Day 24: you can call me caits

Today I’m wearing: 

  • The Dress;
  • one of them bodycon stretchy type t-shirts that is grey;
  • tights on tights;
  • ‘neon tweed’ fit and flare skirt from Zara that was actually the first thing I bought with a grown-up paycheck.
I walked to work in freezing fog. Hardly ideal for a dressful month, but the way it was rolling off the Ouse as I walked over Lendal bridge this morning was quite romantic. And bloody chilly. But mainly romantic.
I did not dress for the weather- do I ever?- but my DMs are toasty, overwhelmingly at times. My theory of weather-appropriate dressing is that if one major part of you is warm, the rest of you will be too. My suggestion is look after your feet and your feet will look after you. Actually, that’s pretty wise for a Monday evening. Sometimes I astonish myself with my inherent sagacity. It’s quite entertaining being me; every day’s a new adventure. Anyway, I’m trying to wear my Docs as much as possible because I can tell that when the weather warms up, my feet are going to get mighty sticky encased in patent leather and I can’t just put them away till the autumn.
I still want to be French today, hence all the black and the tousled hair and the insouciant expression. I definitely did not spend time in front of the mirror perfecting my Gallic shrug of indifference. Not at all. (For reference, it’s synchronised lifting of one shoulder, the tilt of the head and the almost-contemptuous lip curl that does it. Timing is crucial.)
The skirt is nice because it fits and flares, and Grazia once told me that neon tweed was ‘in’- I don’t know if it still is though- and it’s a lovely pattern:
Actually, under my new nonchalant regime, I’m struggling to contain a growing level of excitement at my African adventure. (Have I mentioned I’m going to Africa a week on Saturday? No?) My father and brother came back today from a month in South Africa, and C is practically bouncing off the walls, he had such a good time. I’m on the phone to him in the above picture. I did the pictures on multiple shot self-timer, and he rang mid-photo.
I’ve also had Paul Simon’s Graceland album on repeat and although I know it’s not really about Africa (‘I’m going to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis Tennessee..’) the jangly guitars and other bits are very Afrobeat-reminscent. That and ‘You Can Call Me Al’ will always remind me of Kat (who I’m going to visit).
When we were students, we lived together in an icebox of a flat in Glasgow. We had neighbouring bedrooms, and because of the way the building was constructed, noise would carry extremely well. The guy with the room directly above Kat’s fancied himself a bit of a musician; unfortunately for Kat, he wasn’t very good. His favourite tune was ‘You Can Call Me Al’. I’d hear his guitar start the opening and then 2 seconds later, “SsssssSSSHHHUUUTTT uuuUUUPPPP you F**KER!” followed by a thump as a textbook/shoe/phone/anything close to hand hit the ceiling. To be fair to him, this was no deterrent, and he just kept right on playing, and now that song will always remind me of Kat.
It’s been one helluva Monday. One of those Mondays where you think, “It can’t possibly be a Monday, this is at least a Wednesday-level of office-bustle!” But Monday it was. I’m into my final week of Dress wearing.That’s come around quickly.
I’m so so close to the target, just £73 to go! Please please please if you’re going to donate, do it now. Don’t just leave it till tomorrow, because there aren’t that many tomorrows left. (Of the Dress, I’m not threatening you.)
Womankind don’t just do this for a month, they’ve done it for 25 years and they’ll be doing it for many more years to come. It’s a huge task ahead of them; it’s not just about removing women from dangerous situations, but re-educating a society. In Ethiopia, 68% of women believe their husbands have the right to beat them. When you hear stats like that, the task of tackling violence against women (and children) seems almost insurmountable.
With your support, we can change that. or ODOM50 £5 to 70070

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