The Time Is Now

 

It was hard to believe we were still only in February this morning, the glorious sunshine was already dazzling at 7.30am so, rather than save this gorgeous Indian block printed organic cotton dress for the Spring, I decided to seize the moment and wear it.

Spotted on the Pink Lemons website (link HERE), an independent Cornish boutique specialising in fairly traded & sustainable clothing, the maxi dress was part of an order which failed the quality standards so, rather than consigning the dresses to the rag bag, it offered them at a massively discounted rate. Other than one of the pockets being sewn up (easily rectified with the seam ripper), I've yet to find anything else wrong, it's just as gorgeous as the dress I'd bought from them previously.

 When I sent her a photo of the dress in one of our regular gossipy emails, my friend Betty described it as being "girly". With my complete lack of interest in weddings, babies, rom-coms, celebrity fashion and chick lit my female workmates used to tell me that I should have been born a man. I might prefer football, rock music, war films and spy novels but when it comes to clothes it's all about the girliness - ruffles, flounces, puffed sleeves, pintucks and prettiness.

Has my blog post title given you an earworm? On Saturday, Jon & I had tickets for art-pop goddess Roisin Murphy's gig at Wolves Civic. If you're not familiar with the name you might know her better as being one half of legendary electro-dance duo, Moloko whose third album, Things to Make and Do unleashed absolute bangers such as Pure Pleasure Seeker, Sing it Back and The Time is Now. 

 

Give up yourself unto the moment
The time is now
Give up yourself unto the moment
Let's make this moment last

Jon & I were in our early thirties when The Time is Now was released and in the blink of an eye we're almost 60. Time waits for no-one, live for the moment! Wear that dress, book that trip, go to that gig. 

The capital of the Black Country, the city of Wolverhampton (or Wolves, as we locals call it), is seven miles away. The direct train from Walsall was phased out in the 1990s so, rather than an hour's journey via Birmingham, we caught the 529 bus and popped into Wolves' city centre branch of Spoons, The Moon Under Water when we alighted 20 minutes later. With it being match day the pub was full of Wolverhampton Wanderers fans fresh from the game and also groups of theatre goers in fancy dress, awaiting the performance of The Rocky Horror Show currently running at the Wolverhampton Grand directly opposite the pub.

Was there any aggro? Who's gonna argue with a 6 foot 4 inch bloke in leather hot pants, fishnets and a pair of thigh boots? 

After a couple of pints we walked down to the Civic. Our tickets had been sent via an app and, much to our frustration, we couldn't bloody access it. We chatted to an equally stressed out Amanda who'd travelled up from Brighton especially for the gig and agreed that with the majority of crowd more than likely being 50 or over, the organisers should have kept it old school and enabled us to print off the tickets at home. Our frustration didn't last long, the box office was brilliant, painstakingly looking up everyone's details and issuing us with proper tickets. 

I'm glad we had a few beers in 'Spoons, as always the wait at the Civic bar never improves and at £7.50 an effin' pint we decided to make that costly drink last! Whilst waiting to get served Jon chatted to a man from Prague and another bloke from Bradford, both of whom had traveled to Wolves especially to see Roisin. 

Funky dance act, Crazy P, was the support.

We bumped into a fabulous chick we first met during our vintage fair days!

Amanda was right, the crowd was mostly fifty plus and stylish in that cool, non-mainstream, festival-going way (no ath-leisure or beige co-ords here!) Popular amongst the female fans were Docs & metallic boots, dungarees, cropped wide-legged pants, sequinned bomber jackets, black berets and sharp bobs with fringes. The males favoured black framed specs, chores jackets, jeans with turn-ups, Breton tops, Docs & monkey boots. As usual, with my vintage maxi dress and clanking tribal jewellery, I looked like nobody else but got lots of compliments. 

Much as we hate people watching a live performance through their mobile phones Jon couldn't resist recording a couple of snippets (standing well away from the crowd!)

Much as I adore Roisin's back catalogue, I also love her recent stuff. I'm not one of those boring old sods who moans about all modern music being rubbish; brilliant, life-affirming new music is like fabulous clothes, it's out there, you just need to get off your backside and look for it. 

What can I say, Roisin blew us away with her mad costume changes, by doing press-ups and side stands on stage (my daily routine minus the adoring crowd) and with her gorgeously pure voice. Who says you can't be a rock god in your 50s?  

After dancing for four hours we caught the bus home, collapsing into bed in the early hours of Sunday morning, ears ringing and feet throbbing. What a night! 

Of course, it's not all been pure pleasure seeking. While Jon cracked on with prepping the middle room for its makeover, I rummaged through my fabric stash and made a patchwork panel from scraps of Indian & Afghan textiles, motifs and trims I'd accumulated over the years.  

I emptied out my wardrobes, donated an armload of vintage dresses to the Kinky Shed and whilst I was in there nicked the shoe rack and reorganised my boots.

The craft cupboard got a sort out and the fashion, craft & textile books were dusted.

 

My two Lundby Gothenburgs and Mum's 1940's Tri-Ang had a spring-clean (and I might have had a little play at the same time!)

Sick of having to get all my hats out of the wardrobe in order to find the right one, I decided to hang them on the wall. Moving my boots meant that the bricked-up fireplace was exposed so I repurposed an old 1930s dressing table mirror which had been on top of the wardrobe in our bedroom for years. 

