Learning to Dye ...

One of the major thrills for the TeenTwins when they first moved into Year 12 was not the excitement at
expanding their educational horizons. Oh no, it was mostly because they would be able to dye their hair... *rolls eyes*

The Academy has, for lower years, strict rules about uniform. Every item, blouse, skirt, jumper and blazer MUST be embroidered with the Academy logo, a rule that necessitates only purchasing from approved uniform  stockists at three times the cost of the high street. From the thickness of the black tights (opaque, 40 denier and worn in the depths of winter as well as the heights of summer regardless) to the flat, black blandness of shoes and the colour of a hair bobble or school bag (in the school colours), the rules are all about not standing out from the rest. And there's a daily check at the school gates every morning just to make sure that no one sneaks in incorrectly clad.


In Year 12 (or the Sixth Form for old-fashioned non-Americans like me), the rules relax enough for students to wear appropriate "business wear," discreet jewellery and, as the TeenTwins interpreted it (having abided by every single rule throughout their tenure at the Academy) with any bloody hair colour you like.

So my naturally dark chocolately, glossy haired daughters have thrown themselves wholeheartedly into a variety of hair dye strategies. TeenTwin went temporarily green, has had dip dyed ginger ends and then a whole-over ginger do, for which I blame Ed Sheeran *tuts.*  TeenTwin2 went purple, then purple with dip-dyed pink ends which eventually faded to crimson and orange and then back to purple and pink. Though today, not many weeks later, she has dyed it again but this time back to a close an approximation of her natural hair colour as she could find on the chemist shelves. I only wonder what's coming next...

Meanwhile TeenTwin1 is planning on being blue because, well...

TeenTwin 1's Reasons For Having Blue Hair

1) She's going to Leeds Festival and if she has bright blue hair she'll be easier to spot on the telly.
2) She's camping over the weekend at Leeds Fest and it won't matter if her hair looks unwashed and rubbish because it will be BLUE!
3) It will match her Superman top.
4) It will match her nails AND she's already bought the nail varnish
5) She could put a light on top and pretend to be the Tardis to entertain The Boy (I think she's lying about this one)
6) It will be BLUE
7) It WILL be blue
8) IT WILL BE BLUE
(...continue to infinitude.)

Not that she needs any justification at least not to me. Hell, if I wasn't the respectable 48-year-old mother-of-four that I am, I'd have bloody blue hair too. Er, hang on....

*Thinks*

*Runs to chemist*

The Gallery ... Drink

I'm joining in with The Gallery this week and the theme is Drink ....

I do enjoy the odd glass of wine now and again *waits for nose to grow* .... oh, alright then. I like the odd glass and then think I should even it out by finishing the bottle.

And while wine-drinking is not something I generally encourage in the children (after all they might not leave any for me), it turns out that making wine IS fun for all the family.

You can make wine out of literally anything from pea-pods to tea-bags. Plundering the garden, other people's gardens, our allotment and hedgerows, The Man has made wine from elderflowers, elderberries, blackberries, dandelions, peaches, plums, strawberries, cherries and rhubarb. Sometimes they work and sometimes they don't, but mostly they work so well that you have to go have a little lie-down after half a glass.

And then there are the ones that you don't think have worked so they get shoved in the corner for another few months and then you think: "Oh, why don't I just mix that duff strawberry wine with a bit of cheap Lambrini for a summer style, not-very-alcoholic punch for a bunch of prom-partying teenagers."

You will then discover that the supposedly duff strawberry wine has added not only a kick but a full street brawl to the punch. You will discover this when teenagers are weaving around, giggling inanely and one has his head in the punch bowl slurping the very last dregs. *Sighs*

So, um, cheers! *clinks glass*

Please check out everybody else's drinks confessions at The Gallery

Silent Sunday ...

The Oldest Thing In My Wardrobe....

As part of some misguided, and subsequently abandoned (much like Spring itself), spring cleaning attempt, I have been into the very depths of my wardrobe and emerged slightly dusty but nostalgic after unearthing the dress that has been with me the longest of any item of clothing, ever. Longer even than my very first wedding dress, even if I got rid of that dress's particular husband 14 years ago.

The dress, my oldest dress, is one I bought from a second-hand market in the early '80s for the then vast sum of £5. At least it was vast to me, a then-impecunious student living on a grant cheque of £200 a term. It had, according to the man who sold it, been hand-made for a ballroom dancer. The dress spoke to me of sophistication and cocktails, only one of which I was overly familiar with but I always had hopes that I would achieve sophistication. 

Which is probably why I still have the dress hanging in my wardrobe. I'm still waiting. *Sigh*

It is, though, a beautiful dress, beautifully made and once upon a time it's ruffled semi-bustle gave me a sashay that said more eloquently than a knee in the bollocks that I was more than a half-a-pint of lager girl.

