Shame

 Hello.
It's Monday Nite. I'm sitting up snugly wearing my Toy Ugg Boots after just finishing watching yet another documentary on The Queen, a Woman I've Long Admired & Have, Over Many Years, Striven to Emulate as Much as I Can.
But, you may ask, How can One be like The Queen?
It's easy. Follow this Simple Check List, below:
1. Smile.
2. Wave Majestically.
3. Wear lots of Bling.
4. Stick to Pleasantries.
5. Prefer Dogs & Horses to People.
7. Wear hats that look like upturned Saucepans with bows on them.
8. Turn up.
9. Give a speech at Xmas.

Need I go on?
Anyway, that's not what this blog entry is About. Absolutely Not.
YOu may have noticed that the whiteboard in the first photo pleaded with you in a kind of Poor Little Match Girl  way not to scream at me  in Upper Case, 'Get a Life' .
In fact, I can't actually remember anyone ever telling me to get a life, although many people over the years have said things like, 'YOu haven't lived unless you've drunk a Harvey Wallbanger', which was a vile cocktail from the Seventies made from Galliano & Orange Juice I think.
Or, 'YOu haven't lived unless you've gone Skinnydipping in Sydney Harbour' which is what a guy once said to me on Our First Date.
But I guess that's not the same thing, is it?

 So, even though no one's ever told me to get a life I now live in Mortal Terror of being told so after I read about these  Young British Mummy Blogs Featuring Daily Photos of School Drop Off Outfits.
Let me explain..............

Some Mothers don't go to work. Instead, they get dressed in a Nice Outfit every morning & drive their children to school.
Once they arrive at the School Gate, they get out of the car & make one of their children or perhaps a Passerby take their photo.
Then, they race home & post the photo/s & an accompanying description of their Outfit on their blog.
They then have a cup of tea or a latte & wait for 50,000 page views.
Of course I'm not Collegial enough to be bothered creating a link to any of these blogs. I think perhaps one is called School Gate Something or Other & another might feature the word Suburban. Maybe Suburban Style. If you google School Gate Style you might find one.
Now I'm feeling guilty. Why can't I be bothered finding out their precise names?
Is it because I'm a Lazy Slattern?
No. I'm just tired & desperate to hop into bed with a small bowl of Globe Grapes the size of Eyeballs to munch  quietly before dropping off to sleep.

 But before I hop into bed, where does the Get a Life bit come in?
Well, apparently Disgruntled Blog Followers have been writing 'Get a Life' on these Mum's blogs. Like, haven't you women got anything better to do with your time than take endless photos of yourself outside the school gate? Get a Life.


And what say if one of these Disgruntlers might accidentally come across my blog & discover what's going on Inside the School Gate?
What O What would they say?

 I'd be soo mortified that I'd have to make a Quick Exit in my Getaway Car, which incidentally is the title of my favourite Hall & Oates song, 'In My Getaway Car'.

Talking of Outfits, I do want to Ever-so-Gently walk you through what I'm wearing in the photos in my Absolute Favourite Text Type, The Dot Point:

1. Almost everything is thrifted from my favourite Magic Shop, 'BednobsEtc'
2. The Pashmina in the top photo is an Actual Real not Toy Pashmina - a Roberto Cavalli Digital Print Offcut bought at a shop that actually sells New Things that I was taken to by my friend, The Ex-School Nurse. Like the School Drop-Off Blogs, I can't remember the name of the shop which is well worth a visit if you live near Waterloo in Sydney.
3. Can't be bothered saying anything much more except:
 * I Love Navy.
* I Love Pashminas. Soo good for covering up Middleaged Trouble Spots like Necks etc as well as provide comfort from the cold.
* I love wearing Double Animal Print bangles. It brings out my Inner Beast who actually Has a Life.

