Vintage Vixen

My eyes bored into the lady examining this fabric at Wednesday's car boot sale, mentally willing her to put it down. Luckily, once she found out the price, she dropped it in disgust and walked away, leaving me to saunter over and hand my £1 coin over to the stall holder.

Awww, is that to make into something for your little girl? The seller asked. No, its to make into something for this big girl, I replied. Yes, typical me. THIS vintage fair to prepare for and The Green Man festival in less than a week and I'm knocking up ridiculously impractical clothing like I've all the time in the world.

As a typically British child growing up in the Seventies, Sindy was the norm. When Joanna, an older girl, moved next door and invited me round to play dolls I was in awe of her Barbie - suntanned, gargantuan boobs with a wardrobe of clothes to die for - psychedelic cat suits, high heeled mules, flared jeans, mini dresses. Barbie certainly put Sindy's boring ballet, horse-riding and bridal outfits to shame. Most of all I loved her carry case and forty years later I finally own one (courtesy of Arizona babe, Janice).

Not that I use it for the original purpose.For a grown-up it's the perfect thing for carrying booze round festivals and to the curry house.

No doubt I'll get lambasted for promoting a doll that apparently makes young girls feel inadequate and promotes an unrealistic body image.

What rubbish! This was my favourite doll when I was growing up - Mary's Quant's Havoc. A bad ass in a catsuit, go-go boots and lurid green eye shadow - never influenced me one bit.

On the subject of dolls I loved this beauty as soon as I caught sight of her on the £1.99 bric-a-brac shelf in Banardos. According to my doll-lovin' pals she's a Bradley doll. Jon says I only bought her 'cos she's a mini me.

Hmm....

Barbie dress made using a 1970 "Woman, Easy Makes" pattern (that's debatable), Perspex belt (Liz via Urban Outfitters), chandelier earrings (India, 2005)

Thanks for the amazing feedback on my last post. You are incredible.

Have a fabulous weekend and do come and say hello if you're near Warwick on Sunday. I'm not as scary as some people think!

Kinky Melon was off in Warwickshire yesterday trading at my friend Amy's Blighty Boutique Vintage & Handmade Fair.

Many event organisers struggle to get people through the doors during the summer months but, despite being held in a village hall a few miles drive from the nearest town, over 600 vintage lovin' bargain hunters came through the doors.

And what fine folk they were. Many were repeat customers who'd bought from us back in May and we met some lovely blog readers, too. The van came back significantly lighter, always a bonus.
The red vanity case, navy fedora, several bow ties, old skool travel bag and vintage sailor top you can see in this picture all found new homes!

I wore a 1960s chiffon Peterson Maid maxi I bought in Cardiff last week.

As a chap we were chatting to yesterday said, vintage is a way of life. We not only sell it, drive it, and live it in but we wear it every day.

Linking to Patti's Visible Monday!

Jon wore some jumble sale trousers he'd altered and a 1960s fine knit

We'd planned to have a lie-in this morning and tackle unloading the van after a leisurely breakfast but a phone call from a contact telling us they'd got some stuff we might be interested in meant that we were back on the road before 9am.

Here's just a snippet of the haul.

Fabulous coats and suits from the 1960s

and a lifetime collection of hats from the 1950s onwards.

This fabulous wool coat has buttons stamped "London, Midland and Scottish Railway Company". At one time it was the largest commercial undertaking in the British Empire until nationalisation in 1948. Splendid condition considering it's at least 65!

Just some of the immaculate 1960s & 1970s menswear.

...and That Shirt not only has the original shirt unworn inside but it to be one of the grooviest packaged piece of menswear I've ever come across.

I promise I haven't become a crazed doll collector but I had to grab this 1960s skiing doll just because she had a pet poodle.

Brilliant! That's this week's stock shopping done so we can concentrate on sorting ourselves out for this weekend's Green Man Festival and maybe (phone calls permitting) manage a lie-in!

See you soon!

Hmmmm...what was it I said about no more shopping this side of the Green Man? I take it all back. I had to pop into town for some safety pins and couldn't resist touring the chazzas on the way back.

Just when I didn't think I could top my Ossie Clark maxi from a fortnight ago along comes an Emilio Pucci jacket!

Turquoise cocktail ring (Miss Magpie) and bad ass lime green nail polish (Our Em)

I found it's twin on a swanky US vintage website HERE for the bargain price of $795. Much as I love a bit of vintage psychedelia I love to travel a whole lot more so this jacket will be making it's way to Kinky Melon's stock room after I've had my fun.

I'm not sure what's going on but despite a drunken night out (which may explain the fuzzy tone to these pictures, Jon's head still isn't quite right) I'm already packed, ready for an early getaway to Wales in the morning.

'scuse the headscarf, I managed to dye my forehead as well as my roots and no amount of nail polish remover seems to be able to shift it.

It's a rarity to have no stock to load so I'm taking full advantage and packing a bastard massive amount of clothing. It is the UK and our weather is a bit schizo to say the least. I've got to allow for torrential rain, plummeting temperatures, boiling hot sunshine, gale force winds, mud, trekking across fields, negotiating portaloos in the dead of night, all day drinking and dancing like a nutter.

Obviously there's also wellies, a waterproof mac, sandals, gloves (my hands get frozen gripping a pint late at night), a feather boa, over-the-knee rainbow socks, fake flowers, garlands and bands for my hair, an array of tights in neon colours, a parasol, a heap of jewellery, sunglasses, some knickers and an umbrella.

Jon reckons his car-booted 1970s tracksuit fits the bill for a weekend of hardcore festival-ing, I'm not so convinced myself.

Emilio Pucci cotton velvet jacket worn with 1960s Janice Wainwright for Simon Massey maxi, jumble sale scarf, Krista made pendant and orange suede platforms from rock star Helga

I'm off to Asda to buy my body weight in cider, fancy cheeses and olives.

