Search as I might, I can't find one scrap of black in my outfit today.
The dress is Diane Von Furstenburg, a simple frock rendered from a genius blend of silk and wool. The cardigan is J Crew from Las Vegas, the boots are Charles David and snapped up on ebay for a ludicrously good price, while at my glace leather feet sits my faithful, over-burdened Mulberry Bayswater in which I have decided to be interred after I am cremated.
The jewellery is a mixed bag. The pendant was a couple of dollars at the Rozelle markets but the leather thong comes from the Jigsaw sale shop in Whatleys which is, by startling co-incidence, in Bayswater, London. It was once a grand department store and is now a grand shopping mall with lots of specialty shops including a stonking big Zara. The smaller more refined piece is a gold Tiffany Bean which my husband gave me for my 29th birthday back in the Restoration period.
And this is Phillip Larkin.
Time has transfigured them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
The final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.
Sometimes I wish I could wear a poem to work.
Daylight savings has finished. The mornings are a little cooler each day. Winter's coming. I therefore have pyjamas with built-in legwarmers.
O, weekends. What's not to love.
There was the Rugby on Friday night.
I lamented my inability to take sharply focused shots and envied the press photographers their superior skills and giant lenses.
But it wasn't all envy. I had great reason to be grateful too. This, for example, this that I stalked and coveted on ebay for an eternity, this that was waiting for me in a USPS box when I got home.
This, my Balenciaga bag.
There was food too.
And coffee, a thick shot of expresso tempered with a spurt of steamed milk.
And the shopping, the ironing, the family lunch, the washing and the cleaning, and the supermarket, where I saw this.
The broken and bloody wine bottle and behind me, graciously allowing me a second to take my crime scene photograph, a sweet girl in an apron, armed with a dripping mop.
And that's it. Time to pack my lunch box, choose a black dress and welcome the next week.
My learned friend is finding my office more and more uninteresting as a location for the blog shots. The thing is, I spend most of my time there and certainly my wardrobe revolves around the office during the week. I think it is fitting.
Today was casual Friday. I wore back jeans from Old Navy in San Francisco, a silk top from Veronika Maine in Sydney, a white tshirt from Target in Las Vegas, the Max Mara jacket which could probably do a lot of my work for me given how frequently I wear it to work ....
...and my blue pendant.
I had to juggle my non-office life with my wardrobe because tonight my spouse and I went to the Rugby. Thus I had a smaller bag - from J Crew in New York - for tickets and my camera, and a much softer jacket for sitting around cheering the Waratahs and eating hot chips. .
While I argued with my learned friend about my dull office the phone rang. I think this photograph offers a very good representation of what I do all day, and indelible proof that I need to upgrade my moisturiser.
