This morning, over breakfast, we were discussing shopping. Clothes shopping to be more precise. Mum said she can’t remember ever taking us shopping for clothes when we were kids. So maybe we wore newspapers? Maybe I grew up wearing the Auckland Star or the Eight O’Clock and for scandalous days, The Truth. She can’t remember us ever growing out of clothes, and yet we, obviously, did. She does remember when she was pregnant with me someone gave her a little dress and she hung it up on the mirror so she could see it every day. I wonder if science is aware of this method of influencing the sex of your unborn child?
I’ve never been a great one for clothes shopping, at times I would rather go to the dentist. In fact, she said, “you never shop for clothes.” That’s not true. I bought a T Shirt at Eddie Bauer’s in New York in 1995. I still wear it. It has no hem around the neck any more so it has become a boat neck, off the shoulder number. It’s a dark orange/burnt umber colour and it’s my “writing T shirt”, which means I wear it more than any other garment. I had two Club Med T Shirts in the 1990’s and I wore those until the holes were bigger than the material.
In London in 2009 I discovered the vintage shops on Brick Lane. Fantastic! Clothes that are old already and supposed to look like that. I got a pair of very high black and white shoes for £5 and when I want some danger in my life, I wear them out of the house. I have two pairs of jeans and one good black skirt and two jackets. What more does one woman need?
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done the ‘dressing up and putting on makeup and going on parade in the office’ thing in my time but, fortunately, the industry in which I spent most of my working life was more used to jeans, sweatshirts and trainers. At home I sometimes write in my pyjamas and my writing T shirt. Lucas couldn’t care less what I wear as long as I can get down on the floor and play dinosaurs and he gets to climb all over me.
So maybe she didn’t buy us clothes and maybe we never learned to love clothes shopping. I can spend hours in book shops, the gift shops of museums and art galleries and at markets. I am renowned for my ability to buy well matched, thoughtful presents, but the key to that is more about buying in op shops and markets and squirreling it away for the right recipient. I’m not a retarded shopper, just a shocking clothes shopper.
Oh God, am I sick of this “Epsom tea-cup” saga? So John Key had a cup of tea with John Banks and some idiot cameraman “accidentally” left his radio mic on the table. Now the cameraman says his reputation has been tarnished, his reputation was tarnished the moment he didn’t erase the contents of the tape. Media outlets have shown their true colours and tried to ‘leak’ the contents. If it was explosive they would’ve published first and paid the fine later. It appears they said Brash is a bit of a fuddy-duddy and Winston Peters’s supporters are ancient, who knew??? What a revelation. Something that is said in private should stay private. End of story. I guess you can say it has sucked oxygen out of the campaign when Labour was trying desperately to look like it had policies worth voting for. But it has also given that odious man, Peters, a boost in the ratings and it has made Key look flustered and annoyed. Maybe it has made the election a little closer and little more colourful. At the end of the day does it matter whether National won by a landslide or merely a whole lot? We won the Rugby World Cup, we don’t say “We won the Rugby World Cup by a point.” The proof will be at the only poll that matters on November 26th and we will be celebrating.