Come On, Aileen

The first storm of the season, named Aileen, is due to hit tonight. For perspective, Aileen is no Irma, but still. I’ve taken down the hanging baskets and an outside lantern which is as much as I can do with no hatches to batten down.

The afternoon I spent working on a second poetry collection I’m trying to put together, while listening to a group from my favourite music period.

I have a friend who loves the eighties, and would instantly recognise the nod given by the title of this post. My own go-to listening preference stretches from the mid-sixties to early seventies. The Beatles; The Doors; The Kinks; The Rolling Stones; Tim Buckley; Cream; Cohen;  Dylan, I love all of these and more.

Being born in 1971 means that in my youth I’ve never been in vogue, musically. And don’t even mention my dress sense!

Listening to music helps when I’m writing. The group I was listening to today was Jefferson Airplane. Why do I like these?

Go and ask Alice. When she’s ten feet tall.

Claws for the Weekend:Fashion Faux Pas

I came across this photograph on the facebook page If The Cobblestones Were Able To Tell. The date and photographer are unknown, but it is described on the page as the ‘first women’s pants’. Don’t get too hot under the colour people-by pants us Brits mean trousers and not underwear.

First Women's pants

 

I have never been cool when it comes to fashion. I would wear flares when everybody else wore drainpipes, and was in drainpipes when everybody else wore flares. Much too square to be a rebel, it was more of a case of me being ignorant and naive about what was classed as ‘in’. And speaking of flares, and fitting in, just look at the size of those trousers in the photograph.

I reckon you and I could fit in just one leg. And maybe still do a little skipping.

To you who are hip, and to you who are with me, iconoclasts or not-have a great weekend.

See you on the flip side.