot.  F me, I can't believe I just told you that.

I have a nasty feeling I'm on a kind of roll spilling all my teenage shames here so I better put an end to this post, pronto.  Have a lovely weekend, all. 

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