R. Varicose

Autumn rolls in, and I can wear tights again. Uncovered, the central regions of my legs reveal an impressive mapping of veins and tributaries, bearing some resemblance to the Mississippi, or the Nile, or the Amazon. I wonder idly whether varicose veins show superior development in British women, given the prevalence of wet weather and wellingtons; my legs throb in sympathy as river waters in the north and west of the UK swell with the unusually high rainfall, break their banks, flood the surrounding country..

Automotivation 2

A little more on the automotive theme. The shape of a car door is so very suitable as a variation for the rear pocket on a pair of jeans. With the added benefit of easy access to bare skin for the odd scratch or suggestive fondle, depending on inclination.  

Automotivation

As with everything sartorial, I'm pretty much at least six months behind the trend. These shoes, from Prada's 2012 spring collection, were widely flagged up in editorial fashion pages earlier in the year. I have borrowed this photo from a site called Autoguide.com, which noted that the designs referenced classic American cars of the Fifties, borrowing details such as chrome, lights, wings and flames. So pretty (and so crazy). There's considerable scope for  the imaginitive combining of cars and femininity: the suggestive back seat, the skin-soft leather, the mirrors, the headlights. The soft top that can conceal or reveal. The grimace of the grille at the front.

The reverse has potential, too; this drawing is by the sublime Tomi Ungerer, from his book 'Horrible', and is made particularly wonderful by the uncertain expression of the chap behind the wheel.

Pasta

Inspired by the spaghetti image of a few days back, I thought I'd try a few more pasta styles. How much easier to have pasta instead of hair- a dusting of powder or a slick of oil, and, voila- perfection. What bliss no longer to have to wash, dry, comb, style, spray, tint, perm, braid, tease, gel. And pasta shapes imply a certain style- the long, luscious waves of fettuccine (above), the corkscrew curls of fusilli (below)...

... or the soignee chignon of vermicelli..

... and all edible, to boot.

Ladies Who Eat Cakes

On my regular route into town, I often pass the tiny shopfront of Stephen Jones, milliner. The windows are crammed with exotic and desirable hats, restrained or wild, always witty, and delightfully free of price tags. I spend one or five or ten minutes deciding which I would purchase, were I a wearer of hats. In another life, I hope to be such a person. I am, however, an eater of cakes, tea being my favourite repast, and cakes being a good deal more necessary than headgear in a mild but mournful climate. Nothing will cheer me up so effectively as an hour diverted from the daily grind in pursuit of a slice of Victoria sponge, coffee-and-walnut, scone and cream, or even a more fanciful patisserie. The combination of hat and cake is my idea of bliss, provided, of course, that it isn't raining.
This all might seem a little fey, but I would like to add that cake eating is not only for the dilettante. Just today I was reminded by Radio 4 that tea rooms were often used as meeting places by suffragettes. Darjeeling and dissent, rock buns and rocks thrown, etc.