Fashion

Like it or not, clothes play a huge role in our every day lives, but for some they are obviously much more important than for others. I love clothes and have recently introduced a self imposed ban of a whole year on buying any new items. A bit draconian I know, but I am determined to save some money and make a bit of space in my wardrobe.
My husband, however, has a very different sartorial philosophy and to him clothes are purely functional. He wears them to keep cool/warm, to stay dry and to avoid being arrested, but he takes no pleasure in buying clothes or what he looks like in them.
I have recently had cause to look through photo albums of myself as a child, teenager and young adult. As a child of the 70s I look back and cringe at the flares, long pointed collars and unhealthy obsession with corduroy which dominated that decade. I had a lovely ensemble which managed to combine all of these; some green cord dungarees (worn with a flowery pointy collared blouse) bearing the slogan 'Have a nice day'. Well, I wasn't going to dressed like that was I?
My early teenage years were not kind to me in terms of looks. Big NHS glasses (you had no choice of frames in those days - they were designed with the sole purpose of making you look like you'd just got off the sunshine community coach and run away from your carer) and a series of what could only loosely be described as hair styles. There wasn't a whole lot of style going on, believe me.
The 90s coincided with my 20s and a time to experiment a bit more now that my mother no longer had a say in what I wore, how I had my hair. By the way, my son is only eight and we already seemed to have reached that stage in his life! The late 80s/early 90s was the era of Dallas and Dynasty, power dressing, city shorts and big hair. I thought I looked fab but when I see photos of myself from this time I just look like an extra from Columbo.
I am now 42 and can honestly say that I feel better about myself than I ever have done. I have found a style that I feel comfortable with, a haircut I love (apart from the grey bits) and I have perfected the art of putting on a bit of make-up without looking like the bride of Frankenstein.
So, I wonder what my 50s, 60s and beyond will bring in terms of fashion? All I can say to my nearest and dearest is that if I get a perm, have a blue rinse, start wearing floral skirts, pastels and beige or insist on putting tights on with sandals then please take me to one side and have a word. I will thank you for it and pay you most handsomely in British Home Stores vouchers.

School dinners v packed lunches

With the debate about children's lunches 'on the menu' again (sorry, that was appalling, I can only apologise and promise not to do it again) I have been thinking back to my school days and the offerings, masquerading as food, which we were given on a daily basis. Now I was by no means a fussy eater, but some of the dishes we were fed were quite frankly inedible. We re-christened the Spaghetti Bolognese 'minced morsels' which, if I remember rightly was a dog food. Looking back I don't think it contained a shred of beef. If we could return to the late 70s and test it I think we might solve the mystery of what happened to Shergar. By far the worst though was 'Cowboy Hotpot' a cunning but ultimately ill-advised attempt to make us eat liver. To this day offal is the only thing that I really can't stomach.

On the whole Bryn has packed lunches and, being an ASBO mum, I am probably partly to blame for the recent assertion that our children would get much healthier food if they ate school dinners. I would love him to have school dinners every day (even at the weekends in fact) as I hate the chore of making his packed lunch in the evening along with the umpteen other things I have to squeeze in as my bed calls to me. A couple of weeks ago I got off the sofa and said rather wearily to Bryn "I suppose I'd better go and get your packed lunch ready". Much to my surprise he said "I'll do it". We went to the kitchen and I cleaned out his lunch box. Then he said "Can you get me a smoothie out of the fridge?", so I did. Next came "I can't reach the Pom Bears. Can you get some down?", so I did. Then he asked "Can you get me a cheese scone and the butter out of the fridge and cut the scone in half?" So I did. It continued in a similar vein for a while longer when he finally he declared "This is easy. I don't know why you make such a fuss about it"!!!!