An “Alexander” Week

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Dress: Crossroads

Shoes: Chie Mihara

I’ve had an “Alexander” week. You know? Terrible, Horrible, No Good and Very Bad. Probably the worst I’ve had since landing back in Australia.

By and large I’ve been doing pretty well. I love my new home. It’s costing me more than I can realistically afford, but it’s the most lovely space to come home to. I’m writing this in my sunroom, curled up on my big armchair, and squinting a little in the dappled sunlight that’s pouring in through the open windows. But this week I’ve felt myself rattling around inside this beautiful apartment like a dried pea. I still don’t have a full component of furniture so it’s partly the fact that the rooms are half empty, but mostly I think it’s that I haven’t lived alone before and it feels a bit unnatural. No Suki, no Sophisticate, I can go an entire weekend without speaking to anyone.

I locked myself out of the house this week. Twice. There’s nothing like realising that you’ve locked your keys inside, and there’s absolutely no-one you can call to make you feel really alone. (Incidentally; Future career: Locksmith. I’m sure it’s a lot harder than it looks, but $130 for three minutes work. Pays better than publishing, that’s for damn sure.)

On top of that some lovely person caved in the side of my car at some point while it was parked overnight, then drove off without leaving a note, leaving me with a $600 excess to pay, no car for a week, and insurance premiums that will more than double next time I renew. THANKS for that, stranger. When I came out and saw it I had to ring my Mum and swear at her for a bit, because I was so angry. Then I had a bit of a cry. Again.

I’ve been trying to keep myself busy. Nesting, reading, working. But going to bed alone is hard, and waking up alone is harder. I’ve been doing it for the better part of a year now, and it hasn’t got any easier.

But you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, don’t you? I have friends coming over for dinner tonight, and I’m braving the terrifying 1950’s gas deathtrap that passes as an oven in my new kitchen. We’ll be eating off our laps, because I don’t have a dining table, but I’m sure there’ll be laughing, and good conversation, and excellent company, and cider (because I just found a new one that’s Elderflower & Lime flavoured), and at the end of the night I’ll hug them goodbye, and put myself to bed underneath the gorgeous quilt that I bought myself as a housewarming present. And tomorrow I’ll wake up, and it’ll be a new week.

Hope you’re all doing well.

Replacement Dots

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Fifties Lover Blouse: Princess Highway

Skirt: DIY

Shoes: Seychelles

When I first sewed this skirt back in 2012 I was very certain that it would look great with my favourite navy blue polkadot blouse from Victoria’s Secret, circa 2008. Mentally, I had the outfit all planned in my head, so imagine my surprise when I discovered it didn’t work. At all.

I don’t know what it was. The ruffles? The puffed sleeves? The fact the blouse was really tight? Whatever it was, I just decided to shrug it off and wear the skirt with other tops instead.

A month or so ago I was wearing the polkadot top – which (as you know) I’ve sewn the front of up so it doesn’t gape over my full bust – and when I went to undress the elderly fabric finally gave way, and the blouse tore irretrievably from underarm to button placket.

It’s a staple in my wardrobe and has appeared on the blog countless times, so I was absolutely gutted to have to finally bid it farewell.

A week or so ago I was walking past Princess Highway in the city on my way to an appointment, and what should I see in the window, but a navy blue polkadot blouse with a peter-pan collar, but no ruffles (which was always my least favourite part of the VS blouse. Ruffles+F-cups=total overkill).

Mercifully, it’s one of the pieces at Princess Highway that goes up to a size 16 and it fit comfortably without even needing my customary gapectomy.

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I snapped it up on sale for just $19, which even though I’m budgeting hard at the moment, seemed perfectly do-able for something I know I’ll get truckloads of wear out of (though bewilderingly it seems to have gone back up to $40 now.)

The collar turned out to be false, which is both annoying and bizarre (Like false pockets. What even?) but I’m prepared to forgive it, because to my astonishment it works with my DIY’d skirt. Just like I always knew it would.