Lastly, I must must tell you about a blog whose name I sadly can remember. It's called Fabulous Over 50, although I'm not creating a link. Perhaps you have heard of it.
My BFF Marge in Thousand Oaks got me on to it. At first I was thrilled. That's me, I thought, although perhaps Fabulous Waay Over 50 would be more accurate.
When I got onto it I made a Beeline for a kind of Advanced Style Street Style Type Section that featured shots of women over 50 taken maybe in NYC. Underneath each photo were comments by a gaggle of Professional Stylists with accompanying photos & links to their web sites.
 The first street photo was of a lady who had on a Black Outfit of Many Parts.  If I saw this lady walking along the street I'd think she looked kind of interesting even though I personally wouldn't wear what she was wearing.
But all the stylists totally went to town on her. It was like the Nuremberg Fashion Crimes Trials. 
So mean. So nasty. One really hateful stylist accused her of the Unforgivable Crime of Not Being Age Appropriate which immediately made me want to race out & have my Belly Button pierced & wear a midriff top & short shorts.
I kept on thinking about the way the lady was standing there looking all hopeful & happy that she'd been noticed & how she might feel if she read all those comments.
I know how I'd feel.
Shame.

I Do Hope I Don't Look Too Much Like a Newly-Covered Armchair

It's one of those Sunday Afternoons. It's desperate to rain, but can't quite bring itself to.
I'm glad because I just trotted down the hill to the Supermarche to purchase supplies for tonite's Sunday Nite Mad Men Dinner & I didn't even have to run between the raindrops.
Yes, it's Mad Men Series 5 my guests & me are watching. I won't go on about it too much except to say that Betty, played by January Jones has considerably Porked Up for this series with the aid of a v. convincing Fattish Suit. BTW, what an interesting name January is, although I suppose she gets called Jan which isn't so interesting & an abbreviation of Janet, which I've always thought is a v. severe & serious name except it you pare it with Brad. You know, Brad & Janet from The Rocky Horror Show.

It's kind of strange to be called after a Month, although I've just remembered that half my daughter's name is Mae & I have a student called April & I always wanted a mother like June Cleaver from 'Leave it to  Beaver, my favourite show when I was five. And then of course there's Wednesday, the daughter from The Addams Family. OH, but sadly Wednesday isn't a month is it? Same Ball Park, though.
Anyway, enough of names. Let's talk about what I'm doing in the photos.
Can you guess?

I'm showing you my lunch. I pack it every day in my Plastic Lunch Pail which is on the floor next to my feet which are wearing little thrifted Anne Klein black patent booties.
I am slavish about bringing my lunch. I even bring it when the cupboard is bare & everything in the fridge is slightly rotting. I always seem to find something to shove into a plastic container & heat up in the microwave in the Staff Lunch Room.
Here's an example. I like to call this The Desperate Lunch:
*1 cup of pasta that I boil up whilst eating breakfast in bath.
* A large sprinkle of any cheese over the pasta even, when Really Desperate, that Toy Parmesan that comes in packets which has a distinctly soapy flavour. Apparently, the Parmesan Du Jour is Parmesan Reggiano. I must, must must get some. Desperate to be part of the Zeitgeist.
* A handful of chopped semi-sundried tomatoes.
* A handful of chopped curly parsley & chopped fresh dill.
* A tablespoon of pine nuts.
Actually, the last three ingredients aren't really part of The Desperate Lunch.
It's just really the first two.

My Favourite Foods for Lunch Packing:
* Thinly-sliced Chilled Pears that I pack with little crumbles of Blue Cheese. I have always eschewed Blue Cheese but for some v. odd reason, I now can't get enough of it. The only problem is that I can never tell if the cheese in my fridge is Real Blue Cheese or just Rotting Other Cheese.
* Lashings of rocket & dill & parsley to go with the pears etc.
* Chick peas. Only in cans. I don't have the time or the expertise to be bothered soaking or cooking or whatever you do to real chick peas.
According to The Head of English who is v. knowledgeable about English & possibly everything else, Chick Peas are the new Super Food.
* Cous cous.
Must stop typing & go into kitchen & prepare two chickens that I am stuffing with fresh lemon thyme, pine nuts, garlic, breadcrumbs & bacon & then putting in tidy oven bags & roasting for seventy minutes.
But before I go, I must quickly walk you through What I'm Wearing:
* A Coatdress that looks like it's made from a Soft Furnishing Fabric. I do hope I don't look too much like a newly-covered Armchair. BTW, I totally love coatdresses right now. I can wear the same old plain black dress underneath every day & jazz it up with a coatdress over the top
* A Pashmina. I think I bought this one for five bucks at a stall on Fifth Avenue in NYC years ago. I could write a whole blog post about Pashminas but I won't because I have to get back to the kitchen. In the meantime, try & think about what I might say about them.
* Matching Toy Leather Cuffs that scream Wannabe Hermes.
Bon Appetit!

