It seems strange to be posting pictures of trees with green leaves (from way back at the end of September) on the same day that I had an (albeit gentle) snowball fight with my brother and the temperature is averaging somewhere around -3C. The living room, complete now with a constantly burning fire, has suddenly become the vital organ (or should that be heart?) of our house. I only retreat into my bedroom for clothes, books and sleeping as it is now icily cold there. However, I can't actually wear any of my nice, warm vintage winter coats at the moment as they are too heavy for my shoulders - typical! The minute they could have some actual use, they end up being confined to the coat rack outside my room!
However, two or so months ago when heavy coat wearing was possible, I decided to put on this grey vintage beauty - bought from a local market stall. There's just something about the sheer quality of the details, from the well cut collar to the fabric covered buttons, that makes it feel special. This was also the first time I wore this forties blue pleated skirt. I bought it from a vintage market stall in Bristol, promptly forgot about it and left it there at my friend's house, before remembering several weeks later and having to ask her to scour her room for a supermarket plastic bag (my clothes travel in style!) and send it to me. I only noticed after putting it on how the powdery blue contrasted with the pink silk lining of the coat. I also added a little thrifted top (Next originally), some grey ribbed long socks, a charity shopped belt, gold t-bar heels from ebay and a briefcase from the jumble sale I waxed lyrical about a few posts ago. The necklace (barely visible) was my grandma's.
As is often the case with my locations, the landscapes in the above images were taken advantage of during a family walk. So it was just a quick change from wellies to heels, and voila - abandoned houses and stone walls providing perfect backdrops. I suppose I often take this beautiful area for granted, but I get moments where I am so grateful for having this on my doorstep. I've had to take lots of walks in the past few weeks to help strengthen my back, and whether it's a snow covered silent hill (as it was this afternoon), or a fog filled valley, the views I've seen are enough to make any landscape photographer leap with joy. Or in my case, sulk, as I still can't carry my heavy camera for that long!
Apologies about the slightly crude rhyming of this post's title. However, I thought it might lead into a little mini debate. I spent an evening a few days ago lying on the sofa, writing, redrafting and refining a poem. Please don't groan now, skip the next paragraph and go, "Oh God, another teenager who thinks she can write a poem.." Because if I wasn't writing this, I might just join you! It seems that there are certain art forms that inspire derision if anyone other than a professional attempts them - maybe writing is a prime example because anyone can pick up a pen or tap on the keyboard. What distinguishes the cliche from the crafted? Perhaps the problem, particularly with poetry, is that it gets set so often as a school writing exercise. Maybe as a result,when push comes to shove, many people assume they can 'write a poem'. Unlike fashion design or master cabinet making, it's not an activity associated with apprenticeship or a long-learned craft.
Any thoughts on this matter/ musing? I'm sure I read a statistic somewhere saying poetry writing is the most popular hobby in Britain. I certainly enjoy both the reading and writing of it.
Finally, thank you so much to the wonderful Dylana of Nana in Wonderland, not only for her featuring a pair of my Mummy's Scissors, but also for writing about her own experience of scoliosis and spinal surgery so eloquently. I feel very glad to have found her through our mutual love of fashion and style blogging.
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