Conversations with strangers

My work involves me spending time with people in a waiting room, sometimes they're quiet, other times they really want to chat. I've got PTSD from some of the things people tell me, yesterday I was just confused.

A woman arrived, accepted a cup of coffee and told me how furious she is at the government's announcement about stopping the £500 winter fuel payment to pensioners, she told me how her mother found it difficult to  cope. I sympathized, then she moved on to the joys of a clothing resales app called 'Vinted'.

Mum's a shopoholic, she just won't stop, her house is full of bags of clothes still with all the labels on. Every now again to make room for the next lot she'll take a load to the charity shop and I said - Mum! look you could make money on this stuff. I put some of it up on Vinted last week, 6 dresses, 10 pairs of jeans - all brand new, never worn - I got £35 for it !

Siberian wardrobe problems

 

I sat next to a woman who told me she was from Siberia

Two Siberian clichés crashed into my brain, I made a pinchy face, she was defensive

It is not just very cold it is also very hot,  we only have extremes, six months very hot, six months very cold and very great difference over one day - it can start at minus 20 degrees, then later in day zero degrees - so it really fucks with our blood pressure and people die from that, but really big problem in Siberia is that we love British trench coat - every woman has trench coat but weather is either for fur coat or little small top, there are precisely two days every year when  trench coat is acceptable so we all live with trench coat in wardrobe. 

This prompted me to think about an over-sized, new-but-vintage toffee-coloured cashmere coat I bought in a charity shop last year. I had to have it but it looked like I was wearing an actual wardrobe so I got it altered by an expensive tailor. As long as I wear it over a big chunky jumper, accessorised with substantial footwear and headwear it looks fantastic. Mimsy British weather is never cold enough for this outfit, obviously I must relocate . . . but Siberia . . . gulags, chilly . . .

My next post might be from Norway 

I'm basically a mermaid these days

recent trips to Devon have offered many opportunities to get in the water and in Britain it can be a bit chilly. My first sea dip in May made me dizzy and my hands felt like they'd been stamped on - for some reason this makes me feel heroic.


I've also been walking along the river Dart. Today I found a good skinny-dipping spot. Being naked seems to automatically join people into a sort of club, pleasantries are exchanged in a manner that doesn't happen in 'textile situations'*   


*I'm practising this new context for 'textile' since I discovered that's how naturists refer to people who wear clothing, such as this naturist report on a campsite on Slapton Sands


"...a really good site, with what must be unique co-existence in this country. Large field with views to the sea - top two thirds of site textile, bottom third naturist, with just an open post and rail fence to mark an informal division. No gates, and the fence is open to drive / walk round at both ends. Very easygoing and relaxed. All facilities, apart from a fresh water tap, are on the textile side, so need to dress to access them."


image: Barry Lewis - Natural Theatre Company in London

exam study leads me to search for bathing suits

definitely getting this one

I bought some adult lady shoes

to go with the smart trousers that I can zip up but not sit down in

I made myself late for a meeting yesterday because I was looking for the perfect sock to go with the adult shoe and the smart trouser to attend a serious meeting today

I got home and rehearsed the outfit but decided that the look needed more practise in a less risky arena so I went to the meeting wearing 'normal me' clothes

and it went really well  

me and Karl Lagerfeld

the day I met David Bowie's sort-of-landlady a man had taken my navy jacket leaving me with his black blazer*.  

[for the full story follow this link and if you're reading on a mobile device I think this blog works better if you can see the web version]

My reefer jacket was a good fit and was an everything jacket, it worked with my skirts and trousers and meant that while I'm in london I can survive with that jacket and the rest of my wardrobe in a small holdall.

The big black blazer makes me look as though I'm two little boys standing on each other's shoulders in their fathers coat - which isn't the look I'm going for.

I searched the charity shops to find a replacement and after a couple of days settled on a black-and-orange baseball jacket which is great for when I'm feeling a bit varsity but not when I'm concerned about mutton-and-lamb issues and certainly not if I'm trying to look like a grown-up.

Yesterday on my quotidien charity-shop trawl/quest for a neat navy jacket I came across a neat black coat, the sort of thing Karl Lagerfeld wears. I tried it on and looked just like a pale version of Karl Lagerfeld then I looked at the label and it said 'Karl Lagerfeld'


it's black and it doesn't go with my skirt, or any of my clothes except jeans and I'll have to go out and buy a different sort of jeans that work better with this coat but it's Karl Lagerfeld and I'm surprised by how nice it feels so I keep it on and pay for it at the same time as a lady buying a crochet pot holder - she made an impressed face and said

nice

and I said

Karl Lagerfeld

* I asked the bus company to help trace the man and effect an exchange but that hasn't worked out

I keep hearing about crippled women

who hadn't realised that if only they had worn a correctly fitting bra they wouldn't be suffering this way now.

I've been feeling a bit crippled lately


it was time to visit the big shop famous for it's bosom-measuring service.

I was given an appointment for in 10 minutes time so that the assistant behind the counter with the appointment book could put on her bosom-measuring face.

