An Idea for Mr Him

Yesterday, dear reader,  saw the global, interstellar, intra-galactic and  trans-meridian launch of my second blog.  It has had one reader. You could be second! This blog is my more serious one. It's about clothing because I am an international fashionista, am I not? No need to answer.  

To just give you a taster and get you into the mood of clicking on Mutton Years Style and I, lets just reflect on Mr Him's clothing sensations. 








When dear reader are you launching your style blog,  for we all must have one. It's quite the thing nowadays.

 Let's just all hold hands for a moment and spend a moment hoping hard together and loudly that Mr Him does not start a style blog. 

On second thoughts, there's an idea!

PS Mr Him vets all my blogs and approves this publication

What will Anna do next, in the Luggage Rack


Today dear reader, I was a twitter sensation.  I trended, in  a microspace I admit, of my own tweets. Nevertheless I trended myself and I'm sure it counts.  This is not a long story. Believe me you don't want it to be. 

The story involves me and the luggage rack.  You see today I was lucky enough to find a luggage rack to travel upon.  This is not my preference to a seat you understand.  No, I do like seats. However on my train generally everyone unfortunately also likes seats. This liking of seats by people from farther afield means that my liking for seats is often unfulfilled by the time the train reaches my station.  Quite frankly the people from the south coast have seat fetishes, all of them, for there is never a seat unclung to. 

Today though I found for myself a demi-seat, the luggage rack.  In a skirt I clambered up.  This was a mistake.  As I crossed my legs I realised I was on the verge of  a 'Sharon, the view ' moment, except I did have underwear on, I feel a need to explain to you, dear reader.  There I was facing into the carriage not really knowing what the whatsinames to do with my legs. 


The thinking on what to do with my legs caused some heating up of my body and I needed to abandon clothes.  Up on the rack I removed my cardigan.  Men gasped as their hopes rose that this was some delightful entertainment that southern rail had kindly put on. 


Twitter started to trend hashtag 'what will Anna do next in the luggage rack' . One man tweeted from another darn train 'err any pics ' . 




I'm taking tomorrow off.  

The Brave Male Cohorts

Friday and the train breathed deeply and relaxed.  Men abandoned their office uniformity for logo t-shirts and jeans. 




 Mr Him adorned himself in his favourite fruit, Mandarin, and I dressed in gaudy (and mascara.) 








In my office the men threw aside their baby blue in stripes, checks and plain for lurid, for on Thursday The email arrived.  

This particular email made laptops shudder on desks.  Keyboards rattled in horror.  Fingers tapped 'do we have to? ' 'who's idea is this? ' 'huh!' and 'What,  every Friday? ' Some immediately put in a holiday request for the next day, some put in a holiday request for every Friday going forth and one requested immediate early retirement.

The email went along the lines of:

'let's instigate shocking shirt Fridays.  Set aside your office blues for brights.'

So we did. 



So did some brave male cohorts, those not on leave. 


The Male Wobbly


Dear reader, today I'm discussing clothing.  This has come about due to two colouful events that occurred this week, or alternatively known male wobblies.

Now as background I have been playing an instagram game as an experiment.  The aim is to wear my clothes.  Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't usually wear clothes.  No, I do wear clothes.  However I also buy clothes and at the same time think that I don't have any clothes, not even in the Marks & Spencer's bag that's proudly carried out of the shop bearing the latest cream chinos.  The instagram game sets challenges of a theme to wear on a  day by day basis.  The aim is to shop in your own wardrobe.  If played two or three challenges at once, as I have dabbled with,  you I become a delightfully unique tapestry of incordination (am I selling this to you yet?) As I told Kirb Appeal, I've even worn a maxi dress, from the back of my wardrobe, out, yes, out. In public. (Men, don't give up, we'll come onto you later.) 


