[Jacket: New Look (old) // Trousers: H&M, 2012 // Shoes: Dune c/o Sarenza // Bag: City Shopper c/o Florian London // White fur coat: Rubin's own]

I should probably begin this post with the hopefully so-obvious-it-doesn’t-need-to-be-said-but-I’ll-say-it-anyway disclaimer that these photos are strictly of the “just for fun” variety. I don’t ACTUALLY carry Rubin around in a handbag: he was in this one for approximately two minutes, and he’d been bathed that morning, so no animals or handbags were harmed in the making of this post, I promise. And with that out of the way…

OMG DOG IN A TOTE BAG, YOU GUYS!

I just… I couldn’t resist. The bag arrived on Friday, you see, from the nice people at Florian London, and, as always, Rubin displayed a huge amount of interest in the parcel and walked around sniffing at it and wagging his tail as if to say, “I can has tote bag, yes?” “Look,” I said to Terry. “This bag is so big, Rubin could probably fit inside it!” Uh-oh. Well, once that statement was out, there was just no going back, was there? Especially not once I’d posted it on Twitter.

And that’s how Rubin came to find himself inside a handbag, briefly. And how I came to find myself wearing totally unsuitable shoes on what surely must have been the coldest day of the year. (OK, the handbag had absolutely nothing to do with my choice of footwear: I’m just SO SICK of having to wear boots and tights all the time, and I’ve been waiting to wear these shoes for weeks, so I thought I could get away with it, given that we were only outside for a few minutes. And also given that it’s technically “Spring” now. Wishful thinking, folks…)

Still, at least I know that next time I carry this bag I’ll be able to comfortably fit my laptop inside it. And a warmer pair of shoes. And probably the kitchen sink, my bed, and just about anything else I could possibly need. It’s a home away from home, people! And not just for Bichons…

[Dress and boots: both Zara, circa 2011 // Jacket: La Redoute, 2012 // Giant snow heart: c/o Terry]

So, our house is probably going on the market soon. I’m not sure quite how soon, but … soon. Too soon for my liking, because folks? I am FREAKING THE HELL OUT right now. Like, lying awake at night worrying, and  waking up thinking, “OMG, WHAT ARE WE DOING?” – that kind of freaking out. It’s no fun at all, let me tell you.

Oh, don’t get me wrong: I want to move. I’ve wanted to move for years now. I’ve said it so many times it really doesn’t need to be repeated, but I’m going to do it anyway: this house is small. And cramped. And just generally uncomfortable, in lots of different ways, really. When we bought it, we saw it very much as a “starter home” –  we assumed it would be a decent first step on the property ladder, and that we’d only live in it for a couple of years before moving on. Onwards and upwards.

We didn’t anticipate that Terry would need a kidney transplant, of course. Or that we’d both end up leaving our well-paid jobs and starting our own business because of it. But that was what happened: Terry’s diagnosis came almost exactly a year after we bought the place, and after that, moving home was the last thing we wanted to think about.

Now we’re not just thinking about it: we’re on the brink of actually DOING IT, and as I said I want to move. I’m excited about the big life change we possibly have ahead of us. I’m downright delirious at the prospect of having some much-needed space. I’m looking forward to having our friends over, and not feeling like I have to constantly apologise for the house, or have them all spend the evening rotating in and out of different rooms because if we all tried to sit in the living room we’d probably set a new world record. I’m ready for this. It’s time.

But.

(more…)

[Dress: ASOS | Boots: Topshop 2010 | Gloves: gifted | Faux-fur scarf: eBay]

Well, so much for that whole, “This will be the last time you’ll see these boots, by God!” thing, eh? In fact, I’m seriously considering just changing my tagline to, “Forever wearing those damn Topshop boots, even although we know she has plenty of other shoes,” and be done with it. And of course, I DO have plenty of other shoes, but… it snowed again at the weekend. And, indeed, was snowing when these photos were taken (So that’s NOT a bad case of dandruff, I’m pleased to say, but ickle snowflakes, settling on my head…), so it’s back to the boots. AGAIN. There’s honestly not much I can say about my winter uniform that I haven’t said a million times already now, and there’s also a limit to how much even I can write about my hatred of this awful, endless winter we’re enduring, but unluckily for you, there is NO limit to how much I can write about the ongoing house hunt. And on that subject…

Remember that house I said we were going to see on Friday?

Remember how I said there was very little chance of us actually being able to buy it, so I totally wasn’t going to get attached?

