On Monday Lord Jon was up at the same time as me. He's participating in a clinical trial for the NHS over the next two years and had blood tests on the other side of town at 8am so he left me to my Wii Fit and a solitary breakfast of tea and toast.
Although I'd felt a bit rough the previous day, the drugs and brandy had done the trick and I was feeling almost normal. The temperature hovered at around -1°C for most of the morning but I was cosy in my layers.
I braved to Kinky Shed to pull out the stock I'd sold over the weekend and wrapped it ready for Jon to drop off at the Post Office after lunch. Not fancying any outdoor photography, I used the landing wall as a backdrop for some vintage lingerie which I spent an hour ironing.
Jon got back just as I'd finished, with plasters on both arms as the nurse had trouble drawing blood, and bearing a £10 gift voucher as a thank you from the NHS for taking part in the trial. After I'd listed the lingerie on eBay I spent the rest of the afternoon reading in front of the fire. Jon made Aloo Chat for tea and we watched more of The Americans.
After breakfast on Tuesday, with unseasonably warm temperatures of 13°C, I felt ready to face the world so we drove over to our favourite Black Country town for a charity shopping session. Mask wearing in shops & on public transport in England had again become mandatory at 4am and we were pleased to see that almost everyone was wearing them.
We came back with some fresh stock for the Kinky shop, a handmade 1970s suede jacket, two hand-knitted wool cardis and a pleasingly chunky Aran one, a Past Times burn-out velvet scarf (I used to love that shop!), a paisley button-down shirt by retro Manchester brand Pop Boutique and a 1980s zip-off sleeve bomber jacket by Rumours.
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| WEARING: Dilli Grey block printed midi dress, vintage felted wool hat & Doc Marten Darcie Diva boots |
A crazed street preacher took a dislike to me when I declined her leaflet, yelling about vanity and how my only chance to avoid eternal damnation was to repent to the Lord and be saved. Vanity! I had to laugh, I'd not combed my hair since Saturday and was dressed from head to toe in other people's cast-offs.
Jon spotted this Victorian photograph of an injured boy soldier propped up next to the counter in one of the charity shops and the manager said it had only just been donated but he could have it for £2. We spent ages researching military uniforms and collar badges but, so far, have failed to discover the poor lad's origins.
