From Basic to Luxury

Last week I was invited to talk at an event in Leeds (when I say talk I really mean croak as I could barely whisper).  The networking event was for busy, professional women, many of whom clearly love fashion, but don’t necessarily have the time (or indeed cash) to indulge excessively on their wardrobe.  They want a wardrobe that will work for them, with minimal input.

This same group of women last year had a swap-shop of clothes (in aid of charity), many of whom brought brand new, shop-labelled clothes to exchange.  That time we discussed mistakes (and we’ve all made them – I held my hand up at the time with my lunchtime, misery purchase from Whistles that didn’t fit, didn’t match anything in my wardrobe and made me feel great for a nanosecond, mistake).  This year we decided to take the theme further in building a versatile wardrobe.

The majority of women spend most of their lives striving in search of the, often elusive, perfect wardrobe.  It is, after all, one of the reasons we go shopping, although only one! From an early age we are conditioned by magazines and style programmes to find the perfect wardrobe “basics”.  Whilst the editors, bloggers and stylists talk about these must have “basics” which form the foundation of a solid wardrobe, each has a differing theory behind what constitutes a wardrobe “basic”.

I’m currently working with a customer who has spent much time trying to figure out how many “pieces” she should include in her wardrobe.  She’s searched the internet, read varying blogs –  from the shopping list of classic trench, crisp cut white shirt, pencil skirt and so on, to the capsule which has so few items, she’d spend all her time washing and drying!   In short she’s confused.  How many skirts should she have?  What about dresses?  How does one decide when enough is enough?

I too have read loads of articles on this subject and it always makes me smile – from the tick-list articles to those smug wonder-women who have a fifteen piece capsule.

With this in mind, I recently reread Vogue’s More Dash Than Cash (MDTC).  It’s a book my grandfather bought me one Christmas way back in the 1980’s when I’d started taking an interest in fashion.  Whilst the language is a little dated (you’d never find a sentence nowadays reading “A clever wardrobe… has limitless permutations.”). The tone of the book is all too familiar.   It identifies what to look for in a “great jacket” and other pieces of esteemed greatness, and of course tries to identify “The Classics” (oh the images in the Classic section are so dated 25 years later!), but never attempts to draw a definitive list for its reader.

Because, dear reader, this may be a surprise but there is no definitive list as to what every woman should have in her wardrobe.

I call it more of a formula and that formula might be a cliché but it’s Basic.  Basics are the building blocks around which you can achieve several looks (or as MDTC says “… can be worn even when fashion changes”).

But how do we identify basics?

It’s tricky as one woman’s basic is another’s luxury!  For example, most stylists would say a good pair of heels should be a wardrobe staple (if it’s not a basic it’s a staple, or perhaps a foundation (but that can be confusing with underwear!)), but if you’re on your feet all day, have a young family, so find yourself spending weekends doing activities, the chances of wearing heels might be slim – which means it’s not a basic, it’s a luxury.

As Significant Other put it (whilst reading the last sentence over my shoulder),”if heels are for people who work on their feet all day, how come you’ve got so many pairs?”

Well the plain truth is that your basics will change as often as your lifestyle does.  So what was once an unheard of entity in your wardrobe (in my case low-heeled-practical-shopping –all-day-footwear) could now be a basic, likewise last year’s basic (beautiful-sitting-behind-a-desk-heels) might be this year’s luxury.

Now I’ve identified my basics, and given my wardrobe direction (yes Significant Other, there is a wardrobe strategy in place that isn’t buy, buy, buy!)  surely even in these austere times, a gal still needs a little luxury, even if it does come in the form of five year old Choos?