I Said I Love You But I Lied

 Like many people decades & decades younger than me all around the world, I love Instagram.
Perhaps you also use it.
 Perhaps you've never heard of it. Sadly, I'm not going to explain what it is except to say that it's an Instant Photo with Magical Powers.
Occasionally I try to summon up these Magical Powers when I see something interesting in the street which isn't too often.  Maybe I'm just not looking properly.
But last week I walked out of the school gate after a long & exhausting day standing over a Hot Whiteboard only to find the above message neatly written in chalk across the footpath.
Of course I immediately thought it was addressed to me.
I racked my brain. Who had recently lied when they told me that they loved me, I wondered.
No one. I'm sure everyone who told me they loved me, meant it. Or if they didn't, they wouldn't bother admitting it.
So  I just took an Instagram instead.
It was much more satisfying than Brain Racking. Or is it 'Wracking'?


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 Talking of Hot Whiteboards, here I am this week in a whole series of  Exciting Photos taken by v. bored & slightly reluctant students who are sick to the back gills of taking photos of me & my outfits.
The weather is supposed to be almost late autumn. But it's kind of hot. In fact, as I type, I've just had to slip off  both Toy Ugg Boots as my feet were getting v. sticky. And it's nite when it's supposed to be coldish.
Anyway, I've been smugly congratulating myself all week on my Clever Layering  which allows me to discard jackets & scarves as the day hots up .
You can see what I mean in the snap above, although I don't think I did actually remove the lightweight wool jacket that partially covered the Shocking Pink Toy Satin blouse that I later ruined by spilling blue cheese dressing all down the front of it. As I am unable to Remove Stains, I'll have to throw it out.
On my feet, I'm wearing genuine Ferragamos that I bought for five bucks at a thrift store in Palm Springs this past January which of course now feels like years & years ago.
Oh, I must tell you something Mildly Gross.
I have good reason to think that my feet have grown by perhaps almost a size.
How is this possible for a woman of my age?
Is it because over the past few years in a desperate bid to fit into Thrifted Designer Shoes, I've developed a Flexible Attitude Towards Shoe Sizes & don't care what size I wear?
It all started with a pair of creme YSL ballet flats that were at least a size too big. They were only twenty bucks & I was determined, nay, desperate to have them. So I stuffed them with tissue paper & wore them.
After that, I didn't really care what size a shoe was if it was a designer label. I always managed to find a way to clump around in them regardless.
And now look what's happened?
Maybe it's my Feet's way of getting back at me.

I totally love this thrifted Carla Zampatti military style jacket that I wore with an unusual brooch featuring a long line of Toy Coins. Everyone thought I was wearing medals. As if I would.
Just now I was trying to think what I could get a Medal for:
1. The Loudest & Potty-iest Mouth in Any Staffroom in Sydney;
2.  Attending Therapy More Times Than Anyone Else in the Southern Hemisphere;
3. Having an Entirely Thrifted Wardrobe.
I recently re-watched that adorable film Rushmore, where the main character, a school student received two medals - one for perfect attendance & the other for  Punctuality. I would never get a medal for either of those two things, although I'm not particularly late or anything.

 Yesterday was boiling hot so I was forced to remove A Layer, revealing an adorable Spring-Type blouse in a Floaty Fabricwith big puffy sleeves & a pussy bow, which wasn't particularly flattering.
 But I didn't care, I wore it anyway. In an attempt to not look too much like Shirley Temple, or perhaps Margaret Thatcher, I butched it up by wearing a small gaggle of leather studded wristbands.

And now we're at The End. And not a moment too soon because if I don't hop into bed in a moment, I might explode.
I'm dressed for Disco Friday last week in a dress that screams Too Young For You!
But I ignored it.