You all knew I was ALREADY attached, didn’t you? Good. Glad we got that out of the way. This is how it’ll probably be from now on, so you may as well just get used to it…

So, we went to see the house on Friday afternoon, accompanied by my parents: my mum is a retired estate agent, so she Knows About These Things, and my dad has the uncanny knack of being able to look at a house and instantly commit every one of its faults to memory, so we figured we could do with the help, especially considering that I, well, kind of lose my mind a bit with this kind of thing.

When we pulled into the driveway, you see, there was a family of Others on their way out, having obviously just completed the house tour. “OMG!” I said, outraged. “There are OTHERS in my house! How DARE they!” And my family all heaved heavy sighs and looked at each other in despair…

The family rejected my plan to charge up to The Others, shouting “Ger orfa mah land, varmints!”, so I was forced to content myself with simply giving them A Look, with which I hoped to convey the sentiment, “We will meet again on the field of the battle, Others: and next time I shall not be so merciful!” (I’m not sure how well that went over, to be honest. The Others didn’t look phased in the slightest, so I think I probably just looked like I had a bad case of gas or something…) And all this before we’d even set foot in the place.

Once we DID get inside… well, I guess everyone has their own way of handling these kind of situations. My family, for instance, all decided to handle it like the grown adults they are. I, on the other hand, decided to handle it like Rubin probably would, if he was human, and buying a house. So while they all walked around wearing serious expressions, asking the right questions and Not Giving Anything Away, I basically bounded in with my tongue hanging out, and proceeded to run around peeing on everything* and shouting things like, “OMG, STAIRS! Those would be SO HANDY for getting to the top floor!” and “WOW, A WASHING MACHINE! We could use it to clean our clothes! Terry, did you see this: FREE WASHING MACHINE!”

I knew I had messed-up on the “not getting attached” thing when, in the hours following the viewing, each member of my family took it in turns to take me aside and say things like, “Look, Amber, you’re going to have to try not to do that thing you do. You know, with the getting-attached?” Then, on Saturday night, they staged an intervention. My dad was Bad Cop. My mum was Good Cop. Terry was Strong, Silent Cop Who Doesn’t Say Much But His Silence Speaks Volumes. Rubin was Rookie Cop, who gets totally over-excited and ends up shooting someone. I’m pretty sure he was on my side, until Bad Cop bribed him with a DentaStix and my only ally deserted me. I THINK the family were making some very valid points during this intervention, but honestly, it’s hard to say, because the whole time they were talking, I was thinking about what colour to paint my new shoe room…

So that’s where we’re at, basically: we’re unlikely to buy that house, but if we did, I would probably just go with white for the shoe room, so the shoes could stand out against it, like they do now. Not that I’ve been thinking about it AT ALL, obviously. Ahem.

The house search continues, then, and in the meantime, we’re working as hard as we can to get our own  house ready to sell. We have a long road ahead of us, people. It’ll be quite a bit longer for me than it will be for Terry, though, because while he’s grimly forging ahead through the forest of Let’s Have the Ceilings Skimmed, I’m taking the scenic route, with frequent detours to Dulux Colour Chart Town and The Valley of the Kitchen Appliances. Fun times, guys, fun times…

* Note to people who always take me literally: I didn’t ACTUALLY pee on everything. Just a couple of things. Hardly anything, really…

P.S. I’m still pimping Bloglovin’, for those of you who used to follow me on Google Reader: you can find me here.

[Dress: Pinup Couture 'Joanie' dress (no longer available in olive, but in black and navy here | Boots: Topshop Barley2 | Sunglasses: House of Harlow 'Chelsea']

Well, so much for “spring.” And also so much for that whole “sky won’t snow” thing in my title there, because I think you’ll find it totally WILL, Eagles. That’s what you get for trusting 70s rock bands, I guess.

I’ve hit the wall, folks. I think it goes without saying (not that that’s ever stopped me…) that my patience for winter is pretty thin at the best of times, but by the time we get to March it’s run out altogether and I’m pretty much DONE with the coats and the boots and the OMGSNOW. The stores are full of spring clothes (Hell, my CLOSET is full of spring clothes, because, well, I’ve been buyin’ them. Since December.), and I WANT TO WEAR THEM.