Take me home country roads

Last weekend Significant Other and I settled down in the cosy warmth (well it was marginally less cold in the sitting room than it was outside) to watch the rugby on television.  There we were, curled up on the sofa like the Queen and Duke underneath the car rug, with some homemade (Significant Other cooks!) yummy chilli on our laps, awaiting the feast which should have been Ireland v France, played out under the frozen night time skies of Paris.  For those who were doing something slightly more interesting last Saturday night, the clue to this PS is “should have been”.  Ten minutes into the programme, a pitch inspection took place (like it would take a genius to know that if it’s -10C outside and its 8:35pm, it’s going to be (a) frozen and (b) not get any warmer), unsurprisingly enough, the match was postponed in its place the BBC decided that what was missing from every rugby fan’s life is a history of Country at the BBC.  I kid you not…

So there we were, Queen and Duke-like, tucking into our chilli, when were visually assaulted by the likes of Dolly Parton warbling and strumming.

You turn it off…. No, I like country, you turn it off, and other such sentences were uttered, but neither ventured from underneath the rug whilst there was a warming chilli to be scoffed.

The next song came on, and yeah goodness me, what is that man wearing?

You see, whilst it’s a well known truth that the 1970’s are the decade that taste forgot, if you team the 1970’s up with country music (famed for its tastelessness), what you get is compulsive fashion viewing.

Turn it off, I couldn’t tear my eyes from it!

So there we were watching Charley Pride in suit with a pattern so big it probably needed its own dressing-room and a style that defies belief – I mean who in their right mind would end a man’s jacket just below his waist?.  Next up we had Kenny Rodgers with lapels reaching his shoulders and flared jeans, and of course beautifully blow-waved hair.  Then there was Glen Campbell looking suspiciously like a Bee Gee with big lapels, big print shirt and big hair (or did they look like Glen Campbell, who knows or cares, but if you describe someone as Bee-Gee-esq everyone immediately has a mental picture).  Then of course there is Queen of Country, good old Dolly again, what can we say that hasn’t already been said?  Ok I’ll say it, triple denim!

This was jaw-dropping compulsive TV at its fashion best… or should that be worst?

Then it got me thinking, in thirty years’ time, what will the Beeb replace postponed sporting fixtures with?  What horrors will the next generation be gawping at?

You know where I’m going with this.  It’s that guilty secret television.  It’s the television that dare not speak its name!

Last week, whilst chatting with one of my bridal customers, the subject of wedding programmes arose.  Whilst I’m not a big television fan, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding is my guilty pleasure.  Unfortunately I’m not allowed to watch is in the presence of Significant Other on account of the fact that he watched a couple of episodes last year and muttered something about car-crash TV, but didn’t leave the couch and appeared as compelled to watch as I am, then felt bad because it’s an hour of time he’ll “never get back”, so now I have to record and watch… alone.

And it’s certainly jaw-dropping.  The huge dresses, the make-up, the tans!  The “dressmaker to the gypsies” is hilarious, as she takes it so seriously (as well she might considering she’s driving a top-of-the-range, Range Rover!), with the larger than large designs and dresses.   The mothers of the bride who are probably a good ten years younger than me, and look older than my mother!   And of course the grooms who “cannot be filmed as it will harm their business interests”…!  The fact that these young girls (most are barely women) are marring themselves into a life of slavery does sadden me (especially when the sky is the limit for woman nowadays) but there isn’t anything I can do, and for me, it’s great downtime, cup of tea and chocolate bar TV.  It’s jaw-dropping but it’s compulsive but

However, there is another contender for the car-crash wedding TV.  Don’t tell the Bride.  I admit I’m a newbie to this one (recommended last week) but can see how it’s going to become part of compulsive viewing.  Essentially, it is about couples who want to get married but can’t afford their dream wedding.  BBC3 give them £12k, but the groom has to plan the wedding in three weeks…!  So these woman harp on about their dream dress, fantasise about how it’s going to look,  but in actual fact, they’re leaving the most important dress they’ll (possibly) ever wear in their entire life, to their beer guzzling, football loving geezer.

Good TV, yes.  Compulsive, definitely.  Would you?… absolutely not!

Now we’ve said goodbye to TOTP, and so long to most of the chat shows and variety programmes which were essential viewing during 70’s and 80’s prime-time hours, all we’re left with is documentary-soap-esq television whether it be food, home appearance or “reality”.

So if the 1970’s is the Decade that taste forgot, how will this one be remembered?

