I swear that most of the population of my home town are on crack. Almost everyone I encountered today felt the need to ask an inane question like the bloke who was responsible for my blog title. I've also had, "Do you like purple?" "Are you a Prince fan? Purple Rain, geddit?" "Do you like vintage clothes, then?" and "Is that supposed to be a coat?"
How on earth's a girl supposed to charity shop when under constant interrogation?
No wonder I returned empty-handed. Still, with the stuff I've rescued from Dad's house there's no real need to shop.
Jon took a fancy to these Denby cups and saucers a while ago and I managed to ferret out the matching coffee pot, sugar bowl and milk jug from the back of the dresser.
Designed by Gill Pemberton in 1963 after her travels in Russia the design was originally called Samarakland but later changed to Arabesque after Portmerion released a line with the same name. The range was entirely hand-painted and in production until the early 1970s.
They were one of my parents' wedding presents in 1966 and only made the odd appearance at dinner parties so they're still in pristine condition. The psychedelic purple tablecloth is a Conran and another groovy wedding present.
Mum was a demon crocheter in her day. I found this poncho she'd made in the bottom of the wardrobe when I was over at the house yesterday. She used to wear it when I was a babe in arms.
The divine Helga wanted to know what sartorial rules we were planning to break today. I went with flashing far too much thigh, mixing silver & gold jewellery together, lurex as day wear and double leopard print, oh and I cut my own hair before I left the house this morning. Tut tut, call the fashion police!
|1960s majorette's costume (Seen HERE), Wetherall of Bond Street wool cape (Seen HERE), Original leopard platforms (Seen HERE), Ultra violet evening gloves (£1, car boot sale), 1960s fake fur collar (inherited from Mum)|
It's the Walsall Music Festival this weekend with Reverend and The Makers headlining and I can't wait. I bloody love Jon McClure, I may be days away from my 46th birthday but I'll probably still have to be restrained from invading the stage. I'll never grow up.
Have a fab weekend!