Have a fantastic weekend (seems a bit odd saying that on a Wednesday) and see you next week!

Oh yes, it's Vix & Jon at yet another festival.

A photo-heavy post featuring unwashed, dishevelled folk, having the time of their lives.

This time we were revellers rather than sellers so an entire four days of uninterrupted 14-hour drinking sessions, crazy dancing, listening to the best in Indie, psychedelia and folk music whilst absorbing the magic of the Black Mountains.

The Green Man Festival, the pride of Wales.

Surely the most gorgeous location in the UK.

And only one afternoon of rain!

Check out those ominous clouds coming in from the mountains.

Here's the entrance from live-in vehicle camping to the main festival site.

The obligatory self-portrait.

Sunshine, cider, sounds...Summer doesn't get much better.

Highlights? John Cale, Patti Smith, Kings Of Convenience, Edwin Collins, Half Moon Rising, an audience with the legendary Julian Cope. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed Ben Howard, too (although it could have been the gin's influence).

Loved the outdoor drum'n'bass disco (as you can probably tell).

It wasn't all hedonism, mind you. We managed a four mile ramble along the banks of the River Usk

Dressed in our usual rambling attire.

And spent a wonderful afternoon in nearby Crickhowell.

Explored the town's charity shops (Jon found himself a vintage jacket to die for).

And ate chips in the shadow of the castle (built in 1121).

In hindsight maybe an eight-mile walk with an arthritic hip wasn't the greatest idea but after a can of gin and tonic and a couple of ibuprofen I was ready for Saturday night.

It didn't half get cold after sunset. Thank goodness for the festival camp fire (and the 1970s Indian quilted block-printed jacket I snaffled from a car boot sale a couple of weeks ago).

The Green Man is ritually burnt at Midnight followed by a spectacular firework display.

What a weekend! I can't wait to go back.

I've a billion blogs to read, a mountain of washing to tackle and another festival to prepare for but sod that..there's a dial-a-pizza on the way and a couple of cats in need of a cuddle in front of the TV.

See you soon!

Linking to Patti's Visible Monday - a day late.

Over the weekend we were part of an audience with Julian Cope, the former singer/songwriter from legendary Post-punk band, The Teardrop Explodes, and now a political & cultural activist, expert on Neolithic culture and occasional dabbler in the occult.

He's highly articulate, outrageously dressed and considered by many to be slightly mad but, on describing himself as a rock'n'roll underachiever, a person who doesn't give a toss about making it big, remaining true to who they are and living each day as it comes, I felt like he could have been describing me.

No sodding bucket lists, people-pleasing or whoring your arse for world domination.

Many people will see me as being slightly weird about not having some big life plan. After being pushed into a career I hated and fighting the subsequent depression it caused I've spent the last 14 years just being glad to be alive. I live within my means, sell vintage to pay the bills and as long as I can afford to travel and attend a handful of music festivals throughout Summer I'm happy for Kinky Melon to stay the two-bit enterprise it is.

I want for nothing, I don't endlessly trawl the internet looking at stuff I can't afford, subscribe to magazines that try to brainwash me into hankering after a wardrobe full of fashionable clothes with a shelf life shorter than a jar of jam and avoid blogs which post wishlists of unattainable stuff like a spoilt kid does at Xmas. If you want it just shut up, save for it and share it once you've paid for it.

I don't have a tick-list of things I need have accomplished before I reach some magical age. I don't consider myself a failure for never having skydived, juggled or bungee-jumped. I fill my time doing things I want to do, not stuff to impress others with.

I started my blog in 2009 as a creative outlet for the dialogue in my head, not for freebies, for fame or to be a poster girl for an alternative 40-plus/frugal lifestyle. The friendships I've made in the last four years are a wonderful and unexpected bonus. I'm still hugely touched that anyone reads my ramblings let alone bothers to leave a comment or sends an email.

I'd much rather receive a second-hand find from thoughtful fellow blogger (like Emma who spotted these additions to the Wall of Misery whilst at a car boot sale in France; the Hawaiian dress I'm wearing and the purple midi and brown maxi behind me from op-shopping queen, Linda in NZ and the charcoal Berketex maxi from lovely Lucy in Wales) rather than accept a handout to promote a company with dubious ethics.

It may sound boring but I'm happy as I am. If my life didn't change for the next 20 years I honestly wouldn't mind.

Honolulu-made 1970s midi dress worn with woven suede belt (Age UK, 50p, 2009), Bertie leather boots and Alpaca, Mexico silver choker (both from car boot sales) and a heap of silver jewellery from India

Cope reckons that an underachiever would make the most of being unexpectedly stranded on a desert island whereas overachievers (like his antithesis, U2) would be planning an immediate escape.

So, what would you do? Are you one of us?

Kinky Melon is off to the Upton Festival tomorrow, see you next week!

Bloody hell, where have the last seven days gone?

Last Thursday we headed off to the Upton Festival for the Bank Holiday weekend, experienced almost every type of weather known to man, met Pat Sharpe, watched (and danced to) the most bizarre line-up from Chesney Hawkes, The Wurzels, Toyah Willcox, Neville Staple, Bucks Fizz and Bad Manners and flogged vintage clothes galore to some fantastic people including the lead singer of the Brotherhood Of Man and her mad mates.

There's very few photos 'cos we were hard at it from 10am to well after midnight each night, not just trading but because we were on wee watch. Camping in the main arena meant poor old Gilbert was a prime target for surreptitious pissing. Our stall was a draw for vintage clothes, impromptu hairdressing (mostly for the under 10's who all wanted twin buns like mine) and drunken chats with revellers who seemed to find us fascinating.

So we can go out and play this Friday night we decided to get everything sorted for Saturday's Antiques & Collectors fair once we'd got home on Monday evening.

This is how the dining room (aka the room of doom) looks right now. That sunflower & stripe 1950s Horrockses blouse is a beauty, isn't it?