On Thursday the challenge sent me to a local bar (that wasn't the challenge, I can manage that quite well. You would have perfected that too, dear reader, if you lived with Mr Him,) looking like what Mr Him called an Eton Mess, emphasis no doubt on Mess.  (Really he can talk as we've already established that he dresses like a fruit salad.) In case you haven't partaken Eton Mess is a dessert in the UK made from meringue, berries and cream.  I Instagrammed  my outfit tagging it Eton mess.  I can see what Mr Him means. There I am, top right, floating on top of a picture pool  of strawberries and cream.  



Now this week Mr Him has taken a week off work to do more flopping.  Those who know me will remember that flopping means vacation time to Mr Him but I have an entirely different definition.   Yesterday I came home to find he was so taken with my outfit he had flopped turned the whole  utility room into a darn Eton Mess!  I'm not sure that this is not a male wobbly and  his way of making sure I don't redefine his meaning of flopping ever again.  


As for men, the British man, Mr Him aside,  appears to love his blue shirt.  The blue shirt, be plain, striped or checked is attached to English male like his real ale, down his front. For instance here is a gaggle of specimens in a bar just this week.
 The predictability of the British male in his feathers of blue brings comfort to the offices and work environs, but every now and then one in the office will throw his own wobbly.  





The Pics of the Sussex Scarecrows

On Saturday, unbeknown to me, the Young Online Shopping Genius drove back to the village of straw weirdness to gather some photos for you, dear reader.  Here, finally, are those pics. I hadn't realised my Sussex was so quaint.







The Blog the Online Shopping Genius mostly wrote

Wednesday, dear reader, Britain hit 37c, in July.  It was a record. Bodies were dripping onto pavements, staff Petra went missing to scavenge  lollies from the IT department for us herself.  The giveaway was the strawberry stain around her mouth. I wrapped myself in my fouta to ward off the Arctic blast of air con directed at me.  


Meanwhile in Sussex my online shopping genius daughter had her own adventure.  As you know, if you've been reading since December, she's a dental nurse.  She sent me the following Facebook message with pics. This is her story.  


Wanna know what I did for lunch?
The dentist, therapist and we two nurses ran off half an hour early....
Sneaked around the corner and scrambled into this...


And went for a drive...



 And found a nice little pub with these outside...


And we went through a small little town (somethinghurst?) that had a traditional scarecrow competition outside their houses, which in this modern day has escalated to E.T, Harry potter, Mary pottpins, Easter bunny, hulk, minions, everything! Outside people's houses! Huge! Poking out of trees and everything! It was soo bazaar!!

Then we returned back to the surgery relaxed  with receptionist sitting awkwardly with all the patients in the waiting room...
"Had a nice meeting?"

 ..."yes, very important meeting" and we scurried on upstairs to get changed.

Mr Him Does Like Gardening


Mr Him doesn't like gardening, dear reader. He doesn't like mowing yet he fusses about putting stripes in the lawn. 



He doesn't like roses, they give him hayfever, and yet chased a sales assistant around the garden centre to track down roses for our garden last Sunday.  He selected a chocolate variety.  Unfortunately not The Roses Chocolates variety.


  
Mr Him doesn't like gardening yet wrote out a garden centre shopping list  (Roses, lavenders, honeysuckle  and a big pot for a palm,) two weeks ahead of our visit. 

Mr Him doesn't like gardening yet bought himself a nifty gardening cap last Sunday,  and immediately christened it. 


Mr Him doesn't like gardening yet notes that his plug fuscias are no longer plug and are in bud.  

Mr Him doesn't like gardening but has consulted experts on why his jasmine and frangipani won't flower.  

Mr Him doesn't like gardening but fed his new honeysuckle  with liquid fertiliser. 

Mr Him doesn't like gardening yet the yogurt churner says all Mr Him talks about are his plants. 

Mr Him doesn't like gardening but has a Gardening Centre loyalty card that gives him us a free beverage once a month . He insists we use it going forth. I'll look forward to that.  



I like Mr Him gardening.  

Catch Up On November

Dear reader I have had such a busy month that there isn't time to blog on Mr Him.  Never mind, lets leave him behind as I tell you wha...