Maybe the assistant was on loan from the fish department - she was not comfortable with bosoms. Eyes averted she put a tape measure over my clothes and measured the middle of my rib cage then she went and took a lunch break.

She came back with arms full of ugly beige boulder-holders in a variety of sizes, instructed me to try them all on until I found a comfy one, then she disappeared for ever.

I'm in a book

Women in Clothes by Sheila Heti, Heidi Julavits, Leanne Shapton and 639 Others


I love it that in a book about clothes my contribution is about nudity

Today I coveted this dress

but it was on a high shelf and I suspected that I would have needed to be a bit smaller to fit into it


so I bought these shoes for my niece instead

Dirty Conspiracy

The house and the weather are trying to make a fool out of me;  rain and wind keep happening whenever someone has a bath - then the weather sits back and has a good laugh when I run around shouting

THIS LEAK IS DEFINITELY COMING FROM THE BATH!!!


in other news i am trying to knit a cardigan in one big piece, sleeves and all - my big wool-engineering project

I am working next to the window that looks out onto the garden, I should be finishing that bee book and I nearly have but I am also watching a new cat that has appeared in our garden, being new she doesn't understand that we don't want cats in the garden but she has such an air of astonishment at finding herself in this world and she is so astonished and so young that she's useless at getting the birds so I haven't started shoo-ing her yet.

Gold Dust

I haven't been very thorough in my jumper-rinsing. I sat at a table for one hour wearing my yellow jumper - when I got up there was a cloud of golden powder in my place.

Yellow Jumper

This is the jumper I dyed with turmeric powder it is still drying out. I have added the word Mmmmmmmmmmmm to my dictionary.

Rusting

It's been raining all day, the radio is full of people crying - I might drown.

Thrilled with the banana wrap that I made last weekend I want to colour another piece of this lovely felty wool. The coffee shop down the road leaves out bags of used grounds for anyone who wants it (cushion stuffing?).

I soaked my fabric in old coffee grounds overnight - the result is disappointingly off-grey. I have now lain the sad thing outside and covered it with old nails we shall see if this never-ending rain can rust some colour onto it.

Banana Art

On Friday I went to the depot where manufacturers bring excess materials/mistakes/by-products. Here one can fill a large shopping trolley with knicker elastic, bits of string, misprinted maps, sheet-sized pieces of felt and rubber body parts. On payment of 10 groats one can also take these things home.

I will make the sitting-in bit of a garden chair with the knicker elastic – pink and blue if you’re asking.  The bits of string are too short to be very useful but I used them to tie a blanket-sized piece of felt into a concertina-y tube then boiled it and dyed it yellow. It came out of the boiler looking a bit weedy – like it had been weed on - so I twisted it further and baked it in the oven like a strudel until it had burnt patches all over. I love this thing that looks like an enormous ripening banana skin and smells like a croissant, I will wear it round my neck like a gigantic Elizabethan ruff and dogs will follow me down the street. 

I just googled 'banana art' - had no idea it was actually a 'thing'

Cakewalk of Shame

Last week I did the 'halfway outfit test'  this involves trying on the 'test' dress. If it won't quite zip up, it means that less than half my clothes currently fit me,  last week the dress actually laughed at me and refused to get past my waist. 

The night after the frock humiliation, my dreams mingled the cake/body angst together -  I visited Claridges for afternoon tea. The waiter arrived and fastened the cakes directly onto my body, I left for a job interview wearing a meringue on one breast, a cupcake on the other and jangling as I walked in a skirt of chocolate fingers.

Women in Clothes

Earlier this year I came across Sheila Heti and, intrigued by her 'women in clothes' project,  I filled out the survey that informs the project, asking women to respond to questions about how they think about clothes, and include photographs or diagrams if possible. I came across my answers today and was filled by nostalgia by the two responses below.
 
Q. Do you remember the first time you were conscious of what you were wearing? Can you decribe this moment and what it was about?

A. I had never considered what I looked like or been interested in what I was wearing, I lived in hand-me-downs and jumble-sale clothing, my hair was cut by an aunt. When I was seven years old my father married a very stylish lady who took me on a train to London to shop for some new outfits, including two sleeveless, rock 'n' roll-neck nylon shift dresses covered in psychedelic paisley shapes (we were in the 'swinging sixties').  She then took me to a hairdresser called Giovanni and instructed him to give me an ‘elfin style’ cut, this turned out to involve a heavy fringe and sideburns. The sideburns showcased my ears which are attached to my head in the same manner that handles are attached to a mug. At this time I also sported a luxuriant monobrow, the boys on the school bus would ask to see if the brow actually encircled my head completely.

Q. Can you recall a time when you have dressed a particular way to calm yourself or gain a sense of control over a situation that scared you?

A. I have a sticky-out stiff blue skirt, it’s a bit cartoony and makes me feel light-hearted, if I wear it with my rigid leather biker jacket it becomes my 'armour outfit’, I feel like Lucy Van Pelt (from the Peanuts) in this outfit.

