Matching your shoes to your hotel carpet…
I can’t help it, I’m obsessed with jumpsuits. I can’t decide whether it’s because I’m a child of the Seventies and I’m still lamenting the loss of my Charlie’s Angel dungarees or whether it’s the easiest way to get dressed ever – throw it on, accessorise, add some shoes and walk out the door.
I also appear to have one to suit all occasions:
- Navy pinstripe one for work
- Black tailored strapless one for black tie events (throw on a tuxedo jacket and heels – effortless yet edgy elegance)
- Wide leg chartreuse number for weddings / garden parties
- Black jersey one for “emergency, I don’t know what to wear to that party” panic buy avoidance
- Denim dungarees for lazy summer days
As I student in the Nineties I opted for playsuits and chunky boots – favouring ditsy prints, crushed velvet or distressed denim. It was just so much easier than wearing dresses – and when you grew up in the windy wilds of Scotland, at least a playsuit kept your dignity intact on particularly breezy days.
I admit that jumpsuits are not for everyone, they can involve some snazzy yoga moves to get in and out of them (sometimes with a bit of jumping to release yourself completely), underwear choices are critical, and you often have to plan bathroom breaks well in advance.
But, I still find myself yearning for more…
And I’m not alone, the fabulous people at StyleMeTraining show how it can work for you.
I’ve hardly updated this blog for the last few months – not because I don’t know what to write about, but because what’s been going on hasn’t been my story to write – and the people that I love don’t need to read about their lives through my eyes on these pages. But those same people need distractions and so I’m back, by parental demand.
In a nutshell, I’ve still been buying shoes (including the shiny happy sparkly boots that arrived in a big parcel of happiness yesterday), I’ve still been going to the gym (well, not quite so much as I should have been) and I’m still enjoying a glass of wine or two.
Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits and I have bought bicycles (electric bikes with power assisted pedalling – so that we can race each other uphill), and well, we’re growing middle-aged disgracefully. I bought a sensible-ish folding one, but he went for a mountain bike with suspension, just because he could. His bike looks as cool as all hell but my one is way quicker from a standing start (as we discovered doing a mini grand prix in our local supermarket car park).
I’ve been to summer barbecues, wedding receptions, and have been camping in the Cotswolds. I’ve laughed and cried like no other time in my life and endeavour to be a better person, to let the people I love and who love me, know that they are always in my thoughts.
Life is way too short, but enjoy it in every way you can. Now, I’m off to ride my byocycle, I’m off to ride my bike…
I’ve been conspicuously absent these last couple of months – this is due to epic amounts of stress on all fronts. My coping mechanisms have included the following: I’ve indulged in oodles of retail therapy, satisfied significant carb cravings and have swigged a few too many bottles of sauvignon blanc – and it’s never a good idea to write a blog under the influence of that last one.
Enough was enough – it was time to retake control. I joined a gym close to the office and vigourously signed up for a few classes. I was still reasonably fit thus was slightly over-confident in my abilities. I started easily enough – the Zumba class was sweaty but fun, I did a few cardio-only sessions on the cross trainer, and then I leapt happily into Urban Iron. Oh dear god. Utter Agony for the following two days was the result – I really enjoyed the class but chose too heavy a weight set. Half way through I knew that although I was doing ok, I was going to hurt in the morning. And hurt I did – ‘no pain, no gain’ was the mantra I kept repeating to myself over and over. I nearly had to wake Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits on the Monday morning convinced that my legs were incapable of bending enough for me to buckle up my shoes. My body had aged 30 years over night, I had to mentally prepare for lowering myself into a chair or heaving myself up again – taking a good 30 seconds each way and a lot of groaning.
But I worked through the pain and booked myself onto the same Saturday morning class for the week after, I halved my weight set and got through the whole class and the following two days without any pain. I’m going to Strength & Tone tonight, I’m on the standyby list for the terrifyingly named RIPPD on Thursday and will be back to Urban Iron again on Saturday. I haven’t over-indulged on the vino or partaken in an online shopping spreen since getting back to the gym. Somehow, throwing those weights around is good for the mind, the body and the bank balance. And that’s good enough for me.
With the beginnings of a pale-skinned golden glow I’ve decided to embrace this summer’s ice-cream pastels.
I’m loving these little beauties – comfortable, cute and practical – albeit I sound like an excited Shetland pony at anything above sauntering pace – clogs do not allow for ninjaesque stealth skills.
I’ll be teaming them with this baby pink cropped blazer – let’s hope the sunshine lasts longer than my patience!
MrShoeThatAlwaysFits was with me on a recent shopping trip to find the perfect pair of zebra print shoes.
He, of course, not understanding that I would never sleep again if I didn’t buy them, balked at the price. I didn’t bat an eye telling him that I would wear them so often that the underlying cost per wear would in fact be pennies. I’ve worn them pretty much constantly since.
The reason they had to be zebra print in the first place was this:
My reward for finally wearing a bikini on a recent trip to Portugal. OBB is still work in progress but a 17 year absence from bikini babe-dom has been eliminated – and if that ‘s not worth some celebratory zebra prints then I don’t know what is !