Midi Winter Blues

I don’t know about you but I’m down in the doldrums this week.  I don’t know if it’s the weather, or the fact I’ve been under the weather (coming up to three weeks and counting and no respite in the cough/cold situation), or the fact that every magazine you pick up has lovely new season clothes, but it’s bitterly cold outside so we can’t wear anything new without getting pneumonia!  Coupled with the fact that every time I open my wardrobe, I’m reminded that we’re nearly five months through winter and everything starting to look a little… tired.  I suppose it could also be the fact that everything also seems a little… tight.

I thought it was just me, but when the husband of one of my customers mentioned that he liked my jeans but “by heck, they’re tight” it made me think, perhaps I have expanded a smidgen.

It could be those chocolates we were given at Christmas, together with the (although-I-say- this-myself) yummy fruit/Christmas cake I made, perhaps the relaxing on a beach (normally on holiday I get lots of exercise even if it’s just walking up and down the beach twice a day but unfortunately Significant Other got bitten on the beach, and together with the pestering peddlers, a walk didn’t seem an attractive prospect), or simply due to the fact I’ve been eating too much and snuggling on the couch and watching telly every night (because frankly it’s too cold to do anything else).

Something has to give.  I might, after all these years, be forced, in this my fortieth year, to consider every Fashonista’s night mare…

EXERCISE!

In the meantime, I’ve got to find something to wear.  Earlier this week I went to London on business.  Feeling that jeans didn’t exactly set the right tone (and actually they wouldn’t let me in the restaurant I’d booked in jeans – a Top Table deal I’d booked), I decided to try on some of the tailored samples.  Don’t ask why I did it (I’m not normally this organised so perhaps I had a premonition), but I decided to try the day before.

First I tried on a  pencil skirt suit… I did the familiar hip-wriggle movement as I attempted to shoe-horn my bottom in.  After much wriggling I’d got it on… but that’s about it.  I wouldn’t be walking too far in that one as it brought a new meaning to the words “second skin”.  Next up was a skirt/waistcoat combo I designed for the collection last year.  Again I managed to get it on, and get the zip up, but sadly it would have been a liquids only day as there was no room for mid-afternoon tummy expansion after a scrummy lunch, well, not without any embarrassing popping!

At this stage, I was beginning to despair.  I have always prided myself on maintaining a steady weight, not fluctuating too far one way or the other, but it seems my tummy has expanded in the last couple of weeks and won’t retract.

Finally, and after much rummaging, I found a gathered skirt (with elasticated waistband – don’t say it!, I’m already thinking it!), which would be perfect, if it wasn’t last summer’s maxi-skirt.  It fitted, it wasn’t uncomfortable and allowed room for growth.    So I set about the task of turning last summer’s maxi-skirt into this winter’s midi-skirt.

Significant Other, caught me in the act of chopping off the bottom of the skirt.

“So you’re wearing that?”

I nodded.

“Have you got shoes to go with it?”

Despite displaying Imelda traits, I do occasionally struggle to find appropriate footwear, that’s not to say I have no footwear to go with an outfit, it’s just, well, not always practical or even fit for purpose.

“Yes” I answered somewhat smugly, “I’ve got two pairs of long boots, it’s far too cold for shoes”

That took the wind out of his sails a bit.

“But  can you walk in them?”

I nodded

“Drive in them?”

“Ditto, and before you ask I’ve topped, tailed and accessorised”  I responded, looking down my glasses in a superior manner.

“But doesn’t that skirt make you look…”

Shopping: An Extreme Sport?

Significant Other and I have returned from our brief expedition abroad (don’t feel too envious I’ve returned with a heavy cold and  hacking cough which is entering its 3^rd week), and whilst the weather hasn’t been quite the welcome we’d dreamed off (perhaps we were a bit unrealistic thinking global warming would have kicked in and we’d fly  back to temperatures in the low 20’s and brilliant sunshine), it’s good to be back.  Whilst I love exploring pastures new, it seems to be getting trickier to be a European abroad….

