Before we go any further with this post, let’s just get one thing straight: this skirt isn’t ‘Pandora’s’: it’s mine. And I’m not giving it up without a fight.
The skirt IS actually called ‘Pandora’, however, and it’s been hanging on the back of my dressing room door for about four weeks now, because that’s how long it took for it to stop raining. Remember that week back in April, when it felt more like July, and I was wandering around in short sleeves and bare legs, without a care in the world? I’m starting to think that week was just a dream. Or that it was nature’s cruel way of taunting us by showing us what we’d be missing when it decided to hit the rewind button and send us all straight back to winter. Seriously, this time last week I was having to wear my thickest outdoor jacket just to walk the dog, and I was STILL coming home with my face numb from the cold. Which is just plain WRONG if you ask me. And, I mean, I know no one DID ask me, but I wouldn’t be British if I didn’t complain about the weather, now, would I?
But! But! That was LAST week. On Saturday, the clouds parted, a single sunbeam burst through, a choir of angels started singing, and I finally got to wear my new skirt. Saturday was a good day, for sure – and not JUST because it was also the day that all the DIY debris got cleared out of the kitchen, and the house started to look less like some kind of furniture warehouse or, well, a junkyard. Happy days.
Since then, I’ve spent most of my time re-organising everything in the house (In between binge-watching Once Upon a Time, and having my mind blown when I realised Snow White and Prince Charming are actually married in real life: how did I not know this?!), and Instagramming my bedroom. Pretty standard, really…