After taming our tremendously overgrown garden, tending to a starving stray cat who turned up on the doorstep (I'm going to adopt him if he comes back) and catching up with 96 unread blog posts, yesterday afternoon and today were spent putting up trestle tables, sorting through bags of donations and helping to get everything ready for the monthly jumble sale.

Not all work though, we managed to find ourselves some groovy vintage bits and pieces whilst we were at it.

There's more but it's either in the washing machine or hanging up outside. (Poor bugger, it's been on constantly since we got back, all my unsold stock gets rewashed after a festival.)

Here's some household bits I'm keeping - Foreign-made pink china poodles, a plant stand in dire need of a makeover, a pretty vintage towel, a 1950s bevelled mirror, a vinyl pouffe and two pairs of groovy 1970s curtains.

Carol Classics of New Zealand maxi (Courtesy of the fabulous Op Shop Mama), Yellow corsage (99p, Scope)

This morning was the first time in 13 days I've managed to squeeze in an exercise session, for underachievers we seem to be working rather too hard!

No rest for the wicked though, it's the actual jumble sale tomorrow and Joan's put up her prices - 70p for a dress, 40p for a top, 50p for trousers and £1 for a pair of curtains. I predict a riot or at least a stack of abuse from the disgruntled Black Country Grannies!

Thanks for the amazing feedback on my last post. I hope I've managed to visit anyone who was kind enough to leave a comment.

See you soon.

Each time I hear those words I die a little inside.

Me in 1978 dressing up in my Great-Grandma's wedding dress

As kids we stomp around the house in our mothers' heels, fantasise about becoming a grown-up & owning a wardrobe crammed with jewel-coloured evening dresses we'd wear every day. We dream about having Rapunzel-length hair, swooshing around in floor-length capes and wearing rings on every finger. We raid our Mum's dressing tables, daub our cheeks with circles of blusher, apply shimmery blue eye shadow and coral lipstick and feel beautiful. We aspire to look like our dolls or the fairies and mermaids illustrating our story books.

35 years later - same garden, same gazebo, same woman!

So we grow up and what happens? We lose our way, forget our dreams and follow the advice trotted out in magazines, by "style experts" and fashion bloggers.

We play it safe, keep it simple, embrace capsule wardrobes and minimalism. We belittle women with look-at-me clothing, vivid make-up and impossibly high heels (when secretly we envy them). We think pared-down style is the key to sartorial success - maybe a hint of leopard print or the faint glimmer of a sparkle at the earlobe, when in reality, unless we have the looks of a film star, we simply get overlooked.

Yesterday I was inspired by a BBC4 documentary on flamenco and a picture of Sharmila Tagore. The dress was from Liz's blog sale, I hacked the sleeves with the nail scissors before I left the house.

Why does grown-up style have to be such a joyless experience?

Capsule wardrobes, restraint and minimalism be damned. My second-hand wardrobe is crammed full with endless possibilities. Shall I be 1960s Cher ? Helen in Don? Frida Kahlo does Glasto?

Lulu the mannequin (Out There Interiors) wearing a 1930s satin & marabou bed jacket (my last car boot sale, 3 weeks ago) 1960s felted wool hat (Charity shopped in 2011) and a necklace hand-made by the beautiful Edie Pop

I don't want fuss-free dressing, I want to take my time, dance around the bedroom in my knickers and try on a hundred dresses before leaving the house. I want to paint my face in the colours of the rainbow. I want to go to work dressed like a Flamenco dancer and do my shopping in a ball gown. I want to wear chandelier earrings, a statement necklace, bangles up to my elbows and rings on all of my fingers and toes.

I might be grown-up but I haven't given up.

Frida necklace by the awesome Tamera.

People will judge you regardless of the cut of your clothes or the subtlety of your eye shadow so why not forget about toning it down and live it up instead? Yes, you'll be looked at but hell, at least you won't be forgotten.

See you soon.

Linking to the always inspirational Judith and this month's Hat Attack

I've got a to-do list as long as my arm but as long as the sun's shining I'll make every excuse in the book to stay outside and top up my tan.

There's hardly a weed to be seen amongst those blue bricks (snaffled by Jon for a pittance on eBay) . My poor nails are ruined - I know, I should wear gloves but once I get the bit between my teeth I can't tear myself away.

I loved gardening in my previous homes but this tree-filled, 110 metre long beast is a real challenge. I've learnt to ignore the rest of the wilderness and concentrate on the front bit. If you can't see it then it's not worth stressing over, is it?

We came across this box of encaustic tiles when we were rummaging around it an outhouse over the weekend. It seemed a shame to leave them festering in a damp cardboard box.

The meat safe was left the cellar of our last house (a Victorian terrace). I painted it a few years ago but I prefer it to look a bit battered around the edges (it matches it's owner).

The Victorian chimney pot was in the garden when we moved in, I dug up the cast iron railings a couple of years ago and the chimera was a skip find. I've more vintage enamel in my kitchen than I know what to do with so I may as well re-purpose some of it.

I've no idea if these are weeds I've planted in the terracotta heads (bought from a seconds stall on the market over 25 years ago) - I dug them up from the patch.

The knackered old watering can was another skip find - useless for it's original purpose but too pretty to leave behind.

Jon nearly put his back out carrying this ancient Belfast sink back to the van after we spotted it at a car boot sale years ago for a fiver. I've transplanted some of the rocket and Alpine strawberries that run wild in the borders.

I'm not sure whether growing tomatoes and cucumbers alongside flowers is normal gardening etiquette but it works for me.

Those window-boxes were in an upmarket garden centre's bargain bin - The Guardian declared that brushed steel was over as a garden accessory the same week but who gives a toss about fashion if you like something (and they're £2 each?)

