The train stopping in the buttercup fields

While I don't relish the thought of going back to work, I do enjoy organising to go back to work. The last few weeks has been a happy unstructured affair of late rising, jeans and Birkenstocks; today I ironed frocks, sorted neat blouses and packed my new bag. I also decided, no matter what I choose to wear, that these shoes have waited long enough to make their debut. 

Where one fern was always green

We've had our fair share of rain this week, now it's hot and humid. Everything was green today. 

If there has to a last day, this may as well be it

The last day of a holiday is never easy. I am prone to industrial strength mooching and an unhealthy focus on immediate days gone by. To counter this time-wasting,  I elected to do something cheerful and harmless yet surprising. Something that involved scarves, ladies in aprons and possibly a teacup.

So I applied my favourite perfume

 dressed sensibly, armed myself with a large bag

and went to some op and consignment stores way outside my comfort zone. It was a wise move for at the op shops I caught

a couple of silk scarves, $2 each

...a huge fuzzy wool scarf - possibly cashmere or alpaca or a blend of both, soft as a bunny's belly ($5) and some bluebirds on three bread & butter plates - $1 each. 

Frankly I don't know how I have survived to this point in history without these bird plates. 

Nearby stands a consignment store where years ago I, in a fit of rationale I still don't recognize or can explain, decided against buying a genuine Hermes camera bag for $85.00. I didn't really need it, I reasoned. I'll find another Hermes bag I like better one day, I told myself. 

I still can't believe I did that. Perhaps I was possessed by the spirit of some long dead relative who didn't like me much. 

It appears lost-Hermes kharma was in play because I scored 

a grey wool-cotton blend Marni skirt for $68 in pristine condition

a fascinating georgette skirt in a snakeskin print for $18 (Seriously, this winter: black tights, black flat boots, fierce black coat, bright red clutch, matching lipstick, this skirt, me. Can't wait.)

An unworn black Charactere blazer for $20

and a denim Isabel Marant Etoile shirt dress in denim for $54. If I were to tell you how much I love this dress I'd have no time to wear it.

By now I was on a roll and almost looking forward to going back to work so I went to another op shop to find

two very pretty old English dinner plates ($8 the pair) a mother of pearl pendant, a red glass Czech brooch, a filigree dress clip  and an effective bracelet - $18 the lot. The pendant and dress clip are lovely.

Sometimes when I'm stuck at my desk involved in a futile argument about section 15a with someone on the phone while my lunch hour whizzes past again, I dream of just walking out and going somewhere (anywhere) where I can scour racks of clothes and handle sweet jewellery. This year I will have some reference points for those escape dreams.

Guest post by Kate

Here's a list of things I'd do if I had thumbs: 


*Eat more cat food
*Hang feathers from every square inch of the ceiling
*Take all the sheets from the big cupboard and make resting places all over the house
*Eat all the cheese in the cold box
*Lock the round ears in the bathroom
*Learn to drive.


It sounds like too much hard work, frankly. 


The smaller round ears came home yesterday with a new coat. It doesn't have stripes and there are pockets that still had someone else's tissues in them. 


"Ewww," the smaller round ears said and flicked them in the bin. I smelt them later - the last owner had an allergy to cats which I think is ironic but I'm not sure. 

The bigger round ears came home and said "Oh, just what you need, more clothes." He had on a tie with stripes. Everyone should wear stripes. They make you look important. Both the round ears annoy me but they have thumbs and can open cat food. I dislike the bigger round ears less because he gives me a little piece of steak whenever he has one for dinner. The small round ears tried to give me yoghurt the other day. 


I reserve a special look of contempt for that kind of behaviour. 


The bigger round ears, the tom, is longer too so if I need to sit on someone I choose him, partly because he has more lap but also because it annoys the smaller round ears. Here's a handy hint: if you want a cat to sit on your lap, don't ask it to. This smacks of desperation to a cat and to honest, it embarrasses us a little when you're needy. 


Also, if you don't want us to sit on magazines you're reading, don't read magazines. 


Now, to recap: 

See? Important. Also, ears should be triangles. 

Unimportant. Why no stripes, that's what I want to know. 

Milk no sugar

Mostly when I read mainstream fashion magazines I'm pointedly ignoring the text and poring over the pictures. Even with this level of sifting I find it hard to avoid references to tea dresses.

Before every fashion writer started banging on about tea dresses I had a very fixed idea of what they were: light vaporous dresses in gelato shades and floral prints, trimmed with wisps of lace and smelling faintly of violets.  Julia Ryder wore them in Brideshead Revisited, the Mitford sisters would have had dozens between them. You can wear them with hats and gloves, or bare feet and uncombed hair, and either way look enchanting.

