In my case, the mouse will turn up with her own cat and rummage, thoroughly, through your kitchen cupboards.
But this isn’t a post about another thing I’m not interested in: cooking. It’s a post about the correct use of sportswear. Not mine. Mine is at home begging for mercy & a break from hot washes. Don’t even get me started on this 30 degree malarkey.
While Madame StyleStuff has been making free with the green tea on the west coast… no, not Cumbria… your correspondent has been living it up in style, chez elle.
Obviously, before leaving home I checked the weather forecast, ignored it and hoped for an indian summer. Obviously, I should have paid attention. Been a good girl. Sat up straight and packed layers.
My method worked well for a few days and then the end of August fell off a cliff into 13 degrees & heavy cloud and I had to go hunting. Mainly for scarves.
We all have mistaken beliefs and one of mine is that a wooly scarf cures most of my sartorial ills. And then I see myself floating down an escalator in John Lewis and realise I simply look like someone who needs:
- a good pie
- considerably more makeup
- a completely different outfit
Hang on. This was about sports wear.
Well, aside from the red, Nike, down jacket that I HAD to borrow because it was tarnation well cold walking up to Waitrose to be staggered at how much people aren’t willing to pay Aldi prices, I also dug into the vast selection of barely worn zip ups. Took full and frank posession – they are now molded to my chimp-style wide feet – of a pair of slightly hospital cupboard coloured Nike trainers. Packed my StyleStuff gifted backpack with food from her own fridge and spent several happy days bimbling the Durham Heritage Coast to the tune of 37km.
And I can tell you right now. If it isn’t a trail or doesn’t have curated or heritage in the title, it’s nowhere.