Well, I’d like to report that the Funny Little Bungalow is now sorted. Tidy, orderly, and functioning.
Sadly, I cannot.
There is a bathroom missing. There’s whole section of the house yet to be renovated. No room is completely painted, and there are bits missing in the kitchen.
I am not complaining. I am merely stating a fact, and whilst we are living in and adding wear and tear to our shiny new house, we are at risk of breaking it before it is even half finished.
The Four Little Seymours are good at wearing and tearing. And so, for that matter, am I. Perhaps this might explain why I am a little scared of the place.
But yesterday, there was one event that cheered me above all else – something that gave me an enornous fillip. I unearthed some lovely and wonderful clothes! All the garments I had squirrelled away during The Shed Epoque, in various suitcases and on several hanging rails about the premises, were rediscovered! I came across fabulous skirts, glorious gowns, a few (potentially dreadful) pairs of trousers, and accessories galore!
The reason I found all this stuff is that I was hunting for things Little Seymour Number Two could take in to school to form part of the wardrobe for her production, Oliver! I was sure, down in The Shed, there was a steampunk braided jacket, and I thought I had several items of modern Victoriana tucked away – or something similar.
The mission went quite well. I found the steampunk jacket (complete with Tim Burton decals I’d sewed onto it for my birthday party); a knitted cardigan that might work for poor, downtrodden young Nancy; a sleeveless woollen coat for old Fagin and a couple of waistcoats. Little Seymour Number Two earned herself four merit points for taking in this selection of her mother’s embarrassing wardrobe disasters, and as for me, I rediscovered all of my other fantastic wardrobe malfunctions, which I love, in spite of Trinny’s historical advice and the fact that none of the items suit me.
I found a stripy mini skirt, some pure white jeans (why?), an asymmetrical tennis dress, items made of silk, a hooped petticoat, busty bodice tops that could well be classed as Victoriana (but that Little Seymour Number Two was too embarrassed to take to school for poor dear Nancy), a bikini top in the shape of a butterfly (God I love that one!) and things with tassles. There is a pair of lurid, almost iridescent bootleg trousers I once wore to school to teach in, and jackets. Tweed jackets, turquoise jackets, Karen Millen jackets and sleeveless ones. There is a flapper dress and a 1940s-esque tartan creation. Oh, I love them all so!
So why, dear reader, when I have all this wondrous stuff, do I usually dress as an androgynous being in a tracksuit, or in men’s jumpers? Why, each morning, do I often shun the florals I have laid out, and opt for shapeless black jeans instead? Especially when, judging by the splendid Oliver! kit I have managed to muster, I could easily do a full on Victorian dandy without having to look too far outside of my own wardrobe. It’s a mystery – I clearly have a rather quirky sense of fashion, but lack the confidence to rock it.
The Four Little Seymours are pleased, though. Aside from the theatrical offerings that went in to school, I have my teenaged Number One eyeing up my mini skirts, and Boy Seymour donning sequinned waitcoats as pants. Mini Seymour had a rummage, too, but judging by her performance this evening whilst we watched The Full Monty together, she’d happily forsake clothes altogether, given a funky tune.
Oh forgive me – I lie. She didn’t forsake clothes completely. She kept her necklace on.
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