There. That's the first month done. Only another 11 to go. And February is a short month.
But to my shame, it was one of those I have nothing to wear days; where you try on all sorts of things and toss them petulantly on the bed. The mountain of garments defies you to claim you have nothing to wear, but this is what it feels like. Perhaps a nobler person could dismiss such feelings. Perhaps this is one of the things I will learn this year.
The problem arose because I'd found a grey cord skirt hanging on the rail which I'd bought but never got round to wearing. Driven by my need to be imaginative for this blog, I was determined to wear it today. I admit it: I'm trying to impress you. That was quite a costly admission. The current orthodoxy demands that women claim they dress for themselves, not to please men. This is usually asserted when we are wearing something more than usually slutty. I am not wearing this minuscule scrap of nylon to make you brim with lust. By no means. I am wearing it because I simply want to. This is empowerment.
Nobody is claiming that a grey corduroy below-the-knee 70s style A-line skirt is empowering. But I do kind of like it. But what to wear with it? After many experiments I've settled on leopard print peep-toe thigh boots, (which I might more accurately describe as 'black boots', only I thought it might be getting a bit boring for you). Plus a black long sleeved top and the dark forest green cardigan, which one of my readers has helpfully pointed out is 'waterfall' style, not ballerina. There.
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.