There’s nothing like a cheeky, but legitimate, Monday off work. It’s just a shame that Mr P had to go to Essex at 5am this morning and won’t be back until sometime tomorrow evening. However, I do have Mrs W coming around later for a long overdue catch-up so that helps to soften the blow.
I popped to see dad and the stepmum after getting my haircut yesterday. I caught the last half of the football and the stepmum plied me with tuna salad sandwiches and lager. I was telling dad that my favourite, vintage clothes shop had just closed after a paltry five months of trading. Dad wrinkled his nose. “Vintage? You mean second-hand?”
Now, normally, I would agree with him on this point. Charging someone fifty quid for a pair of knackered, flared cords just because you happen to label them ‘vintage’ is scandalous to me but I decided to let him go on.
“I won’t even let the stepmum buy me anything from charity shops. I hate them.”
“The clothes are clean, dad. They don’t strip them from a corpse and hang them immediately in the shop.”
“But, with places like Primark, there’s no need to but anything from charity shops anymore.”
I sighed, knowing I would never win him around on this score. When I called him a snob, he agreed wholeheartedly, explaining that whilst he was more than happy to shop at Aldi, he wouldn’t be seen dead brandishing one of their carrier bags.
Yesterday, we all (me, Mr P, F-I-L, both B-I-Ls and S-I-Ls and the nephews and niece) went for dinner at The Quorndon Fox for the F-I-L’s birthday. I had sea bass in a winey, seafood sauce which was okay. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite as the menu described (I got asparagus in lieu of samphire), the bass’ skin wasn’t quite crispy enough and for £16.50, I wasn’t left feeling that satisfied. Still, we had a nice day and it’s another milestone over and done with since the death of the M-I-L.
Before we went for dinner, Mr P and I took the whippet for a walk by the river. It was busy that afternoon due to the blazing sun and soaring temperatures. An woman wearing leggings walked towards us with two Yorkshire terriers – pink bows in situ, pink collars and leads to match. When one of them ventured to have a little sniff of the whippet, she yanked it back and admonished it. “Tequila!” she snapped. I was dying to stick around to hear the name of the other dog. My guess is either Sunrise or Sambucca.
After much hunting, I think I may have found the perfect yellow dress for my cerise shoes. Only the correct, canary yellow would do but all the dresses I found were either too lemony or too mustardy until I stumbled upon this on ebay:
I’m not too sure about the beaded panel thing in the middle but everything else is perfect and it was only £8 so even if I can’t live with the panel, I haven’t sacrificed too much.
The heels in question are these beauties:
I think they could work together beautifully.