Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no fashion icon, to be truthful my idea of style is any pair of trousers that pull on easily, and a top that requires little ironing, particularly if I’m heading out for my allotment. Except earlier in the year, urged on by sunny April afternoons and what amounted to tropical weather in May, I went a little mad.
Languishing in my cupboard, still unworn is what can only be described as a tomato coloured string vest, for pulling over a swimsuit I’ll probably never wear, a khaki smock top, complete with tab detail - ideal if I ever go on manoeuvres in the jungle - and the silkiest, pretty cream blouse, all frills and ruffles, that modesty requires only to be worn with a very thick vest.
I seem to remember the same sort of catastrophe last year. Then it was the sexiest roman sandals, on my feet once before the constant rain set in. What a pity I chucked them in the back of the cupboard and forgot they were there, until I bought another pair last week – blue not brown this time, but remarkably similar.
Looking out at today’s drizzle and contemplating wellington boots before I go and fetch a lettuce, I remember it’s the longest day, midsummer, the summer solstice. Only weeks ago I was longing for rain – well now I’ve got it – in buckets. Be careful what you wish for... etc. Was it Oscar Wilde who said, “When the gods wish to punish us they answer our prayers”?
Having moaned on a bit, I do have some good news. One of my stories is to be published in July, as part of an anthology called Voices of Angels. No doubt you’ll hear more about it in a later blog. For now I’m just hoping the launch party will be indoors.