1960s suede waistcoat (Xmas pressie from Liz) worn with a brushed denim feather-trimmed maxi (£6.19 from eBay back in 2011), bone and turquoise wolf choker (50p, Car boot sale years ago)

Don't worry, I haven't gone all ladylike & domesticated just yet, as usual I've left Jon to cook the tea and there's a bottle of lager at my elbow.

See you soon.

(Apologies to Dolly Parton for bastardising her famous quote!)

Today's outfit cost me £1 - yes, a quid! I'm wearing a 1960s crimplene maxi bought off a Cats Protection market stall for 50p over 8 years ago and a cotton cami I found on the 50p rail in a charity shop on Tuesday....

The French seams, covered buttons and the painstakingly neat hand-stitching drew me in, I knew there was some age to it but it came as a surprise to discover the original owner's name and 1886, the date it was made, beautifully etched in copperplate on a side seam. Not only am I named after Queen Victoria but I'm the same size as one of her subjects!

I grew up with the need to be careful with money ingrained into my very core. Dad earned a good salary but never spent more than the absolute basics. We grew up without central heating, a video player, double glazing or a freezer and had a rental TV. We holidayed in England, wore second-hand clothes and used tea leaves as tea bags were considered a frivolity. By rights I should have gone mad when I left home buying all the luxuries I was denied as a kid...but I didn't.

I've never had a credit card, a store card or a loan, the first house I bought was a modern shoebox, slap bang in the middle of a red light area but, as a single girl, I could manage the mortgage. I lived on bread, Marmite & oranges during the week to afford to pay the bills and to party all weekend. When pay day rolled around I didn't "go and treat myself", working was a fact of life, I didn't need to be rewarded for being an adult.

Life remains a series of compromises. If I wanted fancy clothes and high-end luxuries I'd have to go back to being a corporate whore. Living as cheaply as possible to maintain the relaxed lifestyle we love doesn't have to mean denying ourselves, just cutting back. Buying a newspaper just once a week, making do with a 10 year old Pay As You Go mobile and wrapping ourselves in blankets and lighting the wood burner rather than turning the heating on. Jon painstakingly hand-painted Ebby over a period of weeks with a roller the size of a blusher brush to save himself two thousand pounds on a professional respray (cash that'll pay the bills).

The house is furnished with cast-offs, hand-me-downs and broken bits. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to make something from stuff we've rescued - like this Victorian bun-footed chest. The drawers were broken but with a couple of cup hooks, a garden cane and half a jumble sale bath towel it's a practical towel and toiletry store.

Our home may be seen as slightly eccentric to many but it's unique and it's all ours (not the bank's)!

We eat simply but well. Almost everything we consume is made from scratch - no packet mixes, pre-made sauces, ready meals or processed food. Today's lunch was pie made from foraged blackberries and home-made olive oil pastry (my invention, feel free to email/Facebook message me if you want the recipe).

Cheap food during the week means cash for beer and curry at the weekend - that's after we've sold our hearts out at the Kings Heath Flea on Saturday!

Thanks for reading, commenting and being fabulous!

See you soon!

Updated to link to Spy Girl's 52-Pick-Me-Up as I'm wearing white.

It's most unlike me but I've had my legs out twice in a row.
I'd better share over at Patti's for Visible Monday.

I was dying to give this Jean Allen culotte dress a whirl since I bought it from a fellow seller at last week's vintage & collectables fair.

After a week of pottering around in the garden I'd managed to collect innumerable scratches, cuts and bruises and, to top it off nicely, I got stung by a wasp & ended up a hideously inflamed leg but, faced with a colour this glorious, I can't imagine anyone noticed my skanky injuries.

Talking of vintage fairs, I couldn't resist snapping up this incredible printed dress from my friends, Claire and Maisie's stall on Saturday. It's 1970s dead-stock from Greece. The elastic had perished after forty years of being hidden away in a stock room but it only took an hour to unpick the seams, replace the offending elastic and restore it to it's former glory.

I know, I know, boots! Needs must when it's pissing down! I'm hoping I'll be back in flip flops before too long. I keep reading posts by bloggers waxing lyrical about Autumnal dressing but they can feck right off, there's no way I'm wearing coats and tights just yet, we've got at least 6 months of being miserably confined in layers, as always I'll be the last woman dressed like it's still high Summer in December.

Look at what else I came back with (just as well I managed to sell some stock or they'd be no room in the house for me). My friend Maria noticed my house was lacking a knitted loo roll dolly when she came round to help out with the photo shoot back in June and thoughtfully bought one for me. The downstairs loo looks that much classier now.

As if three months of hand-painting Ebbie wasn't enough, Jon's been on a mission to pimp up everything he can lay his mitts on. First off was this old leather Kelly bag that's been at the bottom of the bag pile in my stock room for ages.....

...followed by two more!

1970s cotton Bandit Sauvage midi dress (Maisie's Closet Vintage) worn with a heap of gypsy & tribal jewellery and River Island stack heeled leather boots (£2, Sally Army)

1960s slub silk culotte dress (£15, Elephant vintage fair), orange platforms (Queen of NZ, Helga), 1960s Lucite chain belt (25p, car boot sale)

We're on a mission to get the website updated and the stock reorganised (I might be a winter-hater but my customers want coats, dresses with sleeves, jumpers and vintage boots) so the house looks more like a jumble sale than usual. I'm woefully behind with blog reading, responding to comments and replying to emails, I was hoping for a mega catch-up this afternoon but the slave driver I live with is cracking the whip and I have to do some more sorting before I can sit down and catch up.

See you soon (I hope!).

I woke up this morning with the urge to dress like an Italian widow.

Blame the demise of the Summer or watching The Young Montalbano but I reckon the real reason was that when a friend urged me to try on a 1970s dress we'd admired at Saturday's flea market I'd replied "I don't really do black" and with a shudder realised I sounded just like one of those women.

