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.

Thursday 5 January 2012


Honesty compels me to admit early in the year that we will not be discussing underwear on a daily basis.  So if you are a pervert, you may as well stop bothering now.

Today we are working a black and green colour scheme.  I am wearing the same treggings as yesterday.  This is perfectly fine.  I know young people think that there is a 'wear once, put in laundry basket' rule at work in the universe.  Actually, that's a lie.  Most think the rule is 'wear once, drop on floor'.  They've been suckered by the Lynx adverts.  It is in fact possible to wear garments more than once without blighting your environment with BO fumes.  The treggings are good for another day.  I was not wading through mud or stroking a white cat yesterday, I was mainly sitting at my desk working.

Still, we don't want people to think we have so few clothes that we have to wear the same thing two days running, do we?  This is why we have clothes horses, to pile the once-worn but no longer pristine clothes on.  Eventually your entire wardrobe will be heaped on your clothes horse, and then there are two possible courses of action: putting it all in the laundry basket, or folding it up and putting it in your chest of drawers (well, it will have aired, won't it?)

This morning I actually feel as though I'm wearing something new.  It's not new, it's just new to me.  I was given it by one of the other Close Catherines, who is (half of) the Director of Music.  Those of you who live on the Close will instantly be intrigued, as we represent the two extremes of the Catherine height spectrum.  What could she possibly have in her wardrobe that fits me?  Answer: a black sleeveless chunky knit tunic with a wide cowl neck.  Perhaps on her it was a maxi dress.  On me it's about the length of an Oxford BA gown, referred to as a bum-freezer.  (Hence treggings, not leggings, see yesterday's post.)

Under this tunic I'm sporting a green vest and long sleeved green top, both bought new several years ago from the Italian underwear people, Intimissimi (who understand curves).  The precise shade is what I've always thought of as Lincoln green, the colour made famous by Robin Hood and his merry men.  However, if you search Lincoln green on Google, you'll find little consensus.  Just to clarify then: my top is 'Homebase Lincoln Green'.  I'm back to black boots.  I am not, however, wearing a wide leather belt.  Tunic+boots+belt always teeters on the brink of Peter Pan, and this is not a good look for a middle-aged woman, or indeed anyone other than Peter Pan.  I'm wearing a nice paua shell necklace which contains a range of blues and greens, and that pale aqua pashmina from Sunday.  Oh dear, oh dear.  Matchy-matchy again.  But I'll try really hard to put on a brown coat later when I take my older son to Tamworth to catch his train back to Durham.

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