When can I wear my white and my brights?

19 Feb 2013



I was late.  I am always late.

Running out the house without my coat would normally be a problem in the middle of Feb, but by the time I noticed my body was freer than normal I was too far away to turn back.  Getting it would mean being  noticeably late and that's not good when I'm still trying to make an impression.  

Today I wore a gently pink dress with vines of pink and green faded flowers growing in different directions.



Lady like pink wasn't my intention as I really wanted to wear the one above with deep splashes of bright colours, but I thought no...are you allowed to wear white and be so bright when winter still calls?

I bought three skirts a few months ago all in different shades - old, boiled washed and greyish. One is a dainty 1950s circular skirt from Vintage18.  I have white dresses lined up waiting to be worn.  Film stars, wife's of film legends, music queens, famous people famous for nothing are boldly stepping out in the colour I want to wear.  They look great in the mags and gossip pages, even if they look very very cold.

There have been plans to wear all my summer frocks right through the seasons of rain fall, slushy snow and when the dark colours best fit gloomy days. I was going to wear burgandy, navy, warm chestnut brown cardigans (I don't have any navy, burgandy or warm chestnut cardigans) with heavy boats and layer everything up on top of my white frocks.



But I didn't.

I failed this task as soon as I started trying to find cardigans - I couldn't be bothered.  Topshop did nice overpriced chunky knits, second hand shops had stacks of big bad knits that were way to itchy for my skin.   I did find one cream wollen cardi for £5.  It was tad too big, but now it's a tad too small cause I tumbled dried it to death. Sad face.

Urban Outfitters predictably and drastically reduced their prices, but my focu is now on saving my pennies for a trip to Montenegro rather than perfecting my winter summer look.



I asked someone today if summer was coming so I could start collecting a little courage to wear my whites. He said no and I thought oh.

Then my thinking too much brain thought why do I need courage to put on a weight dress?  Honestly - don't I have bigger things to worry about?  Don't I have to use my courage for other stuff and reserve it to bat away life's beasts when they roar?

But as much as life is about serious stuff, I'm aye ok sewating about the pretty stuff too.  Balance.  The thought of facing life's crap in a decent looking frock isn't so bad is it?




Dresses: Ribbons and Taylor: Church Street: All under £30 each

Before Sex After Love


Picture taken from before sex after love blogspot titled Keep it Cummin.
Mavis delight.  That is the contact name in my phone for one of my very dear friends.  Mavis is her name and delight because I've always thought she was delightful.   


We got talking about blogs a few weeks ago and she promised to send me the links to her favourite sites.   There was one night my mind wouldn't rest so I had plenty of time to read one of her recommendations www.beforesexafterlove.com

She's sassy.  She's brave.  She's honest and she's called Candice.  Some might say her blog is vulgar, brash, not a delicate read on a Sunday morning, but I'm open to her thoughts about sex, love and relationships.  If you're a little squeamish then don't bother taking an online wonder to her site. 

Here's a few gentle excerpts from beforesexafterlove.


One million lovely letters
"Anyone who knows me, knows that I am a sucker for handwritten notes.  After my fathers passing, my mother gave me some love letters that he wrote her when she was my age.   Unmarked and crisp with age, at my lowest I re read them, just to feel closer to him."

On turning a delicate 25
"My heart is in the right place so poop toot to all those who tried to rid of it.  My advice thus far is this; you need only see two hundred feet ahead.  And if like me, your compass fails, follow your heart.  She takes a while to kick in, but I promise she will be selfless enough to forgive yourself infliction and by any means necessary, will be sure to get you home."

Last love letter of 2012
"Me sharing this letter is encouragement to all those little girls like me, saw fucked up marriages.  Those little girls who swore they would build walls around their hearts so high, that no knight could penetrate that muscle.  To the women that still cry when Denny dies in Greys Anatomy.  To the women that think they are a little "too much".  To all the females that still, beneath the snide comments, one night stands and drunken cries; believe in happy endings."

a bit of colourful metal can make a little difference



Have you read the Hunger Games books by Suzanne Collins? Amazing. 

If you have then you will know about the Mockingjay - the black bird emblem that becomes a symbol of hope to District 13.  Slightly obsessed by the trilogy I got me my own symbol when I found this glaring out at me at the vintage Market at South Tyneside Station in Newcastle.    


I do miss my Sunday morning treat.  Sitting in the front seat of the metro, leaving behind the city and staring ahead waiting too see the sea.  


Meandering past stalls, catching a glimpse of something a little bit precious, strolling slowly down to the beach with friends (it's a Sunday, you ain't meant to rush on a Sunday) and hoping the seagulls don't poop on my head.