Victorian-style lace up boots (£2, Colors Of Benetton via a car boot sale) - shame about the fallen down hem!

I'm sure you know the type. They're the ones who gasp and paw through the rails on my stall, holding dresses against them in the mirror, sighing and promptly replacing them. I can't wear that style; that colour doesn't suit me; I'm too old for that; I'd never go anywhere to wear it; I'm too short/tall/fat/thin or, even worse, No way! Everyone will look at me!...Excuses, bleeding excuses.

Look at me, I tell them - I'm a short arsed, ordinary-looking bird in my late forties, my arthritis makes me walk with a limp & prevents me from doing up my own shoelaces. If I'm not working from home, shopping down the market or rummaging through other people's cast offs, I'm drinking in back street boozers. The highlights of my year are either being amongst the great unwashed at music festivals or bumming around India on second-class trains, sleeping in £5 a night guest houses and eating at roadside shacks. Hardly a glamorous lifestyle, is it? I could spend my life in a pair of leggings and a tee shirt and nobody would bat an eyelid but why would I want to?

We moan about our lack of options as we grow older, that's there's nothing suitable in the high street shops and that magazines and TV shows never feature women like us. We complain about becoming overlooked and invisible when in reality we build our own prisons, blending in with pared-down style, fuss-free clothing and neutral tones - imposing silly rules about how we should portray ourselves to the world and pointlessly trying to emulate someone else's style instead of creating our own.

Great-Great Grandfather's mourning brooch

Mum died three years ago and Grandma less than a year before her and still people stop me and recall their incredible style. Who's going remember you if you don't stand out?

Native American pendant (car boot sale, 3 years ago) worn with Victorian bog oak mourning locket (filled with hair)

Of course, it's entirely up to an individual if they want to follow fashion & join the herd but it just exasperates me and makes me sad, in my book there's nothing worse than a wasted opportunity.

Early 1960s Young Mayfair crepe cocktail dress (Mum's) worn with a 1970s denim waistcoat (Second to None, Walsall)

A day without dressing up is a day wasted.

This Italian widow's been to Lidl in her evening gown to get a bottle of cheap cola. It's rum,coke and vintage Bollywood tonight!

See you soon.

Despite me despairing over how too many women fear colour sometimes it can work to my advantage.

Take my new dress, for instance. This 1950s beauty had been in the window of one of my local charity shops for over a week without a smidgeon of interest, that is until I snapped it up this morning.

It's raw silk, there's not a single bead or stitch missing and it's got a fancy label. We Midlanders may be a long way from London but a Mayfair label has to be something special.

The market sells New Look seconds for more than the price the shop was asking. I can only think that the almost-neon shade scared the bejesus out of them - Vix Pink, as my mates call it, after my beloved Barry M lipstick.

As you know, I'm not generally a fan of fifties fashion but I couldn't resist trying it on and guess what? It fits like it was made for me. I feel like a vintage Bollywood starlet, ready to burst into a song at any opportunity.

In my world all good dresses have to be worn immediately even for the most mundane of purposes....making a shopping list,

Sorting out the larder

Making a dentist appointment

Washing up...

Planning our next party.

Marjon Couture dress cocktail dress worn with 1970s Ravel platforms (£4.50, Cancer UK, 2011) and 1960s pearl earrings (inherited from Mum)

Who said Friday 13th was unlucky?

Have a fantastic weekend.

I know, two blog posts in a single weekend! You'd be forgiven for thinking I don't have a social life. Truth is that I'll be hospital tomorrow for a steroid injection to my hip joint and I'm doing everything I can to avoid thinking about it.

Whilst it's infinitely preferable to having to undergo another hip replacement just yet, the very thought of an IV line makes my toes curl up in horror.

So, in between visiting the pub and catching up with friends, I've scrumped and foraged for apples, blackberries and redcurrants in gale force winds and lashing rain,

And I've cooked like a domestic goddess on speed.

Check out my blackberry and redcurrant pie and my apple and vanilla muffins.

I've packed my bag hoping that glamour in the face of adversity will see me through (although I can't imagine I'll be looking too pretty with a 7am appointment).

I'm getting accustomed to how I'll be living for the next few days, lying about dressed in vintage lounge wear and catching up on my stash of vintage Bollywood films and books. (I'm probably the only vintage lovin' woman who can't be arsed with Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe.)

Clockwise from top left: Zeenat Aman in Hare Rama Hare Krishna, Sharmila Tagore in An Evening In Paris, Dimple Kapadia in Bobby, Aruna Irani in Caravan, Helen in Jewel Thief and Bindu in Kati Patang

Hopefully next time you see me I'll be able to tie my own shoelaces and get up from a chair without assistance.

Vintage hooded maxi (the sweetest Squirrel), 1960s shag pile rug & vintage swirly cushions (car boot sale), patchwork cushions and curtains made by me

Enjoy the rest of your weekend and see you on the other side.

Despite suffering chronic pain for most of my life, other than a total hip replacement, Monday's steroid injection was the first pain relief I've ever been offered.

My fellow patients were shocked at what they considered to be the National Health Service's negligence but it's my own doing. I hardly ever visit the doctor and rarely take painkillers.

I'm not scared of hospitals, it's being dependant on other people I can't deal with. I'm the worst patient in the world. I hate feeling weak, defenceless and vulnerable. I'd rather solider on than make a fuss.

Arthritis has never stopped me doing anything, it's something I was born with and it's as much part of me as breathing. I played hockey for the school team, trained as a chef and had a career which led to me being on my feet for 13 hours a day for years. As an employee, I never called in sick. Despite my awkward limp I've wasn't short of admirers, never resorted to wearing sensible shoes or failed to keep fit. Apparently I'm eligible for a blue badge and disability benefit, should I choose to accept them, but all that can sod off, I don't need handouts. That's just giving in and admitting defeat.

