It’s possibly a reflection of my schizophrenic life, but over the weekend I started to think that a Barbour (yes, I know I should keep this to myself) could be quite useful; while simultaneously debating whether or not to buy a pair of bell bottoms (ditto).
It’s probably a good thing that I can’t buy either in my village. Apart from the hunt shop (very useful should the military look ever come back into vogue) it’s a case of polyester partout in the local boutiques. I’m not quite ready for floral print overalls (yet) so I must get to a city soon, as my wardrobe is badly in need of an update. (I'm still wearing seventies stuff from the last revival.) It seems that you can take the fashion writer out of town but you can't remove the fashion gene ...
Two years ago I hung up my high heels, put the Prada handbags into storage and left behind my fashionable West London life to renovate an old village house in rural France. Et voila. This blog is about what happened next....
Worry not - in my pregnant state I've taken to wearing dungarees......and they've met with a very enthusiastic response. Or maybe folk are just being kind! So worry not if you're hankering for that Barbour....I'm with you every sludge green inch of the way!! Ah - the joys of a sartorial collapse x