Sunday, March 6, 2011

tattatatat.

The knock danced down my hallway with its tap shoes and I, light of spirit, leaped to open the door. There stood a smiling man, his arms full of a surprise- a pair of Hunter Regent boots in the most luscious, overripe, puddle-jumping shade of violet a redheaded PhD candidate could dream of. 

I took the box in my arms.

 Picutred here, looking very grand and mysterious on my 100-year-old Australian hardwood stairs (that dip in the middle of each step because of the decades of footsteps worn into them)

And all of a sudden I had the perfect mental break from my abstract writing (I wanted it to be good but I was so inside my own thoughts I couldn't tell if it made sense, you know what I mean?)
So the drizzlegrey afternoon became a canvas backdrop in the theatre of make-believe (also known as: My Garden.) I became an English Rose, an uncommon garden variety eccentric who trip-tip-toed down the stone step into delight.

I took my battered second-hand bespoke Gucci briefcase which was filled with important notes about the best way to brew tea and the properties of slugs.

The boots instigated the transformation. After all, there is something pretty fantastically ridiculously wonderful about violet gumboots. Especially worn with a vintage silk chiffon dress I bought for my twenty-first birthday party, and a pink beaded necklace and rainbow resin earrings and a red sequinned disco belt.I was like a big red-pink-purple flower come to life and creeping and spinning and jumping over the pavers.

Well, I'm not used to creeping and jumping so I took a seat- more what I'm used to. More used to two-finger tapping at my external keyboard and fixating on the screen in front of me. It was a relief to get out into the cool, limpid garden. It was refreshing to shed my dealbreakers and become, however briefly, a slightly daft Enid Blyton type heroine. 
Then I repaired to tea with my chums and we had scones with lashings of cream, treacle tarts and fizzing gingerbeer. I wound trailing roses and lilacs in a garland about my waist and floated like Shalott down a winding river. I pulled my Hunters back on and went for a tramp along the seashore and when it started to rain I ran into a fisherman's hut where he shared his dinner of kippers on toast with me as I wrung rain from my hair and laughed at his wild tales of life on the sea. A selky swam home with me and thus, dripping with saltwater, I returned to my laptop to finish my abstract.

All in all, quite a day.


Boots: Hunter Regent boots in violet, lent for an afternoon
Dress: vintage number from Bondi markets years ago
Belt: vintage number from Toronto years ago
Briefcase: vintage from Rozelle markets months ago
Necklace: made by me
Earrings: Dinosaur Designs
Words and Pictures: all my own.

1 comment:

  1. Goodness me. How vivid! They're the sort of article I enjoy seeing, but wouldn't wear myself.

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