Today I’m wearing:
- The Dress
- Yellow Marks and Sparks jumper which is warm and cheery
- Stretchy underskirt which you can’t see. Security in case of wind-catching-skirt incidents
- Tights and then thermal knee high socks
- Boots, which had been previously retired till the autumn.
- Brassy metal collar necklace from Topshop
Anyway, there I go, getting distracted. There are answers to all these foibles. I’ve read so many classic spy novels that I know that walking the same way every day leaves you open to KGB attack, so I mix it up. I won’t buy the same mascara because I’m cheap and there’s usually one on special offer at Boots. Henshelwoods is the tastiest and best value in York for sandwiches, so I’d be daft not to go there*.
I’m also a big one for Informed Decision Making. I always research, read reviews, budget before I buy things. I like having all the facts at my disposal before I make my decisions. This is why I have become so obsessed with the weather forecast. I’m wearing a dress and this dress does not cover my legs. I need to assess and implement appropriate clothing mechanisms to ward off hypothermia, or indeed hyperthermia. I need to know what I’m dealing with before deciding the best course of action. Know thy enemy, as they say.
But the atmosphere doesn’t want to play ball and it’s so annoying. If I were a superhero, my power would be to control the weather. None of that reading minds or flying nonsense- that’s what Twitter and aeroplanes are for- but an actual useful power. Barbecue by the river? Warm sunny evening. Wedding coming up? Sunshine with a light breeze so people don’t get too sweaty. Something good on telly? Rain storm with a hint of thunder. I’d have my own BBC2 series and all sorts.
I’m sitting at my dining room table and I can hear the light tip-tap of rain on our gravelled yard. Yet when we took these pictures a mere 7 hours ago, the sun blazed. The forecast said rain rain rain, so I wore tights and thermal socks, leaving my sunglasses at home. I know I know you should never trust a weatherman, with the exception of Tomasz Schafernaker because he’s a lovely young man, but I thought they could hardly get torrential downpours wrong. They can, they did, and I had to try and comb fringe in my eyes to substitute for sunglasses. It didn’t really work.