Vintage?

I've decided that today is the day for swapping the winter and summer wardrobes over,

You may imagine by that statement that I have piles of clothes or a hectic social calendar, unfortunately both now very far from the truth!

The actual wooden wardrobe that I have to store my finery is tiny and although I have done my best by having a lower rail installed it is still not big enough to hold all my clothes at one time, hence the twice yearly switchover ( though this year I'm wondering if it's worth it, given that summer may be three months long at best!)

It's always a good time though to look with a critical eye at things you've not worn over the past season and to possibly donate them to charity, Swish them or recycle them in some other way..... Bunting anyone?

I do dream of having trunks in the attic to house some things, The Daughter is always berating me for getting rid of the 20's to 50's clothes I bought in jumble sales when I was her age and indeed some of the designer suits I had in the 80's. Given the prices they now fetch on eBay I could kick myself too!

There are though a few bits I've kept, the beaded top I bought for pennies in an old fashioned charity shop in Headington ( the sort, now sadly rare, that looked as if the front door had been opened and everything just thrown in) which I wore to numerous parties and balls in the next few years with a voluminous silk tulle petticoat ( long since ripped to shreds and gone)

The Katherine Hamnett silk "Stay Alive in 85" t-shirt, I was delighted to see its' twin on display in the V&A and may donate mine to the excellent costume section at Brighton Museum...

The long kid gloves with tiny pearl buttons that are a nightmare to do up without a friend or lover in attendance

The Victorian underwear and nightdresses, hand sewn by Irish nuns ( in the case of one nightdress) or schoolgirls.....

All of these have so many stories and adventures imbued in their wearing that I can't bear to part with them and often too mourn some of the spectacular ones that, in a moment of madness, I did- the 50's new look White organza and black velvet trimmed dress worn on punting trips. The 80's peplumed black ottoman suit, so tight that it was only worn with designer silk underwear....( the rest I'll leave to your imagination!)

There is just one item, stored in a box on top of the wardrobe that the daughter is always begging me to get rid of.... A 30's fox fur, complete with head feet and tail(s!) that I bought in (another old fashioned) charity shop in Paignton- because it looked lonely! It did go on to accessorise a 30's mans DJ suit at several first nights, since when it's been used to frighten Trick or Treaters!

So until I get that trunk it's off to my local hospice charity shop with another "granny trolley" load of cast offs... Carefully vetted by the Daughter first of course!

Lay Lady Lay

Bob Dylan has a lot to answer for, well listening to his drawled lyrics during my formative years is the only explanation I can think of for my obsession with beds, mostly ( though not exclusively)of the big brass variety.....

I write this lying in one which is so high I have considered using steps to get in ( and I may soon have to when my ancient joints no longer allow me to vault in)

How many 18 year olds use their first full time wages to buy two decrepit Victorian brass and iron bedsteads and then spend many a cold Saturday in their Parent's garage carefully restoring them? ( I obviously had such an action packed social life!)

one of mine....

In my defense I can say that I sold one of them many years later at 500% profit, a margin I've kept up to this day with various ones that I have bought ( sometimes used) then sold on -thank you E bay! including two 19c iron ones , one French,that I sold this week,

In my time I've been in and out of many beds ,( some of which might have been better unvisited) and I always wonder, if they are an old one, what secrets and stories they could tell, for surely beds share our most intimate secrets? From birth to death with all those hours, filled with tears, smiles, kisses, pains and dreams we spend in them in-between , a third of our lives.....

For me though the bed I'm fondest of is now on the other side of the world with my Sister, given to her when I thought I should make a fresh start, the trouble being I miss all those secrets and joys we shared for so many years. ( both my bed and with my Sister)In restoring it from a rusty ruin destined for the scrapheap it's somehow as if we became entwined and my hopes and dreams imbued that perfectly ordinary Victorian bedstead...oh that I had had an attic big enough to store it while I came to my senses...... I wonder how much it would be to ship it back......?

Into the attic

Where to begin?

I suppose the question every new blogger asks themselves, followed closely by why the hell am I doing this and finally, will anyone bother to read?

To answer the second two, because I thought it would be good exercise for my mind now I am advancing in years and what is politely termed as perimenopausal ( and no I won't tell you how wrinkly I am, lets just say that every day I wake up and am thankful that everything hasn't headed south over night!) I hate crosswords and soduku and bridge, I've tried learning the piano only to find I have two left hands and so my daughters recommended a blog ( of course they had then to explain what one was!)

As for anyone reading, I'm not sure I care, in fact, like my teenage diaries I'll be slightly horrified if anyone does ( which is why this must be just our secret.....)

So, back to the main question, what to write about? The dusty corners of my attic, either physical or mental and what I find there appeals. I always had a frisson of excitement when Enid Blyton's children made their way to the attic of whichever castle they were staying in and found all sorts of exciting things as they opened the creaking lids of long forgotten trunks.

As for the scene in " A Little Princess" by Frances Hodgson Burnett where the drafty servants room Sara Crewe has been exiled to is transformed first by her imagination, then by unknown friends, it still has the power to make me weep copiously....

I hope my musings, if anyone does stumble upon them amuse/ touch/ interest them...and so, on to the main event!