Clothes maketh the man. Or woman...

... for Knots in the String.

Huh!

We’ve spent the last 8 weeks in a dogged state. Mostly dressed in what I now consider kennel-clothes – garments which have almost reached their use-by date, where a few rips, holes and pulls from puppy gnashers don’t really matter because by the end of autumn (we hope), Fang will have become newly-dentured and a touch more refined.

Because we’re mostly walking with Il Puppiro on beaches, deserted tracks and country roads, and mucking about in the garden or preserving our garden produce, what we wear has little value by the end of summer. It’s tired, faded with the sun and the very hard water we have at the cottage. I’m over the warmth, sick of wearing hats and visors, of smothering myself in sun-protection creams and then pre-sleep lotions designed to keep my skin soft and supple and which make marks on the bedsheets and can’t fight age anyway. As Sister Boniface would say ‘Fishbums!’

My face started cracking like a drought-dry paddock when I went in for those two bowel resections last year. Since then, with a long recuperation and then my little terrier soulmate passing away, the fissures on my face have deepened. Whilst the lines tell stories, it doesn’t mean I have to like them but as with many things in life, I have to accept them. I’m not one of those who chases after botox, fillers and the knife.

Maybe it would help a bit if I could just dress nicely for a change. Or have my hair, newly cut, conditioned and toned, moving around my face rather than slicked back into a ponytail for ease.

Not to be because of this little fellow.

I made an undertaking that if we got another (and probably our last) pup, I would give up any thought of our usual boating summers for this year. That I would just grab quick swims when I could and babysit and work with the pup rather than spending time on the beach with my friends, nattering away.

As you know, I’ve kept to that and here we are in autumn and I have a little terrier who has learned to sleep for 12 hours through the night, who kind of comes (when not distracted), who sits, who drops, who touches, who gives, who (mostly) leaves it when asked. Who understands the words wee wees, walkies, dad’s car, this way, let’s go. (Whoever said dogs don’t understand words, doesn’t know our little chap!) And who checks in with us frequently when we’re walking (it’s called Bluetooth connection). Who is not nipping as much, who now loves cuddles, licks my face (kiss kiss) who runs full-bore toward me with a smile and his tail wagging, when I come back from anywhere.

And so rather than becoming depressed at what I look like, I dress vicariously through others. That is, I lust over some rather lovely apparel. Not only that, it’s like reading a fantasy or fairytale and takes me far from the ferocious rise of fascism in the world. So instead of frothing and swearing at the latest news flashes, I can dream of a pair of elegant pants, a stylish cardigan and belt, and woohoo, wearing my charm bracelet again because apparently, they’re back in fashion!

(This tells the story of my adventures O/S, when the world was a far happier place than it is now!)

Below are the posts I enjoy:

1. Australian stylist and my icon, Courtney Blood who can also be found at https://www.instagram.com/mondayprojectco . I’ve purchased a couple of shirts and tops in colours I haven’t worn for years thanks to Courtney (and her mum, Marie) and its amazing how a long lost colour can boost one’s mood. I’ve even discovered burgundy again. When I was at university, I found the most perfectly styled burgundy suede jacket, very European in cut, in a very ordinary Hobart department store called Fitzgeralds and I put it on layby, paying it off slowly with my student income. The day I paid the final instalment was such a thrill and I wore the jacket for years. Until pregnancies, two children and later a perimenopausal body took their toll and it went to charity when we lived in Melbourne. But I still have all my beautiful 1960’s and 70’s belts and I still wear them, albeit with a couple of holes added!

2. German stylist, the silken and elegant Bibi Horst She always looks perfect and is dreamily well-shod! Her colour-sense is spectacular. When I toured Europe, I decided German women were the best-dressed in the world. Bibi encapsulates that.

3. Cindy Hattersley who styles with easy Californian panache. The hat and specs queen who puts things together with such freshness, and her interior styling (for which she is renowned) is stunning. She is a firm believer in telling stories throughout her house, and as a fiction writer I love the idea.

4. For a refined palette, Stacie Flinner Very east coast USA, very expensive but inimitable style. And who doesn’t love Nantucket?

5. For wit with fashion and literary extras and following the Rule of Five, Canadian Sue Burpee.

So whilst I live in chain store shorts and t-shirts, no jewelry, and the most awfully worn boat shoes, these women take me where I couldn’t possibly go without risking puppy-canine fangs through hems and heaven forbid through shoes and handbags! I imagine what it must be like to wear crisp linens, soft silks and fine cashmere as I wade through salt water with Le Chien pattering along beside me. I feel the swirl of soft fabric as I pick mulberries, blackberries, quinces, pears, apples and much else besides from the garden and pull this weed and that, while in truth knowing that I look like a gardener, a kennel maid or a worn coastal grandmother.

I’m planning on having a ceremonial burning of three pairs of worn, chewed and salt stained cottage shoes. A proper Viking funeral. Maybe I’ll throw in shorts, polos and T-shirts as well, as we transition away from daylight saving to the sparkling crystal-studded nightskies of the next 6 months. It could be a welcome to the new season - a kind of equinoctial pyre in my own back yard.

Then again, I think of what Helen Mirren says and so I trot off to ballet class where shoulders back, chin up (back straight, bottom in, arms lifted) is de rigeur, and I don’t have to worry at all about clothes maketh(-ing) the man. Or the woman…

Song for this week? This. Because this post is just a fashion interlude after all.