I’m not talking about physically dangerous, oh no, I’m talking about something much more serious than physical danger, I’m talking about shopping danger!

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t go on holiday to spend all my days shopping (even in  New York a few years ago I spent a half day in the Metropolitan Museum of Art… viewing an exhibition of Jackie Kennedy’s clothes), but I do like to sample the local shops whenever I’m abroad.  I believe one can pick up an awful lot about the culture of the country and the lifestyles of the people by their shopping habits.

We had a private driver to take us around the island, which isn’t as grand as it sounds as this man, (who informed us on the second day of our four day tour that he had cataract in one eye, and had just had the other operated(!)), had our lives in his hands – I’m talking overtaking on a single lane regardless of whether anything is coming towards us, swerving, honking, breaking etc, this tour was not for the fainthearted!  However, it gave us an opportunity to look at the local shop, as we gripped the seat in terror.  So what did it tell me about the culture.. well judging by the number of yards liberally scattered around the island who were crammed with car and van pieces – bumpers, seats etc – they’re maniac drivers, but also poor maniac drivers who repair rather than replace.

The other thing which struck me as odd, as we travelled down the island, was the number of shops selling identical goods to their neighbours.  I first noticed it as we queued to get past a road accident(!), and the road on which we queued was lined with stallholders and shops selling cashew nuts.  Each property/stall was crammed to capacity with cashew nuts.  That’s all they sold.  Just cashew nuts.  And during our half hour queue, I didn’t see a single cashew nut sold.

Then a bit further up the road, all the shops and stalls were selling terracotta pottery, then a bit further it was wood carvings, then the other side of the mountain it was all leather goods.

Now, I’m all for free enterprise and truly believe that there is enough business for everyone and that competition is a good thing, but why would you open up shop selling exactly the same as your neighbour?  Because surely you’re going to have to be price competitive otherwise you’d never make a sale.  So why would you want to sell product as  possibly a loss?  I mean, one never sees Waterstone’s and W H Smith next door to each other?  Similarly Starbucks and Pret tend to have at least one bank, building society or phone shop in between them!

What’s so dangerous about that, I hear you ask?  The danger isn’t from the driving, nor from the fact that each shops appears be selling identical handmade “crafts”, the danger stems when one steps inside…

I’m talking service.

Now I’m also for good service.  Indeed, I’m the first to tweet if the sales assistant gives bad service, rude service, or no service at all. However, in some countries in the world, service has a completely different meaning.  It’s supersonic.

Here in the UK, one can go into any shop and the sales assistant (if we’re lucky) will acknowledge our presence, may say hello, occasionally will ask if there is anything in particular you need, but generally if you say you’re browsing, nine times out of ten you’ll be left in peace.

Not quite so simple when one is abroad…

Whilst I fully expect to be accosted in the Souk in Marrakesh (actually the guy grabbed Significant Other’s arm as I’d marched off, with Significant Other yelling “Elizabeth, please come back and barter as he won’t let go of me”, at which point I looked at Significant Other towering over this skinny little teenager who was clinging to arm, and marched back barter for the “pashmina” I didn’t really want in order to release him, at which point Significant Other hissed “you’d better have the right money or I’ll kill you”), I don’t expect in general to be accosted or harassed.

I’m also unhappy with being over-served.  I don’t like being followed around a store, and if I feel a hard pressure, I will just walk away whether I want to buy or not. My mother summed it up perfectly a few years ago in an airport it the Far East, as the chap was following me around duty free attempting to spray me with some vile smelling stuff in a pink bottle – “if you follow her, she’ll never buy”.  It’s true, I don’t.  I like to consider my purchase, I like to think internally about whether I want, need or will use something.  I like to contemplate before making a decision. I do not want someone yapping in my ear trying to “sell” something to me.