Solider maxi waistcoat (previously seen HERE), 1960s Bukta school leotard (20p, jumble sale), 1970s Handmade by Bronley geometric print maxi skirt (50p, car boot sale), turquoise suede boots (courtesy of sexpot Helga)

Constant pain is like having a sound system strapped to your ears and ramped up to the highest level. It nags away at you, lowers your tolerance levels and distracts you but, like any minor irritant, you learn to live with it. You don't suffer fools gladly and despise moaners and pessimists; you fight harder and work longer because as soon as you let your guard down the noise comes back.

People call me brave, which I'm not, nobody chooses to have a disability but I can do fuck all about it so I might as well just get on with it. Moaning just alienates you from other people.

Give pain an inch and it will take a mile. Let it stop you doing what you want and you'll become defined by it. Work through the pain barrier, exercise daily, wear your highest heels and your brightest clothes because when people compliment you for looking fabulous you instantly feel better.

Yay! An improvement already. Today's soundtrack is less Megadeth and more The Carpenters, it's there but it's much less wearing.

Thanks for you kind messages and comments, it made things feel a billion times brighter.

1950s feather print vinyl beach bag (£1.99, Banardos)

By way of celebration I've out been charity shopping and treated myself to a bottle of rum on the way home.

Cheers!

Back in the bad old days of corporate whoredom I had to travel to the capital a lot and hated it. A city full of miserable tossers who wouldn't give you the time of day, barging you out of their way on the tube, slamming doors in your face and looking at you like you were a raving nutter if you dared strike up a conversation with them.

But, with the lovely Suzanne jetting in from New York for a week I couldn't miss the chance to meet her and, when La Dama and Lakota said they'd come too, I was searching the internet like a woman demented looking for the cheapest train fare going so I could meet these wonderful women I've known virtually for years. Finally I snaffled a £20 return and off I went.

The day started off brilliantly, a couple of ladies on the train loved my outfit so much they moved seats so they could sit and look at me and we had a riot for the 2 and a half hour journey down there.

After much squealing & hugging & kissing Lakota took charge. (I honestly don't think we'd have got further than the pub across the road from Euston Station if she hadn't.)

Armed with a map and a list of cool stuff she got us safely to Whitechapel where we puzzled over maps and posed in alleyways where Jack the Ripper stalked his prey.

We wandered to Brick Lane, oohed and ahhed over architecture, graffiti, random art, shop windows and a cute poodle called Louis.

We were cat-called, photographed and photographed some more. Traffic stopped, crowds gathered, people came out of shops to say hello, it was like Chesterfield market on acid.

We plonked ourselves outside a crêperie in Spitalfields, posed for more photos and got complimented by all and sundry. Credit to the staff, we must have sat at the prime table for half-an-hour before even looking at a menu.

The obligatory exchange of gifts amidst much squealing.

Photo by Dora

Didn't I do well?

After lunch we posed like prostis, before hitting the famed vintage emporiums of Brick Lane.

Photo of me by Lakota

I'm not buying any shit, I'd told Dora in an email last week, but we all know I'm a total tart and at £10 there's no way this velvet psychedelic number wasn't coming home with me. (Where did this vicious rumour about vintage clothes being ridiculously overpriced in London come from? I know vintage dealers locally who charge 5 times more).

Photo by Dora

Dora bought bad ass steampunk sunglasses and a 1970s gypsy skirt, Suzanne found a cheongsam in a £1 bin,

Photo by Dora

Dora bought bad ass steampunk sunglasses and a 1970s gypsy skirt, Suzanne found a cheongsam in a £1 bin, but Lakota turned down this amazing 1980s party dress 'cos it showed her gusset (as if that should have stopped her).

In no time at all it was time to catch the train back to the Midlands and to say our goodbyes. What can I say? Suzanne is feisty and fabulous, Lakota is gorgeous, witty and a brilliant tour guide and La Dama is a work of art and a joy to be with. I can't wait till we meet again.

The journey home was just as much fun even the train staff ask us to pose for photos, I had a laugh with the pinstriped businessmen sitting opposite who kindly shared their samosas and I exchanged email addresses with the chick I sat next to. I've definitely changed my preconceptions of London (well, the East part, at least). I can't wait to go back.

Photo by Dora

I've a house that looks like a charity shop exploded, four dinner party guests arriving in a matter of hours, nothing in the fridge and I'm still in my kimono. Time to get my arse into gear!

Have a fab weekend.

Reading posts by bloggers identifying gaps in their wardrobes, complaining they've nothing to wear and identifying what they need to see them through the forthcoming season is a constant source of fascination for me. I mean, what happens to the clothes they already own? Do they honestly disintegrate and have to be binned or, more likely, are these women simply bullied by the fashion pack into believing that their existing stuff is so outdated they'll be laughed out of town for daring to wear something that isn't deemed bang-up-to-the-minute?

I love clothes, I really do, but who wants to spend all their hard-earned cash on relentlessly keeping up with fashion? Life's for living - not for filling your wardrobe with this year's trends and investing in "classic wardrobe staples". Want a transitional piece to keep you going between seasons? Sod cashmere and squirrel print jumpers,

- stick a shawl on over your favourite frock and save your cash for a holiday.

Having no interest in fashion is so liberating. I simply buy what makes my knees go weak when I see it second-hand, be it a fake fur coat in August or a halter neck maxi dress in the depths of winter. There's no worrying about whether it'll still be in style by the time it comes round to wearing it - most of my wardrobe hasn't been in fashion for the last forty years.

A cupboard filled with clothes bought because they made my heart beat faster means I'm never bored of putting on the same old dress time and time again.

Footwear for A/W 2013? Pah! I've had some of these boots for years and, other than the silver platforms, every pair was bought second-hand (I'm a UK 7/40, I never have a problem finding footwear in my size). I get them re-heeled when necessary (my cobbler charges £3.50 a pair). Are they fashionable? Who cares? I wear them because I like them - not because someone told me a certain style was "in" this season.