This is my ex wonderful flatemate Lingi.  We sat round the kitchen table for hours.  She'd do her work on the computer and I'd sit on her bed and chat her ears off and she would listen and we would laugh, then we would cook a buffet and eat and talk some more and do it all again the next day. 
The circular pendant with real dried bright blue and pink flowers is presently my broach of the moment.  It was a happy little £3.50 find at the market.   I think it's beautiful.


I permanently borrowed the flower bouquet from my mother's drawer - so that came for free.  Did I tell you I love free things?

The few broaches that I have give my plain high street dresses a dash of vintage.  I pull the neck down, give myself a little cleavage and pin the things in the right place to keep it all together.  I've got a dress that shows my bosoms way too much, so I do the opposite and pull it high on round my neck, pin the dress and them I'm happy and it still all looks aye ok.

A necklace and a broach.  My mum used to go to an OAP market every Friday.  She took me one day and I treated myself.
Sometimes they find a place on my winter beanies.  It's my easy way of making things feel a little bit different to everything else.

People can spend a lot on broaches,  but I can't because I know I will one day look down and it will be gone.

I'm more emotionally attached to things (is that bad or good? - who knows, who cares).  Most things I have has a little reason for being there.  I was with so and so at the time - or this or that happened and that's why I have it now.


I know if I lost my golden Mockingjay or the cheap yet beautiful flower circle or my mum's broken bouquet, I'd spend way too much time for the rest of my whole life thinking about them all. 

So I must admit, sometimes I just keep them in a box or pin them on my wall and when I remember  to notice them, I think my don't you look pretty today?

I have a secret

15 Feb 2013


It's London fashion week and I forgot until I wondered past this "designer jumble sale" on Lamb Conduit Street. 

We had a look, but the excitement was promptly left at the door when I spied a fair few dresses way way way over my price range.  But I loved the shop assistance's skirt - knee length with a poofy underskirt that swished when she busied around the quiet shop.  

I took some photos and then went back to doing what I was doing before this clothes distraction happened.


I'm with friends this weekend, staying in wonderful place that's in the heart of London, but has managed to shield me with peace and calm.  

The Goodenough Club in Bloomsbury should be kept a secret, so I'm not going to tell you much about it.  There's a grand sense of formality when you have breakfast in the great hall.  I felt I was on the set of Harry Potter, even though I've never seen the film, I do like to pretend. 


I'm making a great effort today to stay away from the shadows and walk in the sunshine.  I decided to do casual and I'm enjoying this off the shoulder thing that I couldn't appreciate if I wore a massive jacket, so I choose to freeze a little so I can indulge my self.  Everything I'm wearing is high street. I want to say yuk, but I've not yet learned to survive without  H&M, Urban Outfitters, Primark and TK MAXX.  The only vintage I'm wearing is the skin I'm in.  :0)

Standing in the grounds of the Goodenough College.  I was in London, but felt like I was somewhere else.

I think I'd like to go to LFW one day.  I'd like to sit in the back row with my sunglasses on (ha) and wear some extra special mad outfit and just marvel at the absurdity of it all.  But for now I don't feel I'm missing out because I'm spending time with people who refused to give up on me and insisted on being in my life.

Plus I'm having my own silent fashion parade.  Walking around being casual, stepping in the light of the sun, having a baileys on ice, making sure the off the shoulder thing is still off the shoulder and getting to know more about the people I'm with - that's way way way better for me, today and for now. 





Vintage Slovenia and a sewing bag

9 Feb 2013


This bag was hanging brightly on a rail and as I walked by, it said "Ena don't leave without me."  

I'm in a city where I am struggling to pronounce its name.  Ljubljana, Ljubljana, Ljubljana is the capital of Slovenia - today the centre of my world.   Every time I go away, I try to find me a vintage oasis, so I can bring back a tangible memory.

My room is peppered with trinkets, bracelets, rings, cushions, pictures, something wee that always triggers something, so I never forget where I've been and how I've chosen to live.


The search for Vintage Divas in Gosposka Ulica 3 was easy.  Acclimatizing to Slovenian culture isn't difficult instead it's a funny process. As a tourist I sort of demand to have all the attractions readily available when I'm ready, but in low season here, it's been a challenge that has just made us laugh every single day.  The mere fact Vintage Divas was opened was a comfort and a surprise.

Inside happy lady greeted us.  She wore excellent glittery docs that I would never wear but admire those who would.  She was a helpful edgy burst of energy, telling us about the very best and the very bad clubs to dance in. We ignored her advice (stupid) and ended up in the worst place ever. Oh well lesson learned.


Anyway, the shop is way more modern than I thought it would be.  Vintage places tend to have that worn in look, the pretending we don't care theme that covers the striped back walls or the rough edges that have been expensively scratched into new furniture.


