About this blog

This is a window into the weird world of Anglicanism, as experienced on a Cathedral Close. Has anything much happened since Trollope's Barchester Chronicles? You will still see the 'canon in residence' hurrying across to choral Evensong, robes flapping, as the late bell chimes. But look carefully and you will notice he is checking the football score on his iPhone as he runs. This is also a writer's blog. It charts the agony and ecstasy of the novelist's life. And it's a fighter's blog. It charts the agony and ecstasy of the judo mat. Well, the agony, anyway.

Saturday, 14 January 2012

DAY 14

I think I used up all my bold fashion impetus yesterday.  Today is definitely an 'Oh stuff that for a game of tin soldiers' kind of day.  And why not?  It's Saturday.  The only thing holding me back from a total slobbing about day was the fact that I have guests driving down to visit, all the way from the City of God, Durham.

Obviously, they are coming to see me, not run a fashion spot-check.  But a token effort is called for nonetheless, or they will go away with the impression that I've really let myself go, with my ratty trainers and trackies and my tragic St Johns college hoodie.  One of my guests at least will not take kindly to the hoodie, as she's Senior Tutor of the neighbouring college.  The very college from which my son rather brilliantly got himself banned for a term for pranking.  He nicked the sign off the principal's door, but was caught on CCTV.  A schoolboy error.  Honestly, what is the point of bringing your children up in Urban Priority Areas if they don't remember to wear a balaclava when committing a crime?

So, the dilemma: an outfit that doesn't look too slumpy, yet is OK for a cursory tidy-and-hoover.  I didn't want to have to get changed.  My rule of thumb when you are at a loss is to ask yourself 'What do I want to wear?' and this will be the right thing.  So, for example, if you want to don a LBD and marabou trimmed mules to clean the cooker, go for it.

As it happened, I decided I was a in a pink mood.  I find pink kind and consoling, and this was what I wanted as I had a migraine yesterday.  These days I only have micro-migraines, I'm glad to say, not the full-blown 36hrs of vomiting in a darkened room hoping to die.  I get the spaced-out feeling, the aura (in my case it's like the ziggy-zaggy decoration on Norman arches, which makes Durham cathedral's Galilee Chapel something of an ordeal for me), followed by a headache and feeling washed-out for 24 hours.  I try to see my migraines as my friends: they come bringing me dispatches from my subconscious to tell me I'm stressed or sad and not addressing it properly.  That said, I'd prefer an email.

So pink it is: I'm wearing that chunky pink cardie-coat with the big buttons, with black leggings & boots.  I couldn't summon any  colour unco-ordination beyond a red heart-shaped pendant.  Enough edgy urbanness already.  My friends will love me regardless.

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