These coats have been making regular appearances ever since I started blogging back in 2009, each one at least forty-five years old and in brilliant condition. There's no way I could afford to buy anything of comparable quality new, and why would I want to? They receive no end of compliments when I wear them. They're bright, they're fabulous and, being vintage, it's highly unlikely I'll ever bump into anyone wearing the same thing.

I have to cull my fake fur collection regularly as I keep finding something else that steals my heart.

Constantly buying new stuff is no good for the planet, your sanity or, let's face it, your bank balance. There's far more interesting things to spend your cash on...like having fun.

Talking of which, there's a blogger meet-up taking place in Birmingham this Saturday.
As usual it'll involve copious amounts of booze, gratuitous fondling of vintage clothing, raucous laughter, bad language and having a right old laugh.

Email me or Curtise if you want to join us.

Linking to Patti's Visible Monday.

Liz had the day off work yesterday so she supervised me through the making of this bell-bottom pants suit.

Before you remind me that I can already sew, I still get a bit jittery about putting the scissors to vintage fabric this fabulous, so it's good to have some moral support.

I wasn't sure whether it was the model's hair or the outfit I loved most on the sleeve of this 1969 Simplicity pattern, so I copied both.

Whaddya mean? Not seasonally appropriate? Bugger the date, it's 23 degrees out and the sun's shining. We'll be condemned to months of long sleeves, bulky layers and closed-in footwear before we know it, it would be a crime to cover up unnecessarily.

Anyway, look at the garden - if neon orange, buttercup yellow, lime green and hot pink aren't the colours of Autumn I don't know what are.

I considered using buttons that matched, but soon came to my senses and used these marvellous Bakelite beauties (rescued from a moth-eaten 1940s day dress) instead.

No Barry M lippie today, I got this 1960s Boots No 7 matt orange lipstick as part of a job lot of vintage make-up from a car boot sale last year.

If you're not on Facebook you'll have missed me banging on for the last month about a stray cat regularly calling for food and love. We think she's a Norwegian Forest cat and, despite her scrawniness, she's an absolute beauty and ridiculously fussy. She's spending longer and longer here every day and the other two don't seem too rattled. Could she be a new member of the household? Watch this space.

Unlike Stephen Squirrel and Polly Piglet, this little girl seems to adore me more than Jon. We longhairs stick together.

Bell-bottom pants suit made with 1960s acetate fabric (£4, Acorns Hospice) using Simplicity pattern no. 8146 (£2.99, St Giles Hospice) worn with 1960s vinyl holdall (£1, charity market stall), candy suedette platforms (£5, local retail), 1960s velvet & rhinestone choker (£3, vintage fair)

Wednesday night is special, it means rum, coke and Whitechapel.

See you soon!

Perplexed by that tricky between-the-seasons transitional wardrobe? Simple. Give away one of your favourite coats to a friend so you feel justified in buying a second-hand replacement, put said coat on over a summer dress and swap your boots for sandals - sorted.

1960s velvet opera coat worn with Dollyrockers silk maxi (£2.99, eBay), Helen brooch (made by Tania) and Office velvet boots (£9, 2011 sale)

I fell in love with this velvet opera coat last year but walked away and spent the evening crying into my beer. When I revisited the shop on Saturday, almost a year later, and it was still there. My £15 was out of my purse and over the counter in the blink of an eye.

It wasn't the only fabulous thing to happen on Saturday either. Forget Peaky Blinders, Birmingham got a visit from some perky bloggers in the form of darling Curtise, Gisela& Fiona (I'd never met either of them before but loved them immediately) and Liz.

Forget your preconceptions. The decaying industrial city littered with 1960s concrete monstrosities that was the Birmingham I knew for the 15 years I worked there has long gone, the UK's second city has evolved into a cool & funky metropolis boasting the largest library in Europe and shed loads of high end shops and fancy eateries....not that we bothered with any of that.

Who needs bank-busting Harvey Nicks and Selfridges when you can laugh at gigantic knickers, gasp at outrageous fancy dress costumes and marvel at fabulous fabric and cut-price cosmetics at Birmingham's world famous Rag Market?

After rifling the stalls we invaded Digbeth, Brum's vintage and second hand quarter. Here's Curtise in Credit Crunchers, a bizarre mix of cut price vintage, life-sized wooden pirates and Peters & Lee LPs.

91 Allison Street is amazing, it's cheap, chock full of fabulous stuff and Sue, the owner, is an absolute darling. Nearly all of us came out with a bag of swag - including me with my coat and this insane poodle scarf from the £1 box.

Can you believe Fiona didn't buy this gorgeous £15 maxi?

Poor Curtise was struggling with a virus so we headed for the nearest boozer (Hennessey's) for liquid refreshment and a sit down where we were joined by Pippi who got along with us a treat. We raised a glass to Em who'd had a crisis and had to cancel at the 11th hour & Clare who couldn't afford to come - they were missed.

A pint, a goat's cheese and chutney panini and chips later and we were ready to hit more shops.

People knock Cow Vintage for being Eighties-centric, but that's what the hipsters love. If you hunt carefully there's some incredible 1960s and 1970s vintage at good prices (although at £35 this Vix-tastic bag was sadly a bit too much for me).

But at £6 this backless lurex top was a definite yes.

Urban Village is probably the coolest vintage emporium in town and the rack of 1960s and 1970s sale frocks kept us happy for ages. Frankie, the owner, let me pose on his precious scooter whilst some sharply dressed passing mods obliged by taking our photos.

I bought Jon this crazy Nathan Williams 1970s shirt. I had to, the label said 1966 and that's the year we were both born - a sign, surely?

Gingermegs specialises in high-end clothing from the 1930s and 1940s. Gisela fell in love in an incredible rose print day dress for a not-too bank busting £45 but restrained herself.

