In praise of sensible clothing...

Late last month I trekked over to Holland to see my mate Clare and take part in a half marathon on the island of Terschelling. This winter season I have been rocking my grey Cos wool with it's hint of androgyny but Holland ain't like here - the dress is a lot more casual and they bike EVERYWHERE. I also knew that Terschelling would be, in the kind words of Clare "freezing" so I didn't think said Cos coat would cut the freezing cold mustard plus I didn't want to tempt fate by getting greasy bike oil all over it either.

Now I have a very dramatic style and it has taken years for me to settle on a wardrobe which works for me and the upshot is that I don't really do 'dressed down'. Each year when my family pile into Centre Parcs I am probably the least equipped and therefore the most cold. I love an oversized camel coat but at Centre Parcs it won't really keep you toasty when you are hanging
out with your nephew at the outdoor play area with the wind whipping around you. I was determined to be warm for my Holland trip, Being cold is downright miserable and I wanted to enjoy the whole experience of cycling EVERYWHERE and not be thinking "how long is this going to last? I want to go home and have a brew."

So casting off my stylish sensibilities I went in search of a down jacket...

My Cos coat shot at dusk

The criteria were clear: black, belted and won't make me look like the Michelin man. With that in mind I took my search to eBay, found a jacket and promptly ordered it. I don't think I have ever had such a warm coat. It was hands-down IMMENSE. Black, belted and with faux fur around the hood all the way from Zara - it served me so well during my 4 day away - it was like living in a sleeping bag. Only my nose was cold. 

Hi Selfie! You can just see a peek of a vintage scarf creeping out, 

Vintage boots and bag completed my sensible "look".

 The weekend was lived out of a carry-on suitcase so all of my clothing was tonal (except my high vis vest which I had ready to rock on the morning of the half marathon) - black Jamie High Waisted jeans and black cashmere were the wardrobes of the day with some navy cashmere thrown in for good measure and a couple of vintage scarves to add some pattern and a shot of colour.

Ah sensible clothing! I can remember trotting out in the snow through the mean streets of Halifax on many a winters night our when I was a teenager in nowt but a dress - that's right - WITH NO COAT. Maybe its because I turned 33 this month but sensible clothing, I salute you. 

Why I love tea

Steeped in my history, pouring through the bloodlines of my family, caveat to my life, an entity so inextricably linked to the ups and downs of my existence that it has created an enduringly unfathomable love… tea. It scares me when people don’t like tea. I’m sorry, what? You don’t like tea? We could never be friends. Our family is practically founded on tea: its meaning in our house is what a steadfast currency is to a thriving economy. My mum requires two cups in the morning (which, FYI, has progressed to a whole pot now she has retired), my toddler nephew offers up tasty hot beverages to teddies at his tea parties but it was my Grandma who ultimately won tea top trumps, raising the stakes to a previously hitherto unknown level: steaming hot tea within which contained the forbidden fruit: one teaspoon of sugar. We weren’t allowed sugar in our tea at home. How’s that for a crafty game of one-upmanship with her daughter-in-law? And to put that into perspective in case you are thinking “but I have two teaspoons in my brew every time!” we were only allowed sweets on a Saturday and a Sunday. At a non-negotiable rate of 5 per day.

Then there’s the time my friend Joban and I spent £165 on tea whilst on a trip to San Francisco. Yes. You read that correctly. £165. We had fun getting that through customs – a large cake of Chinese Pu-erh tea which looked suspiciously like hash. When I was training for a half marathon and gave up drinking alcohol for a month I needed a drink replacement so, naturally, tea it was. The half marathon complete, I celebrated by giving up drinking entirely and my tea intake rocketed. The mark of my friendships is how well I know my way around their kitchens in order to get my brew fix.

Pumpkin Tea

Tea is routine, structure, order, mental balm, comforter and confidence all wrapped in one tasty package. And it’s not just me. That molten brown mass is a national sticking plaster:  where would we be without it? How would the plot lines of Corrie play out if they couldn’t put the kettle on in a time of crisis? And remember that iconic image of tea being served on a riot shield after the London riots in 2011? 



Tea makes everything better. Been dumped? Passed over for promotion? Putting the kettle on is a proven formula for guaranteed pain relief. There is something so wonderfully blissful in the routine of running the water, selecting your mug, retrieving the milk from the fridge all the while accompanied by the cacophony of steamy noise exiting the kettle. And you are rewarded with the ultimate pleasure of that rich dark liquid touching your lips and soothing your soul. So, what’ll it be? Mug not cup, soya milk if you have it, no sugar, and, do you know what? Leave the bag in a little while longer. I like mine strong.