It’s not going to happen, though. As you can see, we got another load of snow dumped on us at the weekend, so here I am in my winter uniform of long-sleeved dress and those Topshop boots which have been more or less welded to my legs since November. I’m hoping this will be the last time you’ll see them this winter. I’m not promising anything, though…

Skirt: H&M 2012 | Sweater: Ralph Lauren (gift) | Shoes: Topshop, 2011 | Sunglasses: House of Harlow

Well, who would’ve thought yellow, of all things, would become my go-to colour this year? Not me, anyway. I’d have put my last penny on green, but while I haven’t forsaken my favourite colour by a long shot, I think mustard yellow is quickly moving into second place.

This skirt was one of my favourite purchases of 2012. I think it was only about £30 or something like that, but the thick fabric and full shape (which creates that amazing “sticky out” – yes, it’s a technical term – shape even without the aid of a petticoat…) makes it feel like a much more expensive piece. H&M actually re-released this in off-white for this spring: it’s currently sold out online, but… actually, I’m not quite ready to get into The Saga of the White H&M Skirt just yet. It’s too soon. And too… painful. Let’s save that one for another day…

The shoes, meanwhile, are by Topshop, but I bought them on eBay at around this time last year, and have already had much more use out of them than I would ever have expected from a pair of bright yellow shoes. It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?

These photos were taken on yet another warm, sunny day, on which that coat I always have with me stayed firmly in the car. That sunshine is now but a distant memory, of course (Well, a four-days-ago memory…) so I suspect that might have been “Spring”. Don’t mock: in Scotland that’s actually not an exaggeration…

Petals gathered side dress c/o Fuse Fashion  | Cardigan: Primark | Scarf: River Island | Sunglasses: Gucci | Clutch: Dune | Shoes: Christian Louboutin

I took a bit of an unplanned break from the ol’ blog last week: a combination of a bad migraine with lingered on for days, and feeling generally under the weather for the past few weeks, and I ended up just totally burnt out, basically. I’m extremely lucky in that my worst migraines are significantly better than many people’s best migraines (I WIN AT MIGRAINES!) (There are no winners when it comes to migraines.), so I was still able to keep the other blogs running (just), but that was really ALL I managed to do, and my personal “style” took a trip to Jeans n’ Sweaters Town (maybe you know it?) so there wasn’t a whole lot to post about here. Also, my inbox kind of exploded during this time, so if you’ve emailed me and haven’t heard back, I’m not ignoring you (Unless you’re that guy with the fetish for wet people: I’m totes ignoring you, sonny jim…), and I will (probably) email you back soon. Especially if you’re the lawyer dude who emailed me about the £16 million I’ve apparently inherited from an elderly relative in the United Arab Emirates. My bank details will be on their way to you ASAP, kind sir. SO EXCITED! Am on my way to Harvey Nichols as I write this!

So that’s been my week, and also my month, and kind of the whole YEAR so far, really.  (Cue Friends theme tune…) I think it’s going to be a dragon, people. I really do. And not the cuddly kind, either. But! But!

February is now over! And March is here! March is the month that heralds the start of Spring: it officially starts at midnight on March 20th, for those of you counting down, but apparently a vicious row has broken out between the MET Office, who say Spring starts on March 1st now, and certain “Others”, who want to maintain the old order and stick to the 20th/21st. (One of these Others is called Sir Nicholas Winterton. Well, he WOULD say that, wouldn’t he? Obviously ol’  Man Winterton would want winter to continue…) I, obviously, am on Team MET Office with this one: not just because I’ll take any excuse to hasten the arrival of Spring, but also because we took these photos on March 1st, and DO YOU SEE THAT SUNSHINE PEOPLE? Do you? There was actually a bit too much of it to take decent photos in, to be honest, but the fact is, it was WARM. In fact, it was so warm I didn’t really need that cardigan I’d brought with me, and was able to tolerate the elbow-length sleeves without feeling like my arms were going to drop off with cold. That almost NEVER happens.