This Flamenco coat reminded us of dancing queen, Veshoevius. Made in Torremolinos, no less.

My mate, Daron, recommended the Big Bulls Head so we popped in for a swift one before heading back to New Street Station (being papped on the way!)

Spoilt? Moi? In addition to having a fan-bloody-tastic day (marred only by the hour-long delay for the train home due to vandalism on the line) I got presents. A funky St Michael top, teeny poodle and Maudella pattern from Curtise and a peacock print maxi skirt and some beautiful handmade cards from Fiona.

After a quiet Saturday night in, we were up at the crack of dawn and selling our arses off at Pelsall's Autumn vintage fair yesterday.

Wearing my me-made acetate pants suit under my trusty 1960s velvet maxi waistcoat along with a Mongolian lamb boa and a stack of bastard jewellery

Now I've got to unpack the van.

See you soon!

It's not a secret that I'm no fan of Autumn.

Hot chocolate turns my stomach, wool itches, berry tones makes me look like shite and tweed makes me feel about as sexy as Miss Marple and don't get me started on the incessant drizzle and endless gloom, cancelled car boot sales, dark mornings and the annual house invasion of bastard massive spiders.

Jon treated me to this kitschy piece of madness yesterday, I can moan about the weather all year round.

Here's my tips for surviving Autumn when you're a beach babe at heart.

Exercise for at least 30 minutes every day. It warms you up, focuses your mind and makes you feel a hell of a lot better about yourself. No excuses about ailments, lack of time or money, you're only kidding yourself. Get on with it.

Embrace the fake tan. Why be pale & interesting when you can be bronzed & interesting? You don't have to turn yourself into an Oompa Lumpah or a Page Three Stunna. Slap it on once a week and you'll feel like a goddess. Honest. St Moriz is my brand of choice and a bottle usually lasts me a year. (Not a sponsored post - I may be cheap but even I can stretch to £2.99).

Eat well. Don't stuff your face with processed crap. Get down the market, forage your garden or go scrumping for seasonal veg & fresh herbs and cook yourself something delicious.

We've had roasted onion soup for lunch.

Drizzle 80ml (veg, sunflower or olive) oil over 6 large, unpeeled, white onions, two whole bulbs of garlic, a couple of sprigs of fresh rosemary and fresh thyme and cook for 45 minutes at 180 degrees (or until the innards go squishy).
Discard the herbs and leave the veg to cool.
Halve the onions and garlic, squeezing contents into a large pan (it doesn't have to be a vintage pot but its all I had!)
Add 2 litres of veg stock and liquidise until smooth.
Gently reheat, season to taste and enjoy.

1970s Berketex cotton maxi (the very lovely & elusive Lucy), Customised 1960s green leather jacket (£5, Rastafarian homeless charity), pink and rhinestone trimmed hair flower (my fabulous mate, Kerry) and a heap of junk jewellery

Despite what the fashion magazines and sponsored bloggers may tell you, there's no reason on earth why you can't continue wearing neon make-up, colourful summer clothes and clip flowers in your hair just because it's October. It's nothing but a ploy to make you spend money. There's always thermal underwear, jackets....

....and Bitch socks.
(Boy, London still in the packet and 50p from Cancer UK)

Still grumpy and cold? If all else fails, do what I do, stick your coat on and search for the cheapest flight out of here.

See you soon.

Linking to Judith's Hat Attack and Spy Girl's Texture Mixture.

This was how I was originally dressed when I popped into town this morning.

It's the first outing for my 1960s brushed denim and suede Beau Jac of California jacket I found in a charity shop back in August.

Bloody hell, was it warm out! By the time we'd stomped the mile into town, toured the chazzas and endured the weirdness that is Maplin (a strange, male-dominated shop specialising in electronic components) the jacket was stuffed in my bag and I'd stripped down to my maxi.

Hand made maxi worn with vintage jacket (£3.49, SENSE), leather Gladstone bag (20p, jumble sale, 2009) and stack heeled leather boots (£2, Sally Army), feather earrings(darling Desiree) and neon green nail paint (Em)

A perfect excuse to show off my latest creation.

My friend, Yvonne, gave me this beautifully wrapped box of vintage cottons & notions at the weekend,

which inspired me to crack open the groovy 1970s Maudella pattern from Curtise and use the amazing vintage fabric Em gave me.

Even the buttons came from Dee.

Buttonholes are one thing that frighten the bejaysus out of me so I cheated and used press studs instead.

Did I mention chazzas? Jon found some cool vintage men's stuff today but there wasn't much to interest me. Not that I minded, I've not only had two parcels of joy this week (thanks to Gisela and Lakota) but also found this pile of kitsch madness earlier in the week.

The reason behind our trip to the land of the geeks? Jon's made himself a suitcase boom-box from a jumble sale-d 1950s Spartan case and some bits and pieces he'd picked up for a song on eBay and he needed some bits to make it all work.

And work it does, we're blasting out to Uptown Top Ranking right now.

He's not just a pretty face.

It's a night in with Peaky Blinders tonight accompanied by rum & coke and home-made pizza, taking it easy before hitting the town tomorrow.

Have a fab weekend!

I'm A Barbie Girl

Buying & Selling

Charity Shop Gold - Vintage Emilio Pucci

We've Gone Green, Man!

Rock 'n' Roll Underachiever

The Lost Weekend

Grown-up Style? Are You Having A Laugh?

Take Me Out There, Sit In The Green Garden

It Costs (Not) A Lot Of Money To Look This Cheap

Legs Out, Boots On And Handbags At Dawn

Never Say Never

Couture In The Kitchen

Take Me To The Hospital

Soldiering On

London Kills Me

Forget Fashion - Have Fun!

Psychedelia In Surburbia

Bloggers In The City - Six Go Wild In Brum

Staying Fab When It's Drab - Vix's Tips For Surviving Autumn

Things To Make & Do