The chimney breast is a bit of an odd shape so I hid it behind a string of postcards from my stash.

Oh yeah....in keeping with this Victorian papier mache cabinet that we bought for a fiver from a charity shop a couple of years ago....

Jon gave the cabinet he'd painted black last weekend the Banksy treatment and spray painted a couple of birds on the doors.

Book-wise I managed to finish A Crowning Mercy by Bernard Cornwell which I'd started last week but I'm still reading Edith Hamilton's Mythology.

I've just started Matthew Kneale's English Passengers. I found Chloe Grimshaw's New London Style in a charity shop during the Covid years and although I've leafed through the photos hundreds of times, I finally read the text over the weekend.

These homeowners decorate just like we do - combining inherited pieces with stuff hauled out of skips, found on their travels abroad or bought at a pittance from car boot sales and charity shops. Things are repurposed, painted, distressed or wrapped in fabric - there's no rules or following trends, the interiors reflect who the homeowners are and not what's currently in vogue. 

There's loads of cheap secondhand copies available on Abebooks. (If you need to see more detail, you can click on my photos to enlarge them.)

Still with me? I'm impressed, I don't half rabbit on sometimes!

I'll be back later this week with tales of art and adventure.....

Going Round The Houses

  

Friday already! Where does the time go?

On Tuesday morning I wore my £2 Vinted bargain, this midnight blue velvet military dress, originally from Monsoon, for swimming followed by breakfast in 'Spoons.

On Wednesday, for a morning of charity shopping, I wore a Indian block printed midi dress from Dilli Grey and one of my vintage Afghans (this one was bought by the original owner from a market stall in Bradford in 1975).

On Thursday for swimming, Spoons and a trip to Lidl for a £1.50 Waste Not box (pictured below) I wore a Zara maxi dress and Fly,London biker boots (both charity shopped) and my Mascob for Liberty velvet Badim jacket. The weather was absolutely rancid, the rain was relentless and it barely got light all day but at least the forecasted snow never materialised.

On Friday I wore a vintage Shubette of London peacock feather print maxi with my mum's Mongolian curly lamb coat. I was with her when she bought it  - at great expense - from the Sheepskin Shop in Walsall back in 1975. Unlike her amazing cream Afghan, this coat narrowly dodged my Dad's manic cull of her stuff after she died and I managed to rescue it from the bin in the nick of time. This was what I wore to drop another sack of donations off at the charity shop.

 

We've spent every afternoon this week doing domestic stuff (we've certainly earned tonight's rum!) My dressing table had seen better days what with the drawers constantly coming off their runners so I decided to swap it with the pitch pine Edwardian chest of drawers I'd been lugging around with me since my student days as seen below, buried under junk stuff that will come in useful one day. 

 

Structurally sound but missing a couple of handles, I remembered a box of 24 Indian ceramic hand painted knobs we'd bought for £4 in a charity shop months ago. 

Jon decided that he could repurpose the carcass of the discarded dressing table whilst I came up with a cunning plan to reuse one of the ill-fitting drawers.

The legs were saved from a mid-century table which had gone to the great scrap heap in the sky a decade ago. That's one of the ceramic knob from the boxful we bought, isn't it pretty?

Here's the chest of drawers and used-to-be-a-drawer table in situ.

Perfect for storing my nail paint and my hair accessories. Much better than the floor, where they usually live!

Charity shop karma is a thing. We've donated some good stuff this week meaning that some even better stuff came our way.

These 1960s mini dresses and belted Crimplene jacket must have belonged to the same woman. The orange and purple printed cotton maternity dress is identical to one my Mum wore when she was pregnant with me in 1966. 

There's also a West African waxed cotton bomber jacket (with the store tags still attached), a 1980s purple studded jacket, a vintage Frank Usher chiffon maxi dress, a 1960s Welsh tweed coat, a fake fur Cossack hat, a 1980s velvet trimmed pleated smock dress by Parigi, a 1970s Borg-lined sheepskin, a 1960s framed leather bag, a burn-out velvet blazer from an Amsterdam boutique, a vintage Icelandic jumper and a 1990s Italian-made purple leather coat. 

Stonecroft isn't the only house having a tidy-up this week, my Lundby Stockholm, which lives in our bedroom, got a spring clean, too. The Stockholm was introduced in 1975 and, like the more common Gothenburg (of which I've got two), it has an electrical transformer enabling the house to be lit up. The Stockholm is the only dolls house Lundby made with a removable front, making it less of a dust magnet. My model is from 1979, when the lower storey, comprising a stable block (every little girl's' dream!) was introduced. 

Saga is my alter-ego. She loves a flamboyant frock and invariably has a wine glass close at hand. You're more likely to find her sunning herself on the balcony or curled up with a book in the lounge, rarely venturing into the kitchen.

Click on the image to enlarge.

I can't tell you how much pleasure I get from opening up my Stockholm and peeping at the Lundby family enjoying their swanky pad. I recently stumbled upon a basketful of vintage Lundby furniture in a charity shop which, of course, I had to rescue (some of the older furniture is very sought after). Like our real house, my mini houses are crammed to the rafters but I'm sure I can find a way to shoehorn a bit more stuff in. 

57 years old going on 7, that's me!

Thanks for reading! Have a fab weekend and see you on the other side.