Our first experience on holiday was at the wood-carving factory, a factory our driver just happened know of (it’s probably his brother-in-law’s!), where I swear we saw the proprietor rub his hands as we got out of the car!  We were shown different woods, then shown the furniture, then shown the export department (the price includes shipping!!), then we were shown big pieces of furniture, small pieces of furniture, carvings, ornaments, and all we wanted to do was go and see the ancient ruins a couple of miles away!  We were there for ages, he followed us around, he talked to us, nothing had a price on it, he talked some more, he made jokes at my expense (never good for a sale) and then he talked some more, before, eventually, one exorbitantly priced elephant later, we were allowed to leave!

Next up was the Batik Factory, where the sales lady showed us how batik is made (very informative to someone who tried it for Textiles GCSE and ended up with something resembling tie-dye!), then followed us around the showroom whilst we made a selection.  Even after we’d made a selection (the cheapest piece we could find – it’s nice but not that nice), she kept showing us other options which were three times more expensive.  Didn’t we want to look at this five foot piece of batik, what about a bed spread, would madam like dress, how about a beach wrap…

After that we went to the silk shop (again the guide just happened to know the owner, and said we could get a “discount” although, but a discount on what, nothing is priced up).  The sales assistant (a little doll of a girl) insisted I try on a Sari (?), I don’t recall agreeing but the next thing I know I’m being tied up and trussed up in a Sari length.   She then suggested that Significant Other try the traditional dress for men… which is a skirt.  Clearly a moment of weakness for us both, as he also went along with it, although he did mutter something Germanic under his breath (just look at that pose in the mirror behind me).    Photographs (oh yes) and lots of haggling later, and I’ve agreed to buy the Sari – not the skirt! – as the fabric is beautiful and I’m going to make a Sari inspired evening dress, but at least we could leave, or so we thought… “would madam like more silk, look at this silk, a very good price, I’ll do a better price, best price” …but it was phenomenally expensive – I pointed out that I could get the same thing imported from to the UK for a fraction of the cost to which she replied, “but not Sri Lankan silk”.  I didn’t like to point out that the piece she’d shown me had “Made in India” stamped on it.

I admire their persistence.

Fancy dress in a Sari... but, just look at Significant Other's face and posture in the mirror!

After three days of ducking and diving in the tourist areas, I was relieved when we arrived at the ocean for a few days relaxation.  Warm sun, crashing of the ocean and a book to read.  No shopping, no more haggling, or more to the point, eye-contact avoidance and a million different ways of saying no.  So it was with dismay that I ran out of after-sun lotion on the first evening.  No problems, hotel gift shop, surely they’d have emergency supplies.  I walked in, asked for after-sun, spotted after sun (I’m such a focused shopper, especially when there is a sunset cocktail with my name on it), and then spent the next fifteen minutes thinking of different ways to say “no I don’t want to buy a dress”… only to be rescued by my husband who demanded to know what was taking me so long!

Yesterday, I visited the beauty counter in Boots (foundation needs), all the girls were chatting at the other end of the counter, it was difficult to attract attention, took me ages in fact before they finally noticed me… gosh, it’s great to be home.

Happy New Year

Hopefully you’ve all survived the festive season and are by now well and truly thrust in 2012.  It’s been a bit of a slow start (Sunday and Monday were “quiet” days for me), but since then, all systems go… for a few days at least.

I’ve had so many requests for updates about the wedding, that I’ve decided to share with you.

As I write, at just after 2pm on Friday afternoon, I’ve been married for exactly a week.  If only the weather had been something similar to today – weak sunshine as opposed to the heavens bouncing off the pavement as I drew up outside the church and similarly heavy when we departed, but never mind, you can’t plan the weather.

The week leading up to the wedding was extremely frantic, and whilst I didn’t become a bridezilla (no, mum, I didn’t!), everything turned into a catastrophe.  When mum mentioned my wobbly bottom, I responded with a tearful call to Kathryn Rolfe (http://kathrynrolfe.co.uk/), who in turn kitted me out with the most glamorous (NOT) “foundation” for the dress, a foundation so strong and powerful it originated somewhere mid-ribcage and ended above the knee!  And on it went… with the day of the rehearsal seeing Significant Other and I snapping at each other, in front of the vicar no less, we did begin to wonder if we were doing the right thing!