Now it seems any kind of dress made from any old fabric in any variation of a floral or even abstract print is a tea dress.  Certainly this is what I am learning from the magazines.

This is my tea dress. It's second hand and the shape and details suggest it dates back to the late seventies (it has draw string shoulders and tiers). I gave an obliging young man thirty dollars for it at the Surry Hills Market five years ago.

It's made by Simona Couture, a division of an Australian label. I understand the dress would be made from a pattern but to the specific measurements of the buyer. The fabric is marked as Swiss cotton and the colour can't help but improve your mood.

Regrettably no one ever invites me for tea but my tea dress still gets lots of outings every Summer. This year I wore it for Christmas dinner, with neither gloves nor bare feet but a vintage Gucci belt:

If you have a tea dress or a tea dress anecdote, or a view to what actually constitutes a tea dress, I'd be very interested to know.

Does my blog look big in this?

Call me primitive, but I always wondered how everyone else made their blog look so nice.

Now I know.

The teacups of summer

One of the warning signs of holidays at my place is the trail of teacups I leave around the house as I waste time from room to room. During the dreary work year I quaff huge drafts of tea from mugs that could comfortably house colonies of large frogs but on my break I use dainty little teacups that hold a mere tadpole's worth of beverage.

I always check the china shelves for orphaned tea cups when I'm scouring op shops. Cups with saucers are not so common - if they are pretty and in tact, chances are they won't be donated. But single cups - well, they're a burden to the orderly housekeeper.

Not to me.

Here's some hunting tips if you think you have space in your heart and cupboard for some orphan teacups:

*Check them carefully for chips and cracks. This kind of damage is fatal and will - sooner or later- lead to your teacup breaking either in service or during washing up. Run your finger around the rim, around the inside surface and have a good look around the handle. All clear? Perfect.

*Regard stains with suspicion. Tannin stains from tea and coffee can sometimes be soaked away by filling the cup with a good squeeze of lemon, or warm water and a healthy splosh of vinegar ... but not always.

*Run your finger over the surface of the pattern. Is it slightly raised, can you actually feel the outlines? Bravo! It's hand painted. Completely smooth surfaces don't necessarily mean transfers, particularly with more modern pieces and very sophisticated glazing techniques. If you're looking at English china from the first half of the twentieth century, chances are it's hand painted. However, the same goes for German pieces of the late twentieth century. The value of the hand painted pieces are commensurate with any hand made piece of art - you're buying a little slice of someone's time and talent.

*I pay between fifty cents and two dollars for a cup, depending on how lovely it is. They have no real monetary value without their saucers except to collectors, so remember as you shop that you're buying little pieces of pretty, not investing in priceless antiques.

*I buy cups because they are pretty and have flowers, but it's always interesting to know a little bit about what you're buying. Here are some manufacturers to look out for: Wedgwood, Royal Doulton, Shelley, Royal Worcester, Royal Winton and Spode (all English). Thomas and Rosenthal are two modern German firms, while the danish firm Royal Copenhagen makes excellent coffee cups. Noritake is one of the more popular Japanese manufacturers.

Companies change their brandings frequently so a cup's markings are a good way to pick the age of a piece (if that's important to you):

I just want to add here that I think Moss Rose is a beautiful name for a floral pattern.

As you become more cup-confident, you'll start to amass an interesting range of orphans and occasionally stumble across a wonderful piece with a saucer. Here are three of my favourites:

I might have to travel in economy on the actual plane but for $1.00 at the Salvation Army I managed to get an upgrade I can enjoy in my own home.

Yes, that's a Christian Dior rose in that cup. You'd be surprised how good this little cup can make black coffee and a macaroon taste.

And this strange old timer came from a market in Tasmania. The design is quite raised and the cup appears to be made from stone and clay, or maybe ground bone and clay (as in bone china). There are no clues to the maker expect this:

I use my teacups for all kinds of dining pleasures: serves of yoghurt, slices of peaches and a dollop of ice cream, a strong shot of espresso with a spoonful of vanilla ice cream (bliss), a serve of jelly beans, a serving of dry cereal, a cup of rice milk with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top, some cous cous with chopped up dried apricot. And obviously for tea or coffee.

They are also a great way to distract a tableful of guests when the dessert cake has sunk. Everyone likes to compare their cup so you can slice a woeful cake while everyone is chattering. If serving tea or coffee without a saucer irks you, plain white bread and butter plates show of the design and colours of the cup and allow room for biscuits too.

One final plea - no dishwashers! Warm soapy water in the sink or you'll soon have plain white cups.