Day 26: take me out

Today I’m wearing: 
  • The Dress;
  • tights on tights;
  • an H&M cheap ‘n’ stretch tube skirt to protect my modesty;
  • one of those long-sleeved base-layer t-shirts that’s as thick as a vest made of spider silk, but is meant to keep you warm by some kind of dark magic, and doesn’t.
  • a Kate Moss for Topshop pansy print wrap dress that I’ve had for about a million (*cough* 6) years.
By the time you’re reading this, I will be in Leeds.
“What madness drove you in there?!” I hear you cry.
A gig, my friends, a musical occasion. I am going with my brother N and one of his friends (I don’t know which one; I can’t tell N’s friends apart) to see the band Franz Ferdinand. I’ve seen them every time they’ve toured since 2005, and N has never been to a gig, so we’re going. The last time I saw them was at the Barras in Glasgow, and it’ll be gosh darn hard to beat that. Home soil and all. And last time, I came away with a drumstick, the ultimate trophy for gig-goers (I wrestled a girl called Susan for it. I don’t know if that was her real name, she just looked like a Susan to me. I generally don’t ask people I’m wrestling what they’re called.)
Anyway, I won’t get home till after midnight, so I’m writing this on my lunch break. The pictures were done at 7.30 this morning by self-timer, and I just couldn’t smile. My face simply would not move that way. I’m not an easy smiler at the best of times, so it’s probably just that my face wasn’t warmed up yet. Should’ve done some cheek stretches. Limbered up. I did give it my best shot, though:


My face was also really warm, hence the glowing cheeks. I haven’t just overdone the blusher. Actually, I’m not wearing blusher; that pink is all me.
Trying to cool my little face down

The dress was a present from when I had a boyfriend. This boyfriend had a brilliant eye for women’s clothes; once he turned up on my doorstep with a carrier bag, saying that he’d thought the contents would suit me. Inside was a beautiful blue ombre dress that I still have. I don’t miss having a boyfriend (most of the time) but I do miss the free clothes.

This was Kate Moss for Topshop in 2007, I think. It’s meant to be a dress, but is just a wee bit too short, so is more of a tunic. To contextualise the length it’s an inch shorter than the Dress, and that’s barely decent as it is. It’s a lovely summery pansy print, since copied to death by Primark et al, but I still love it. I really like pansies, they’re very happy flowers. I think it’s those sun-seeking little faces.

I’ve heard that Kate Moss is doing a new collection for Topshop, launching in May. I’m quite happy about this, despite some voices of derision from the journalistic fashion community. They’re just grumpy because they have nothing else to be grumpy about. Kate Moss largely passes me by- I have no interest in her life, and we inhabit totally different worlds- but I do like the clothes she designs.

I am, of course, wearing my DMs. I’ve been to too many gigs to be unaware of the perils of foot-stamping/mis-jumping. I tell yer, if anyone jumps on my feet this evening, they’ll know about it. Not that I’m going to hurt them, I just mean that my shoes are pretty solid. Wrestling for drumsticks, stamping with DMs; I sound like a proper hooligan. I’m very nice really.

There’s been another development with my African Adventure saga; they’re rescheduled another flight. This time it’s the first one from Heathrow, put back by 45 mins. Please can someone reassure me that this is normal? I know I should be thinking “wahey, adventure!” but my worry-dar is going off and I’m imagining 3 weeks in Addis Ababa airport. Not particularly what I want. But my dad did tell me he bought the best t-shirt he’s every owned there on a lay-over. Swings and roundabouts.

£525! Thank you so much, again. It really means an awful lot, both to me and the women you’ve helped.

If you fancy helping a bit more (£22 for a civil rights workshop, remember…) please go to or text ODOM50 £5 to 70070.

I’m going back to work now. Thanks to the miracle of post-scheduling, I’ll be dancing my little cotton socks off while you read this. I’ve managed 25 daily blogs this month, and I’m damned if I’m going to fall in the final week.


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