Walking on sunshine...

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I was walking home after yet another walk with the woofers yesterday, when it suddenly hit me...

Schlepping along the road in my short wellies, a dress and an old hand me down quilted jacket (cuffs rolled up as its previous owner was a 6' tall man).  A dog whistle hung round my neck, and poop bags and dog biscuits in every pocket, wet hair crammed into a dubious looking beanie hat from some sporting event and a small black mark just below one eye where a wet branch had thwacked me as I ferreted around in the undergrowth looking for some delightful offering from Reg.

So it's happened.

I have turned into Barbara Woodhouse.  

All I need to complete the image is a knee length kilt and a pair of American Tan tights and I should be really grateful that the clothes buying embargo is still in full force for another two months, two weeks and a day.

The nearer I get to being able to hit the shops, the harder it gets every time I look into my sorry looking wardrobe.  There have been a couple of times when I have put together an outfit from what is available to me which I consider to be inventive.  Other's responses have ranged from 'brave' and 'interesting' to 'did you get dressed in the dark today?'  But I am determined to reach the end of the year and am looking forward to Halloween and Christmas when I can bring out various items of fancy dress for legitimate purposes.

I can't see any problem with turning up at Binland dressed as a giant pumpkin can you?

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