The day dawned, bright and sunny, so to Betty’s for breakfast mum and I headed, whilst I waited for the extremely shocked florist to tie up two red roses and a bit of greenery for me (she paled when I said “I’m getting married in 5 hours time” and need “something to do with my arms”), before I returned to finish my dress (spent an hour an half pressing and by some miracle the sewing god was smiling on me because suddenly the dress fit perfectly).  We had loads of time… then suddenly none.

I’d like to think I elegantly tiptoed in my dainty sandals down the mossy path to the church… In actual fact I had my dress up round my waist, which in turn showed my elegant foundation, as I tried to keep on my feet, avoid large puddles and stay dry.  By the way, mum if you’re reading this, that wasn’t the appropriate time to shout to me from the dryness of the church porch that you could “see my kn*ckers!”

Everyone says it’s a day to remember that you mostly forget, that it flashes by in the flashiest of flashes.  But to be honest, I can still relive every moment of it.

However, for you it’s all about the dress.  The pictures don’t tell the full story, the hours of unpicking and re-sewing beads, only to do it again because it didn’t fit properly, and the agony of trying to fit yourself into a dress, when all around you say it looks fine.  However, I eventually finished it (the perfectionist in me was kidnapped by the “I’m past caring queen” midmorning last Friday), and loved wearing it.  It wasn’t the most elaborate, or excessive, but it felt comfortable, was easy to wear, and ticked all the practicality boxes – that’s if you can call a 2 foot train practical!  And to round it all off the dress survived, a meal, a glass (or two) of red wine, tottering down the steps to the pub, a trek across town with friends, and finally a cab home at 2am and still looks barely worn.  And the marriage… well Significant Other is stretching my “in sickness and in health” vow to its limit as he’s spent 6 of the last 7 days “dying” with “flu”, which would be a bad cold and a chesty cough to 51% of the population!

PS will resume at the end of January as this bride needs a break.

The good old days

You’ve probably gathered that life has taken a more hectic turn over the past couple of weeks.  I’ve (scarily) only got four weeks to the wedding (coat finished yesterday –hurrah, dress still on the roll, that’s the fabric roll), and the days are speeding by.  Christmas is always a busy time of year for me, as a designer getting the cocktail dresses designed and manufactured, and as a professional shopper helping others with their Christmas gift ideas, party dressing and so on.

So you won’t surprised to hear that I’ve finally managed to watch all but the last episode of Downton Abbey… I know it finished ages ago but the truth is I seldom have time to watch television, and when I do I’m usually vetoed (in this particular instance Significant Other deemed Spooks more “manly” than Downton so Spooks we watched, although until I moved in with Significant Other three years ago, he’d never watched Spooks before…).  Anyway, I love a good costume drama, in fact we’re slap bang in the middle of the costume drama season as all the channels try to out-do each other with their all-star Agatha Christie, classic nineteenth century fiction adaptations, etc, for our Christmas TV viewing.

So why do we watch these adaptations?

Don’t kid yourself you’re being high-brow by watching some serious drama or that you’re engaging with our literary heritage.  The pure and simple truth is we’re in love with the clothes.

Oh yes, we may think we’re being intelligent with some “quality drama” on television, we may even like the storyline, we’ll probably find the leading man rather scrummy, but nothing can match those delightful costumes.

I mentioned to a friend I was catching up with Downton (whilst tapping away at my laptop – I like to call it “research”!) and her immediate response was “oh the costumes, wouldn’t it have been lovely to dress for dinner?”

Yes I suppose it would be lovely to dress for dinner, as we see these ladies, and marvel at the beauty of their silk tulle and beaded gowns, soft velvets and… oh my goodness they must have been frozen as they shivered their way through dinner!

Yes, exciting and also glamorous, and a different era, the era of the past, where everything looks rosy and perfect.   Think about it, nowadays if we change for dinner, it’s usually ditching the work clothes and putting on jeans and a sweater or perhaps those “relax at home” pj style outfits, which are filling the shops in time for Christmas presents (I even spotted the male equivalent in trendy lifestyle shop Crew last week).  Let’s face it we’d never think of changing into our LBD for spag-bol on a Monday night!