Thirty years and four children later, my sashay is more of a waddle and although I can still fit into the dress, it is in a very much don't-sit-down, go-out-in-public kind of way. That zip would never get closure, that's all I'm saying.

So I made TeenTwin1 put it on....

She hated it. She thinks it should be shorter. A lot shorter. *tuts* 

So here I am in the only surviving picture of me wearing the dress, aged 23, at the infamous Motorway Service Station Ball in my final college year, 1986 to 1987. 

And yes, it was a ball in a motorway service station. We WERE students.

What's the oldest thing in your wardrobe?

Are You Feeling Brave, Disney?

Last year, on my daughter's 11th birthday, I took her and a few of her friends to see the Disney/Pixar film Brave. She'd picked it as her birthday celebration of choice. That, and a trip to the local extravagantly priced pizza emporium. Obviously.

She and her friends, as is traditional on such birthday party trips, sat as far away as possible from me in the local Sinning-World after negotiating our way through the foyer with only the one major casualty (my purse). Gorging parentally unchecked on inflatedly-priced popcorn and buckets of ice with a dribble of fizz, my chaotically haired daughter fell in love with the equally chaotically haired heroine of Brave, Merida.

Flame-haired Merida is feisty, sporty, wild and unruly. A tomboy tearaway, she argues with her mother, resents restrictions and wants the freedom to be herself. There is nothing about her, including her hair, that doesn't make my Tween-age girl see her as a kindred spirit. I'm only thankful this particular Tween doesn't know the name of a local witch.

And now Disney want to take Merida, a proper girl's girl if there ever was, and transform her into one of the same vacuous, improbably-bodied, silken-haired princesses that they normally pedal to the world? *rolls eyes*

OI, DISNEY! NO.

*Gets out drum, starts banging*

There is a petition. I've signed it, at the time of writing nearly 200,000 people have signed it, and you can sign it too. Organised by A Mighty Girl, the petition to Bob Iger, chairman and chief executive of the Walt Disney Company (and co-incidentally father of two daughters) is a plea to save Merida from a future as a pale shadow of her former self, rescuing her from a makeover that leaves her newly sexualised yet strangely sterile.

And I've got just the way of delivering that petition. You see, The Tween identified with Merida just so much that she's developed an interest in archery, her name is currently on a waiting list to join a local club. Right now her aim needs some practice and we can always apologise for any stray arrows that land in the Disney boardroom, can't we?

The Tween aims to get her point across to Disney 

Leggings: The Rules.

I'm no fashion blogger I'll admit.

I'm not, if I'm being entirely honest, very taken with the idea of fashion at all. It smacks too much of being told what to wear and when and ever the rebellious soul, I gave up the idea of dressing like the next sheep in the field when I was about 16 years old. My wardrobe consequently is an eclectic dressing up box of entirely unsuitable clothes for a woman fast approaching 50 garnered from vintage emporiums, by which I mean second hand markets and charity shops obviously. And an awful lot of jeans.

But there comes a point in even the most fashion-unconscious when enough is enough. When it's time to stand up and point out, like the small boy in the Emperor's New Clothes, that fashion is well, taking the piss.

I remember the first time (and the second time) leggings were all the rage but in those days *looks nostalgic* they were worn with what can only be described as decorum. Camel toes as anyone knows being only acceptable on an actual camel. 

But leggings are back in fashion because if you haven't noticed, fashion repeats itself more regularly than My Dad after eating onions. Clearly this time around we're having a Save The Camel Toe parade. And we're not just saving the Camel Toe, we're also quite keen on protecting the Hippopotamus bottom as well.

Apparently.

So. Hello women of England *waves* I AM terribly sorry that you didn't receive the memo that is USUALLY sent out with every pair of leggings *exasperated face* but please remember:

Leggings are not a bad thing. Leggings are comfy, They're stretchy. They are the best thing to wear when you're pregnant. They're soft. Unrestrictive. And leggings can be embraced at ANY age. I wear leggings. I've always worn leggings....but there are RULES 

THE RULES.

1: Do not wear a pair of leggings that you can see through if you hold them up. In candlelight. In a cave.

2: ESPECIALLY do not wear a pair of leggings that you can see through if you hold them up. In candlelight. In a cave. Whilst wearing a g-string.

3: Camel toes SHOULD be protected *supportive face* but that does generally mean putting something between one's particular camel toe and the general public.

4. If your arse stretches your leggings into transparency, WEAR SOMETHING ELSE...

5: You do not look like Rhianna #truefacthard

And this might not be a rule but please remember, flirty skirts, long swishy tops and jeans are freely available just about ANYWHERE *rolls eyes*

Leggings

The Right and The Wrong

Next week: Teenage boy's bottoms and why I don't want them in my face.

Silent Sunday ...