Today I was driving round for work with my windows down, basslines pounding out the speakers and my shades on. I know, I know, it was only 13 degrees but after a cold, long winter, 13 degrees feels practically tropical (well, I had my windows down for about 5 minutes. Still a little bit on the nippy side…). I’m normally a real Winter girl, the dark colours and snuggly knits suit me more but I am super duper tres excited for this Summer as my collection of vintage summer dresses has grown exponentially over the winter, to the point where I am struggling to shut my wardrobe. I am blessed with a job that means I travel an awful lot, and spend many a lunchtime in a little village hunting out the best charity shops and making best friends with the OAP volunteers (I think I probably am an old woman in a young body, my love of baking, sewing and collecting home furnishings that wouldn’t look out of place in Del Boys flat). If you make friends with the shop staff then you are onto a winner, they will nip out to get you stuff kept out the back intended to be sold on to vintage shops. The best ones are independant charity shops in little towns, sometimes they don’t realise the value of their own stock and as I pay at the till, I feel a little flicker of guilt that I have just got my hands on a 1960’s unworn bottle green wool coat with mink trimmed collar for £20. £20! 5 meters of 1980’s limited edition Liberty print fabric for £6. 1950’s gingham A line dress for £2. And thats my weakness, cute cotton dresses in amazing prints, I almost have enough to wear a different one every day of Summer. Every time I make a successful purchase, I let out an inner squeel of delight and strut down the street, run home to try it on and stride round the house feeling like I have won the lottery (Oh my, can you imagine if i won the lottery on the same day as having a triumphant charity shop find?! Off the scale). Obviously, finding the winners means sifting through a LOT of rubbish. Piles of Primark cast offs, floral chintzy curtains and wonky eyed teddy bears need to be pushed to one side and finding treasure is getting harder and harder. But once you get an eye for it, you can spot a 70’s maxi dress on a rail from 100 yards. So if your nan needs her wardrobe clearing out, you know where to find me!
Ola! I have finally recovered enough from my raucous Barcelona hen do to bake cake. It took a lot of sleep, paracetamol and carbs but I’m finally there! My girls absolutely know how to PARTY. I, however, seem to be loosing the power to keep up (Going straight from the airport after no sleep from all night clubbing? Not me, I was in bed my midnight, natch). However my inability to keep up raving meant I had more time to discover Barcelona and hunt down some sweet treats. It is scorchio in Spain (obvs) so cake smothered in meltable butter cream is not ideal, it’s all about the pastry, creme patisserie and deep fried sugariness. I discovered these deeeelish mini dough balls coated in cinnamon and sugar at an indoors market. Crispy on the outside, billowing white fluffy insides. They were so good they made me giddy.