Begin by defining my terms? What is this, an academic essay? No, but it is, alas, subject to the vagaries of the English language, which… well. Yes. Deary deary me.
According to Wikipedia, ‘pocket book’ can mean a coin purse, a handbag (also known as a purse, to aid confusion), a notebook kept in a pocket, or a published book of a pocketable size. So you could technically keep a pocket book (coin purse) in your pocket book (handbag) WITHOUT ANY POCKETS OR BOOKS BEING INVOLVED SERIOUSLY ENGLISH WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! Ahem. Continue & Comment
Ever since Eve, gardens and clothing have had a problematic relationship – particularly for women. Before I even made my passionate avowal of regular gardening, I had made a frustrating discovery in this regard. As suitable as my long-skirted dresses are for many a pursuit, gardening is not one of them.
What clued me in? Standing on my hem with muddy gumboots when bending over my work. Frustratingly unavoidable.
And yet, women (and even ladies) have gardened lo these many centuries. The problem, I deem, is the combination of ladylike attire with unladylike gardening. A full sweeping skirt is all very well for a little light flower-gathering on a dry summer’s day with a Sussex trug over one arm, but squatting down in the muddy grass uttering dire threats against a dock root is in an altogether different class of gardening.
Capsule wardrobes are kind of the in thing at the moment in wardrobe design – but what exactly is a capsule wardrobe? A space-age pill which magically changes your outfit? Er… no.
The original blog post for Week/Month 9 of the Wardrobe Architect describes a capsule wardrobe as consisting of between 20 and 33 garments, “a small, manageable subset of your wardrobe”. But if you’re anything like me, you’re thinking “but that practically IS my wardrobe!”