(This no longer works - I am currently trialling other 'armour outfits')

Party Time

The new offices have separated the Cake Eaters from the Camera Boys. The former occupy the large beautiful-ceiling-room and mostly spend time looking at hot men on each others computer screens. The Camera Boys bob in and out of their rooms like meercats investigating new burrows, they carry bits of wire or a metal box as they go but basically they’re just visiting each other to look at pictures of hot girls on each others computer screens.

Last month we all went out together. It was a straight-from-work-fancy-dinner event, an industry-award-ceremony affair where we sat at big round tables set with white linen, long-stemmed wine glasses and packets of sweeties stamped with the logo of a television company. We brought our geary clothes to work and hung them on behind-the-door-hooks until tea-time, then one by one people disappeared and reappeared to stand around feeling vaguely uncomfortable in suits and gowns until a critical mass of gloriousness was reached and just one cardigan-clad person remained tapping furiously at her keyboard.

A Tale of Two Dining Tables

I returned to Bristol earlier than planned last week, just in time to see a bed being removed from the top bedroom which is becoming a second editing suite, the first editing suite was whirring with the business of getting footage prepared for the new editor.

At the bottom of the house a Camera Boy has been busy operating knurling machines and drills, metal shavings crunch underfoot in the the kitchen and the dining table has many tools on it. Carpets and furniture are glittery with the shine of metallic dust - Christmas simply isn't Christmas without it.

In the middle section of the house, The Director was surrounded by women and cake and was getting flummoxed, he’s spent the last several weeks in cars with boys and cameras and has forgotten how women carry on; Zena was in doing lion research, Mrs Moneypenny was getting the government-related paperwork in order and Miss Whiplash was unveiling her current collection of winter clothing. Last year it was floor-sweeping, furry filmstar cloaks, this season she’s channelling her inner intrepid-reporter via cream flak jackets and fur-lined underwear.


On Monday The Director flew to America to talk to people in the offices of National Discovery and I went back to The Smoke...

Last night I was engaged to give a cookery class at a private house in Hampstead, the idea being that I prepare tapas for the hostess and her guests while talking about what I’m doing, they join in with the making if they want, then everyone gets to eat the food - somewhere along the line the original intention was lost.

I arrived and was shown by a maid to the vast kitchen/dining room fitted with a big shiny cooker, double-sized double sinks and impressive granite work tops completely obscured by gadgets; 2 juicers, a breadmaker, a microwave, remote control units, toys, little bottles of condiments, jams, medicines and a footspa, there is not a handspace of work surface visible.

The kitchen is dominated by a massive table, covered with a cloth and decorated all along a wide central section with 6 big vases of flowers, dry fruits stuck on tall stalks, swirls of feathers, glittery pine cones and trails of beads and sequins leaving not quite enough margin around the edge of the table for the 14 place settings already laid out - there’s nowhere to put any food.


My breathless client had forgotten about it being a cookery demonstration. She talked very fast about all the dogs and children that needing taking to vets and flute lessons...

Are you ok to just carry on? Juanita can show you where everything is and help you peel things. I’ve got no idea how many people I’ve invited but they’ll be here in a couple of hours, I should be here just before and we’ll have a little champagne – will the food be done by then?

Telling Me How It Is

My husband has finally come home after spending many weeks in Africa, he's been away for most of the year and I'd forgotten that our sartorial tastes don't often coincide.

I have items of clothing that he really dislikes, and I've been buying more in his absence. He is not a stupid man and never criticizes what I am actually wearing, instead he puts a lot of emphasis on the positive, I set off for an interview this morning with this compliment ringing in my ears

Now that's nice, much nicer than the cardboard skirt and fishermen's boots

Better Stop Looking Now

The party at Bonjour Pensiyon (see last post) went on most of the night and involved a lot of singing and dancing, even Grandma forgot her humming and danced and grinned like it was the best party ever – which it was. Next day I loaded their computer with the movies and photos I had made during the evening and they loaded me up with a big bag filled with olive oil, jars of olives and olive oil soap (because the olives in Ayvelik are the best in the world!) and the following evening I staggered on to the night bus - bound for Istanbul.


My baggage consisted of little more than a skirt, a summer dress, some t shirts, swimwear, spare knickers, a hat and a shawl - and a lot of olive-based products. The weather in Istanbul is in the 20s and feels like the height of a British summer but the residents of Istanbul are swathed in their autumnal woolies and I was looking ridiculous.

Yesterday morning I went to Taksim, the area one goes for shopping.

An escalator brought me, and a pile of other people, into Taksim square from the underground station, there was a demonstration going on and several of us stopped to watch, the crowds were perfectly well-behaved, marching nicely through the square with their banners, then the police started firing tear gas and the demonstration was made chaotic, I got swept up running with all the protestors, filtering off down side streets stopping finally by a shop to buy lemons and water which helped ease the burning.


Finally today I managed to get me an autumn outfit, a frock and some shoes, all I needed were some black tights - could I find some?

There are countless shops selling hosiery but none have plain black tights. The shop assistant, determined to sell me something, produced a pair the wrong colour, I said these are brown

the shop assistant replied no not brown, light black