Grey is my favourite colour, so I instantly liked Vintage Divas because my favourite wash of hew on the walls seemed to act like a canvass for everything else in the room to stand out and take its place.

Second hand clothes are carefully hung beside a long list of designers you will know.  Zoe and I played guess how much this dress is and then gasped in amazement that someone out there one day would come into this store, buy the ugly yellow Moschino dress for €500 and feel delighted. Oh my. I bought my wee bag for a whole €9.


Under the fluffy hat, Zoe thought she'd found herself a perfect accessory to go with her corset for a captains ball that I'm not invited to. Instead looking at it made her realise she could make it herself. 

I don't need another bag, but I convinced myself I needed one for sewing.   I can throw away (sorry recycle) my pink plastic and transfer everything including my pin cushion into this beautiful Slovenian bright red bag.   And then when I go to my next lesson, I'll pull my stuff out and I will smile inside.

Because I'm thinking it's my sewing bag but also my memory bag.  It comes with happy times.  It reminds me of days spent on foreign lands laughing my head off, living life in the moment, enjoying, not worrying. It reminds me of the people we stumbled upon and burning the candle at both ends.  It triggers the monologue of conversation between strangers, people close and the ones that went on in my head.  It takes me back to the wishes I forgot to make.  Of the time spent rummaging through my stuff to find a euro, only to realise I said "plop" when my coin hit the water instead of whispering for what I hoped for.


It reminds me about a holiday I can't explain to others.  When people ask me about my days in Slovenia, I say it was ok, I recount a few tales, but truly wish I could tell them about all the fragmented  events that evolved into having a wonderful time.  Only Zoe gets it because she was there and maybe that's what makes it so wicked.  In a world where we share everything, maybe not sharing is a new found novelty that makes this extra special. 

So for me, silly as it might sound, my/our Slovenian bubble is now symbolised in a very bright bright red bag that has found its own place amongst the other trinkets of life around my room. 


Something you might like: Farandula 

One pin cushion created

1 Feb 2013


I have a pin cushion, but have no pins yet.  Does that matter?

I am delighted with my first tangible artifact from my 2nd sewing class, even though its found a new home on the floor in the corner of my room.  

It's not that I'm not proud of it, but I can't erase the fact that the pin cushion without pins is simply a square bit of fabric with some ex pillow fluff inside - it's not a dress is it?  If it was a dress, well I don't think it would be on my floor.  

Now anyone can sew a pin cushion, but not anyone can do it the proper way like I did.  I used a proper square cardboard template cutter, tacked it, then used proper sewing scissors, that protect your knuckles. Then I tacked it again.  I was slightly disappointed with the news that I'd have to tack everything I ever make before it gets machined.  I just thought, put the pins in and then use the machine, BUT NO.  You just don't do that.  


Master Jenny is teaching me the correct way to do everything.  She says it's then easier to break the rules and cut corners and I like that way of thinking.  So everything I am doing now is correct. Everything I will do in a years time will be done Ena style.  Hurrah!!!!

So correct rules state:

:: You must wash your material before you start sewing and cutting it up. What a bother I thought, but  if I don't my dress will shrink in the wash and it won't fit and that is just now allowed to happen.

:: Iron out any creases in the material.  I can do that no problems.

:: Always sew the "good sides together", which basically means always sew inside out.

:: Thread matching.  We did a whole section on this, but my mind wondered because I was thinking about someone.  I realise lessons on bobbins and the technical stuff make me retreat into my own little fairytale dreams which I will endeavour to not to do next time.  I may have not been listening but I did write it down. 


:: Thread for tacking should always be arms length.  I thought that's a good bit of advice.  All my life the thread has been too long and gets knotted or too short it's useless.  

:: Basting means tacking.  Americans say basting we say tacking and I'm told most patterns for dresses talk about basting.  I wouldn't know that cause I'm not onto dresses yet. Sad face. 

My biggest problem is that I don't have a machine.  Saturday arrived, the sun was shinning, I could still taste the whisky from last nights Burns celebrations.  I do love being Scottish.  I was told to go to Eastleigh Sewing Centre and so I did and expected to fall in love and I didn't.  I think I romanticised a little to hard about meeting my machine.  I met these two. 


I now realise I must look harder for a machine, make a decision and make a purchase.  I can't practice at home right now and in order to become Master Jenny's prodigy I must surround myself with pin cushions.  The more pin cushions in my life the better I'll be.

Pin cushion in a tea cup. Nice.  No sewing involved, so not ideal.
Oh and today I found a wonderful wonderful material shop Ateliers six minutes from my house. The one in town I've decided is yuk.  This place just has rows and rows of stuff I want to buy.  But first I must get a machine.



I may have all the material in the world, but if I don't have a machine, I don't have me a dress. 












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