Flashback....

I was born too late.  It's a well known fact in my family that if I could turn time back, I would set myself very soundly around 1942.  I love the music, the dancing, the fashions and just the whole thing about that time.  I blame this solely on my Nanny Joyce who lived through the war in Portsmouth, as she filled my head with stories from an early age.

So when I got the chance to go to the Goodwood Revival this weekend just gone, I almost had my manager's hand off when he waved a couple of weekend passes under my nose. Of course, there was a small matter of Binland work to be done while I was there, but surely this wouldn't impact on my enjoyment?

But where were the dearly beloved and I to sleep?  Well, the idea of a tent was bandied around, but a good friend lent us their wobbly box for the weekend.  (A caravan called a Golden Osprey, which son number two rechristened The Golden Pikey, once he saw the husband tow it into the drive).  

And so it was that we headed down to Chichester on Friday.  The wobbly box was laden with bags, most of which contained every bit of 40's style paraphernalia I could muster up.  This consisted of shoes, dresses, a Land Girl costume, and a last minute buy from a fancy dress shop of a Home Guard costume for the husband.  I didn't have much hope of coercing the husband into this, and the fact that I insisted on calling him Captain Mainwaring all the way down didn't help.

We arrived at a very muddy campsite around 5.00pm and slid The Golden Pikey into position, and once the husband was happy that it was secure, we took a walk over to the Festival.  Well, it was like I'd time travelled back to 1940, and I was in complete heaven. 

Wandering through, dressed in jeans and walking boots, the two of us looked like we were the odd ones out, as everyone was dressed 40's style.  There were uniforms, tea dresses, eyeliner, and Victory Rolls everywhere.  Seeing these, I vowed that the wig would not be unpacked and that we would be back in the morning bright and early to look for some patient lady who might be able to do something with my errant hair.

I'm sure that the husband wasn't planning on being back on site at 7.30am, but I wasn't prepared to miss a single moment of that day.  Dressed in my 40's tea dress, we headed over and lo and behold, the first stall we came to was a 40's makeover stand.  I think I only managed to mow down three other ladies in my eagerness to take a seat, and in only 27 minutes they had transformed me into a 40's bombshell, complete with false eyelashes, Victory Roll and the reddest lipstick ever (I managed to leave remnants of this on two coffee cups, a bacon sandwich, the husband and seven gin and tonics - it was very resilient that's for sure).

The husband, who had naturally refused to wear his costume, was dressed in blue shorts and matching t-shirt, and looked nothing like anything from the 40's.  To be honest, he looked more like the waste contractor than I claimed to be, and he was quite happy to compound this at every security gate,as we blagged our way into various banned areas.

There were cars, live bands (we did a lovely Lindy Hop in our mud splattered walking boots) and stalls selling all manner of vintage treasures, but it was the clothes which left me open mouthed.

The husband, who felt like he'd let me down by not dressing up, has vowed to get his act together before we return next year.  I see him in an RAF uniform, probably an officer.  He has other plans though.  He's going as a Peaky Blinder.

He bought the hat on Saturday, and apparently he's going to buy the rest...

Vintage sock by vintage sock..