I also have a new dress, which is another reason to be cheerful. This was sent to me by Fuse Fashion, and these photos unfortunately don’t do it justice, because it’s one of those “magic” dresses which pull you in and create curves where you didn’t have any. It’s also the dress that almost got us arrested (again): that first photo, you see,  isn’t just another example of my trademark “Looking off to the side because I don’t know what else to do with myself, GOD this is awkward,” pose. No, I was actually watching the POLICE CAR that turned around when it saw us taking these photos, and spent the next five minutes circling the area and very obviously “observing” us. Thankfully the cops drove off without questioning us this time (Unlike, say, the LAST TIME this happened…), but what can I say: we’re obviously suspicious looking characters. Either that or they were just admiring my shoes…

[Title: Dar Williams, February]

[Skirt: Topshop 2012 // Sweater: H&M 2012 // Shoes: Topshop 2012 // belt & bag: New Look (both old) // Sunglasses: Target 2011]

 As you probably gathered from my “black widow” look from earlier this week, one of my biggest fashion challenges is knowing when to stop.  “Ooh, look!” I’ll think, “A sixties-style shift dress! That would look nice worn casually, with flats, and natural-looking makeup… but it would look BETTER with a giant beehive, Twiggy-style false eyelashes, and maybe some white knee-high boots?” Once this kind of idea has hit me, it becomes really hard to shake: the “dressed down” option will always be second-best in my mind after that, so the next thing I know, my hair is so big I can’t get through the door without ducking, and I look like a reject from Pan’s People.

Er, that was obviously a totally made-up example. I mean, I would never wear white boots, for instance. Because I don’t have the rest of the stuff to go with them yet.  This outfit, however, was real enough, and actually, this is the second time I’ve worn it recently. The first time I wore it, well, let’s just say the phrase “50s debutante” popped into my head. Yes, again. Actually, the outfit is basically the winter version of this one, and it had a similar inspiration. There was big hair. There was a petticoat. There was an exaggerated cat’s eye flick. And when I was finished getting dressed, I looked in the mirror and realised I looked like I was wearing a Betty Draper Halloween costume or something. (Note to self: Betty Draper Halloween costume! WHY have I never thought of this before?) I felt so uncomfortable I ended up taking my hair down in the car, and then I got to walk around all day with hair that had been up, but now was down, and… yeah. It wasn’t my finest hour.

This time… well, I managed to dress it down a little bit. Not a huge amount, granted, but of course, I AM still ME, so let’s just be grateful it was a 50s-inspired skirt that caught my eye and not, I don’t know, a pair of leather hotpants, say. I guess I’ll just dress-down when I’m dead…

Title lyric: The Gaslight Anthem, The Queen of Lower Chelsea

[Dress: Karen Millen 2010 (competition prize) // Boots: Topshop 2010 // Gloves: gifted // Sunglasses: House of Harlow]

Well, at least if I ever have to go to a funeral in the 1940s, I’ll know what to wear, huh? But only if it’s the funeral of my millionaire elderly husband, who I secretly poisoned in order to steal his fortune and run off with the pool boy, obviously.

I tried to dress this outfit down. No, really, I did. But the second I saw this dress, it spoke to me. It said, “Wealthy widow who is probably also a murderer.” It also said, “DRAMA”. And so every time I wear it, I tell myself I’ll try not to go too over-the-top, and then I find myself saying, “Hey, Terry, know how we were going to go to Nando’s tonight? Change of plan: we’re going to go 1940s Hollywood instead. And we’ll be murderin’.”

Anyway, what I guess I’m trying to say here is that this outfit is the “Bad Guy” to my “Good Guy” outfit of last week. I don’t tend to wear black all that often (especially not head-to-toe black, like this), partly because it’s hard for me not to look like a vampire in it, but also because it’s just SO HIGH MAINTENANCE. I mean, I lint-rolled this dress right before we left the house, which was approximately 5 minutes before the photos were taken, but although it looked absolutely fine and lint-free in the mirror, once the sun hit it, it was like Lint City, population: this dress.  That kind of thing drives me mad, and is why I buy lots of pairs of black trousers and then don’t wear them: I’m just a bit too OCD to not be whipping a lint roller out of my handbag every five minutes, and that can be a bit of a mood-killer, don’t you think?

So, why am I wearing all this black when I’ve just said it makes me look like  one of The Undead and drives me crazy? Because I just can’t help myself. You see, it took me a long time to work out that black really wasn’t My Colour. Prior to that, I’d been working on the assumption that black was EVERYONE’S colour, and that it was impossible to go wrong with it. I even went through a phase where it was the only colour I would buy: I think I thought of it as a kind of shortcut to style, in a way. I had absolutely no clue what my style was at that point, and I figured that if I always wore black I’d at least be chic and mysterious, and in this way I would basically trick people into not realising I was actually a hot mess.