With this in mind, I’ve decided now is the time for me to channel a little of this vintage glamour.  I can’t do full-blown glamour as it’s not entirely practical when personal shopping in Leeds on a Friday afternoon!  My favourite area is the 1920’s/30’s art deco/flapper style (beautifully brought to life in Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris recently), which definitely won’t work with my figure! (incidentally look forward to seeing lots of flapper inspirations in next year’s Downton when they planted the seeds by discussing “the latest fashions” last time).

This morning, I waded deep into the “going out” section of my wardrobe, and found an old (so old it’s almost vintage, darlings) printed silk and beaded evening top to wear with my jeans and cowboy boots for an afternoon of shopping glamour.

Something sparkly for Friday shopping... with practical footwear!

Let the Christmas stress… sorry shopping commence

Whilst I can always wax lyrical about this time of year (Significant Other would say it’s simply an excuse for me to spend more of his hard earned cash than usual… harsh, but quite possibly true), it can be a tad stressful.

I always find as December dawns with the shortest days of the year but also the shortest month. I always regard December to be a three week month.  Back in the days when I was office bound (oh, the joys of a monthly salary!) we always had to squeeze in a month’s worth of work into three weeks because even though we might be shutting down, everyone who was anyone was on holiday come the 22^nd.  I always find it’s the fastest three weeks of my life.

Ordinarily I’m a woman who spends a good 5 nights out of 7 at home, yet I’m lucky if I manage 5 nights at home until Christmas Eve.

As women we have far too much to do – presents buying (some of us even buy our own, although if I’m honest some jobs are best done yourself), wrapping, card writing, tree trimming, invites, the list is endless.

If you’re like me, you’re always on the hunt for something unusual.  Whilst it’s lovely to buy and receive toiletries, it’s nice to receive something a bit different from the norm, likewise with accessories, or even things for the kids.  It’s always nice to discover something which makes the recipient’s eyebrow rise (in a good way).  But often different equates to expensive.  Or does it?

Below you will find some a couple of inexpensive gifts ideas, for which you don’t have to huff and puff around the shops.

Luxurious indulgence and wellbeing

Ok I’m starting with a radical one but what about treating someone special to a gift of something special – a healthy life?  (I’m dropping serious hints to Significant Other on this one!).  Angela Shepherd, who runs Love Living Well (http://www.lovelivingwell.co.uk/) works as a personal health coach.  She provides hep and advice on living a full and healthy life.

Whilst we all know someone who is running themselves into the ground (yup that’s me), Angela advises on living a healthy life.

However if that’s too radical for someone you love, why not give them a healthier start to the New Year by indulging in the Organic Neal’s Yard remedies (healthcare from the outside in!).  I know these are smellies, but they’re smellies with a bit of a difference!  Neal’s Yard products are made with the highest possible levels of organic ingredients and are certified by the Soil Association – and they smell divine!  What better way to unwind from a hellish day at the office than a hot bubble bath or relaxing oil bath, a magazine and your favourite tunes on the iPod?

I know you can find Neal’s Yard in some of the larger stores, but Angela can offer personal service and also mail order.  And for those who’d like to indulge, why not book a party for the New Year – if you’re not lucky enough to receive them for Christmas it’s the perfect gift to yourself in January.

For further details check out https://uk.nyrorganic.com/shop/AngelaShepherd/area/have-a-party/ or alternatively contact Angela direct on:  angela@lovelivingwell.co.uk

Little PJ’s

If it’s something for the kids you’re after – whether god-child, grand-child or simply your little darling, you won’t go far wrong with Little PJs  (www.littlepjs.co.uk) who stock a selection of traditional nightwear, toys and other items for the little people in your life.

If you want to check them out in person, Little PJs will be exhibiting at Living North at Harewood from Friday 25^th November to Sunday 27^th November.

I simply wish I was small enough to fit slip into and curl up in these oh so comfy PJs…