Clothes maketh the woman

I seem to have gone on a clothes buying spree in the last couple of weeks. It all started with having to replace the old black cardigan. Which used to be one half of a twinset belonging to mother and I’ve had since I was 19. It had a rip in the cuff from climbing over the railings to read our degree results at the Senate House but sentimental value aside the orlon or whatever 1950’s synthetic it was made of had miraculously aged to the consistency of fine cashmere and it fitted and hung just right for a long long time but it really was falling apart at the seams.

So black cardie and then Whistles turn out to have another pair of ‘the jeans that actually fit’ in stock. I mean really fit. Even though they’re cut in this new-fangled midriff baring hipster style that I don’t rightly hold with. Not the most attractive body part on most people. Not quite ‘back of the knee’ bad but almost the same fluid and fluff collecting properties. So jeans and you need to find something to go with in order to pass muster with the changing room guardians. Pick a piece of flimsy that looks good on the hanger but never never works on the flesh. Hangy, gauzy, slightly 30’s tea-dress pattern, toned down flowery top. It works, oh joy, oh credit card. Done.