Isla says hello.


I didn't really know how to follow my last post. I don't feel like talking about the whole cancer thing, but it seemed a bit crass to jump right back into my signature blend of inconsequential rants and random nonsense as if nothing had happened. "Hey, my mum's cancer has spread!" "Hey, check out my new skirt!" That is, in fact, how my brain is functioning at the moment - distraction is a wonderful thing - but there's no need to preserve that shameful fact in the archives of the internet for all time coming.

So, to help me avoid having to think of anything appropriate to say, why don't you say hello to my mum's new puppy? Her name is Isla and she is ADORBZ. She's a cross between a Westie and a Lhasa Apso (the breed that was victorious in Crufts this year, don't you know). Tomorrow Isla is meeting Smidgen for the first time, which could go either really well or reeeeeallly badly. (If anyone has any tips for the best way to make the introduction, by the way, please let me know.)

Lookatdatliddleface. This, my friends, is what hope looks like. 

Or it's what insanity looks like. But I'm sticking with hope for now.


Have a great weekend, people. I'm sending bug hugs to all of you for being so damn lovely.

News


So, you know that news I was waiting for? Well, it turned out to be Bad News. News involving my mum and the selfish, rude, demanding cancer that keeps insisting on taking up more room in her body. It's like a bad flatmate, scattering its crap around the place with no regard for personal space and refusing to clean it up. Playing loud, horrible music in the middle of the night when all we want is a moment of calm, just one blessed second of peace and quiet and not having to worry for once. No such luck.

Fortunately the doctors in Edinburgh are good, the best. They have a plan. There's no way to get rid of this anti-social interloper for good, we can't just kick it out and lock the door behind it, but we might be able to find a way to live together in relative harmony. She is in their hands, and I am keeping positive, because she has no choice and neither do I.

Of course, the plan comes with a cost. So this afternoon, my mum and I are heading to the wig shop, NHS prescription in hand, for the third time in twelve years. I'm voting for a pink one this time, because why the hell not?


Things


Sorry for the radio silence.

At the start of the week, I was too busy trying to track down an elusive skirt, one that was just the right shade of corally-pink and just the right length and pleated just so. These things take time, you know. These things are important.

I found it hiding in a faraway shop, and was forced to rely on the kindness of strangers to bring it home to me. I asked the internet for help, and it answered. You people are wonderful.

Then my week took a turn for the worse. More of a lurch than a turn, actually. Now I am waiting for news, battling that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, the hard lump in my throat where laughter should be. I am less inclined to fret over a pink skirt or a neglected blog. These things aren't so important, after all.

I have used up this week's internet magic quota already. I won't ask you for good vibes or crossed fingers - I'm not sure they make much difference anyway. What will happen will happen regardless. But I would ask for your patience. I am short of words this week. Please bear with me.


{Image: Carl Kleiner}

Dear Lady in the Lift This Morning


You know what's not helpful?

Saying to a stranger in the lift on their way to work, "Did you know that when you walk your skirt goes right up at the back?".

I know you were just trying to give me some friendly advice, but what do you expect me to say? "Yes, actually, I did know. Flashing my knickers at the mailman as I walk around the office is my new strategy for bagging a promotion! And by the way, feminism is for losers!"

Obviously, I did not know, and it's not like I can do anything about it now. You might not have guessed this from my nonchalant, skirt-shrinking gait, but I am technically meant to be in work by 9 and it's already quarter past. Which is why you might have noticed me frantically stabbing the 'close doors' button before you lurched into the lift at the last moment and pressed 'Level 1'. Changing my skirt is not an option.

So what, exactly, am I meant to do with this information? Roll around the office in my desk chair all day? "Hey, Mr Coffee Man, I'm down here! On my wheelie chair! Don't mind me, I'm just taking it easy today."

Next time (oh God, don't let there be a next time), maybe you should just not say anything. Because there's a chance I might reply, "Did you know that you can actually get the stairs to the first floor?"

Love,
Self-Conscious Office Worker Who Will Now Not Be Going To The Loo All Day.


{Image: The Sartorialist}

Reason number 97 why I love Google Analytics.



Whoever found my blog by googling "guinea pig sexy outfits" has just MADE MY DAY.

Frankly, I don't know why you'd need to keep searching once you'd seen this. Job done, surely? 

Unless you mean a sexy costume for your guinea pig, in which case 1) eww and 2) might I suggest the lederhosen?


(You might also be interested to know that high-heeled flippers have recently overtaken fake ponytails as my most bizarrely prolific search term. The internet continues to amaze and confound me on a daily basis.)

If you go down to the woods today...


...you won't find anything. But if you had gone down to the woods a couple of weeks ago, you would have found one awkward, overdressed lady, one talented, camera-wielding lady and one slightly disdainful greyhound. Oh, and some very confused dog-walkers.

{Click on the images to enlarge}

Dress: ASOS. "Customised" by hacking the sleeves off with scissors at midnight the night before.
Cardigan: Zara. Belt: My dad's, from when he had a smaller waist than me
(i.e. a loooong time ago). Earrings: Etsy. Socks: New Look. Shoes: Dune.
Smidgen's hideous faux-Grecian collar: A gift. I don't want to talk about it.


Outfit: As before.
Posing under a tree without getting poked in the eye: Harder than it looks.


Dress: River Island via ASOS. Jacket: Mango
Earrings: As before. Ring: Belonged to my nana.
Hair: Insane.


So there you have it. This is what happens when talent (Lauren's) meets procrastination (mine). I don't want to be a fashion blogger (because, hello), but I had fun playing around in my wardrobe and even more fun hanging out with Lauren and Smidgen for a day, and, well, I did tease you about our not-so-super-secret project, so here are the results. You can see more and read Lauren's take over on her blog. Hope you like them! (And if you don't, I DON'T WANT TO KNOW. Mkay? Thanks.)

Happy Easter!


Chocolate. 

Family.

Chocolate.

Friends.

Chocolate.

Puppies.

Naps.

Chocolate.

More chocolate.


It must be Easter.


I'll be back on Tuesday after luxuriating in a long weekend. I might even write some blog posts consisting of more than 100 words!! Imagine!! 

Have a wonderful weekend, folks.


{Easter card freebie from Sage and Berries}

New.


Fin has just been offered a new job.

I would like some new shoes.

These two facts may not be entirely unrelated to each other.


But it makes perfect sense for me to buy myself some 
Fin's-got-a-new-job summer party sandals, doesn't it?
Surely?


 

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