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July 30, 2006

Trinny! Susannah! Come back, We love you really.

So yes, I return from my internet break (hi and how are you by the way?) only to talk about the weather. Well not so much the weather but what one must wear in this sweltering cry of help from Mother Earth.
For about 361 days of the year, I wear combats. Forget the wheel, the telephone and the Internet, the combat trouser is the single most important invention in the world ever. Thick, sturdy and practical, with plenty of pockets for your phone, keys and purse what more can you want in an item of clothing. I even had a pair of combats once with pockets the size of an average sized paperback. God I miss those trousers.
But there comes a time of year when the thermometer soars above 25 degrees and I can no longer bear the thought of drowning in a pool of my own sweat, tinted slightly green by the dye from the trousers and I have to face the fact that I can no longer avoid wearing Something Else.
The question is what? Iíve yet to discover a pair of shorts that are flattering on anyone above the age of about eight; those three-quarter length things - what are they? Trousers? Shorts? Make up your mind; and those long gypsy skirts - they are truly lovely but I have ruined at least three by tripping over the bottom and ripping those pretty little tiers to shreds. And then thereís the colour problem. I only wear dark colours. Not because Iím about to drone along to my Marilyn Manson CDs about how nobody understands me, but for the simple reason that black doesnít show the tomato ketchup and my pores ooze ketchup, even before Iíve decided what we are having for dinner.
Now I have this useful wrap around skirt that I drag out on just such occasions, it fits the criteria perfectly, being made up of a grey and black checked pattern with a row of burgundy elephants along the bottom to show that occasionally I do partake of this summer spirit thing. To top it all off it flutters to a delicate halt around the middle of my calves, baring to the poor, unsuspecting world just enough milky white leg. Just before I go out, I always do a spot check. Yes it really is 34 degrees (as there is nothing more embarrassing than battling a blizzard the day after summer armed with only a pair of flip flops, a wrap around skirt and a vest top); and yes, the knot in my skirt is something any Girl Guide would be proud to claim as their own.
All checked and Iím off, with a spring in my step full of the joys of summer. That is until about the time when itís too late to turn back and suddenly Iím almost swept over by a gust of wind. By Ďgust of windí I mean that slight tingling sensation along your hairline, where at last you can freely take a breath, that fleeting moment when you no longer feel like your head is about to implode under the pressure from the intense humidity. But you forget, I am wearing a wrap around skirt, that sigh of relief is as effective as a force nine gale.
It is too late Iím just not quick enough, no sooner have I moved my arms to stop it and half my skirt is flapping high, level with my hip and as fast as it rises, it falls back down again and I am left red faced and cautiously clinging to the sides of my skirt like some sort of tenth-rate Marilyn Monroe, with underwear from Primark and thighs from the citrus counter in Tescoís.
They say that today was the last of this hot weather. I hope so because these combats are sure as hell sticking to my legs.

By the way if anyone knows how to fix this comment problem, email me.

Posted by purple elephant at July 30, 2006 10:41 PM