I learned. (Well….) But I still sometimes find myself drawn to black. I like the starkness of it. The simplicity. And all too often when a brand brings out a particularly fabulous dress, black will be the only colour they’ll make it in, so I allow myself to be tempted by it, and for some reason that’s been happening more and more frequently recently. Looks like I might need a few extra lint rollers…

[Lace skirt: River Island // sweater: Ralph Lauren (gift) // faux fur scarf: ASOS // Boots: Sam Edelman* // Bag: Marc by Marc Jacobs*]

Just a very quick post today, folks: I’m actually writing this on Sunday, and Terry and I are getting ready to go out for our Early Valentine’s celebration (We like to avoid The Others by avoiding the day itself…), so I don’t have time for my usual 38,834 words, but I thought you might like to know that I DID manage to lighten up a bit after my last post – or my clothes did, at least.

This outfit is basically a variation on this one and this one, from which you can probably tell that light colours – specifically creamy ones – have been my THING this winter. I set out to avoid retreating into gloomy, dark colours this year, and while I have worn my share of black this winter (and, ironically enough, will probably end up wearing MORE of it in the summer, because of all of the awesome black and white clothes that are appearing in the stores right now…), I’ve really been enjoying the head-toe-toe cream/beige/taupe/whatever look. It makes me feel a bit like the “good guy” in a Spaghetti western or something. That’s always fun.

And now I guess I better go get off this country road, before the farmer comes and mows me down with his combine harvester or something. Don’t copy fashion bloggers, kids! Stay safe!

 Jacket: New Look // Pencil skirt: Topshop  // Turtleneck: Primark  // Boots: Sam Edelman // Sunglasses: Gucci  -all from 2011-ish

February is my least favourite months of the year. It’s…

..actually, I’m going to stop right there, because I’m starting to feel a bit like the anti-fashion-blogger or something. There you all are, with your “Whee! Cupcakes and snowflakes, and autumn-is-my-favourite-season, boots and coats and layering, oh my!”… and meanwhile, there I am, sulking in the corner like a sullen teenager, going, “Nope, HATE IT. Hate that, too! Urgh, get the layering away from me! Did I mention that I HATE IT?” This is why I never go to fashion blogger meet-ups, obviously. Well, that and the fact I don’t get invited to them, I wonder why? I think I’ll go put on The Smiths and read some Sylvia Plath. Oh no, wait, I was writing a blog post, wasn’t I? Let’s see, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah…

February. It can just go HANG itself, as far as I’m concerned. I hate it, not just because it is a cold and vicious little month, but because, in our family, it’s traditionally the month when Bad Things happen. Now, I’m not even remotely superstitious, but after several years’ worth of Bad Things happening every February without fail, even I started to get a bit paranoid about it, and to think about pinning garlic above the door or something on the 31st of January every year.

(The Bad Things are not normally vampires. Nothing would surprise me in February, though.)

Mercifully, we’ve managed to get through a few Februarys lately without any Bad Things. This doesn’t really reassure me, though, because  it probably just means the universe is saving them all up, don’t you think? And one year – maybe THIS VERY YEAR, people! – it will unleash them all at once. And it will do it in February.

With that doom-laden tone set, then, here I am, wearing what has basically become my winter uniform: pencil skirt, turtleneck, over-the-knee boots. Sure would like to be wearing something different now, but nope, not going to happen, folks, because the weather won’t let me. So I’ll keep on with the boots and the pencil skirts, and also the tutlenecks which I love because of all the traffic I get from that forum for people with a fetish for turtleneck sweaters as well as being warm and comfortable, they also allow me to work one of my lesser-seen lazy hairdos: the FOB. (Faux bob, for the uninitiated. You just don’t bother pulling your hair out of the neck of your sweater once you’ve pulled it on, and… that’s pretty much it, actually.) I love me a FOB every now and again. My own hair wouldn’t look anything like this if I cut it short because it’s too limp and fine to sit nicely (I actually had it this short once, when I was a kid. It looked like ass.), but it’s fun to fake it sometimes.

(I should probably add that I pull the hair out once I remove my jacket, so it’s only like this briefly: I don’t walk around all day with my hair inside my sweater…)

And now I will try to fake confidence in the fact that this February will be filled only with Good Things. I mean, it’s already been filled with more pairs of shoes than any month has a right to: it can’t be THAT bad, can it?

P.S. I DO actually like some things, by the way. I just mostly like them in spring/summer. Check back then, and I promise I’ll be listening to the Beach Boys or something, rather than The Smiths.

(P.P.S. No I won’t.)

[Title lyric: Dar Williams, February]