Daddy took Charlotte yesterday. The plan was for Charlotte to see him, do a little maths workshop and allow Mum (me) some time out, killing three birds with one stone.
Four actually, as I seized the day for some quality wardrobe acquisition. I have been frequenting op shops after a long haitus, and having made a Very Unfortunate Purchase the day before (Babette said "NEVER wear it Mum"), I was back for a simple exchange (that ran away with itself a little). By the time I came to pick up Charlotte from Daddy's, I was the proud owner and wearer of a gray pinstriped, red-and-yellow-striped-silk-lined longish pencil skirt - PAUL SMITH, London designer. C's Daddy was able to relate to the Paul Smith buzz, Paul (if I may) being also designer of the coveted Italian Rapha range of cycle-wear. Rapha sports such charming details as a tweed tab on a long sleek cycling knickerbocker, and similarly witty references to cycling and sport fashions past. C's cycling father has himself acquired a soft wool blend Rapha cap and jacket for the winter morning commute. The stitching is beautiful: tiny and precise, perfectly parallel, not the sort of symmetry that always issues from China's factories. C's Daddy is a cycling maniac, madder about the bike than I am about wool, if that is possible. We share a taste for quality and converse quite well on fashion, books and film. Anyway, the lining on MY SKIRT has the naff quality of a posh school boy's tie, and peeks out just enough from the side slits as I walk and move. The red, teetering on burgandy in the stripey lining, linked with my burgandy sleeveless cowl-back top, worn over a long sleeved gray t-shirt. A few Alannah Hill pieces: a headband bedecked with giant cream flower and black netting, and a deep cream grosgrain cummerband with stylised flat bow. Deep red peep-toe Mary Janes and patterned black tights. Black fitted cardy with tiny gold eagle buttons...
I love to dress. It is especially nice to do so now with the 'wife' appellation no longer relevant, nor higher authorities to appease. The heels are back. The red lips are BACK.
After years of THINKING about it and secretly thinking it impossible for me, I have taken up knitting vintage patterns. The one I've chosen isn't quite as ancient as those I will one day attempt. The sizing is modern enough to accommodate a modern bust, where most of my 40s knitting patterns stop at 32", sometimes 34", occasionally 36", though that's heading into "matron" territory as far as patterns go. When I've cut my teeth on this late 70s pattern, I might have a go at adjusting needle sizes, ply etc. This Sirdar pattern features an outdoorsy, natural woman on the cover in a fitted pink scoop neck top with slightly puffed short sleeves and a very very deep waist band. I think it's a beautiful pattern. It features a very simple lace, not obviously lacey, on top of simple purl one knit one ribbing. I have the rhythm of the rib! It took me a while to get the hang of ribbing, and to even 'see' it properly, but as I sat au cafe in the sun yesterday, I relishing the swinging beat of it. Perhaps something only a yarn-ophile would understand. The last week has been hard as I struggled to homeschool on a dipping, crashing mood, and re-accept my separated state (au fait with it again!). But this knitting in the sun-soaked courtyard with its splashing fountain, hedges and formal row of trees, brought life back to the fingers and brain. Did I mention the colours? The sky was deep blue, my knitting ruby red.
J
A yarn on family, knitting and literary addictions, vintage clothing, home school and yarn itself.
