A guide to style and good tailoring

Hi welcome to my own unique perspective on what constitutes style and individualism. The vast majority of the photos are taken using a mobile phone camera and I have no make up on.......

I'm in my late 30's and I'm also a widow which probably explains why I look so god damn hot in black, well that and being an ivory skinned pale red head! It also documents my wardrobe, so many people seem fascinated by my clothes and compliment me for how I look wearing them.

It is one woman's campaign against Jeans, Tracksuits and Ugg Boots!

More importantly it's about altering your view on life and trying to do the right thing even though it isn't always the easiest.

This blog is a story in taking pride in yourself and not letting yourself go, or settling for second best because you know what girls? No one really is better than someone if they don't treat you like a Queen................

Sunday 3 March 2013

Poetry in motion

Rupert Brooke was born today in 1887 he died in 1915. He is perhaps best known for his poem "The Solider". I never fail to be moved by the line:  That there's some corner of a foreign field, that is for ever England.

I have been getting back into my poetry over the last few days. I enjoy writing poems though I will confess I don't have much skill, still it is about enjoying it. It is nice to write poetry, it is cool surprising your friends on their birthdays with things you wrote just for them!

I am going to spend the afternoon indulging in writing, reading and dancing. I want a nice relaxed outfit that I can chill out in, so what better than Capri pants and a halterneck top? These are wardrobe staples.

Capri pants: Dangerous curves by Deadly Dames
Halterneck: Red Gingham by Vivien of Holloway
Shoes: Aldo








The Soldier by Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me;  
That there's some corner of a foreign field  
That is for ever England. There shall be  
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;  
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,         
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,  
A body of England's breathing English air,  
  Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.  
  
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,  
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less  
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;  
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;  
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,  
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.




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