Black, a Trace of Red, and Tea for Two

Hi sweeties, hope you are doing well and enjoying your weekend fun.

I had to make my own fun yesterday (more on that later).
Yesterday I was mostly dressed in black, a bit left bank, un peu rive gauche.  You see, I didn't quite think through my red, black and white capsule.  I have discovered that I have little that is red in my wardrobe.  But conversely, I have lots of red jewellery.

So today I went totally black.  Existentialist.  Beatnik.

All black because I'm running out of red stuff. And I think you can tell from my face in these pics that I'm running out of enthusiasm for the colour combo too.  I'm ready to move on to something else.  Phew!  I hear you say.

The lesson I've learned is that the starting point when building a capsule wardrobe is to identify items in your wardrobe that you have, that mix and match.  Work bottom up.  Don't pick a capsule idealistically, top down, plucking a colour combo from the air without first thinking how many outfits can be achieved with what you actually have in the wardrobe.  That way doesn't work.  You will lose the will ...

So, Ms Satre wore black peacock jeans and polo neck.  With yet another red East necklace.  I think I've worked out why I have several red East necklaces, but the story is far too long.

Scarfage for the walking warmth and Clarks dependable bendables for walking comfort.

Then later, draped around my shoulders.  There is an afternoon window where the sun drops out of sight, yet the heating hasn't yet kicked in.  That's the time I pile on the layers.

Anyway, the fun I mentioned earlier.  We fancied a nice weekend afternoon tea treat, it sounded like fun, but the place we fancied with a nice sea view couldn't take us. 

Blow that, I thought, I'll make my own fun!

So after our morning walk (cold but calm and sunny) we made a quick trip to the Crab Cabin, got our fix and after lunch I baked scones *.

  

So you guessed it, we had our afternoon tea, but at home by the fire!

  

 

Fresh crab finger sandwiches.  Tea and coffee in builders' mugs.

 

Scones with jam and cream.

There is always the ongoing cream tea debate in the house - how to eat scones? 

 

 

The Cornish way, left, jam first then cream.  Or the Devon way, right, cream first then jam.

 

I've always been in the Cornish camp, that's how I learned to eat them.  Maybe it's because a century or so ago we had a lot of Cornish men over here working in the granite quarries and that is their legacy.  The Photographer was brought up in Devon so he puts his cream on first.

And I have to say that looking at the pictures, I like his way better.  More cream!

 

 

Yes, we make our own fun at Chez Pout!

(* 8 oz SR flour, 2 tspns baking powder, 1 oz castor sugar, 2 oz butter, 1 egg topped with milk to 1/4 pint; 10 mins at 220c.  Enjoy!)

 

A la perchoine.



Red and Black - 4, Dressing The Pout

 

 

 

Dressing The Pout

 



Tell me ladies, how do you wear your hats?

 

 

At a jaunty angle?

 

 

Or simply plonked on your head?

 

Well, that wasn't my only dilemma yesterday when Dressing The Pout.

 

 

I also I had shirts to contend with.  Bloomin' shirts!

 

I first tried a black Next shirt under the jumper, creating the a layered column look. I felt claustrophobic in it.

Maybe I'll feel better in something lighter.

Switch to an ecru Monsoon much softer silk shirt under my red festivity.

I felt like I was going to work, ca. 1995.  Or that I was a school marm.

 

I moaned and muttered tetchily about my look over breakfast.

"Nothing wrong with looking like a school marm now and again" responded the ever-diplomatic always hedging his bets Photographer.

 But, hold on, maybe he wasn't being diplomatic, maybe he wanted me to dress like a school marm.  There followed a full 5 minute interrogation on this very subject.  His lot is not an easy one.

 

Interrogation over.  Turns out school marm was not a look he had been harbouring.

So I felt comfortable-er when I ditched the shirt immediately after breakfast, substituting the trusty old black modal vest.  Predicable maybe, but the vest creates zero claustrophobisity so obviously that was going to make The Pout feel comfortableacious.

 

Oh spellchecker's gone mental during that paragraph! But I had fun.

 

 

So, shirts. You know there's something about shirts and me.  Or rather, not shirts and me.  I don't feel comfortable in them.  I'm OK if they are loosely open with a vest or cami under.  But closed up I feel claustrophobic and dare I say it, a tad manly.  And don't get me started on the Crisp White Shirt ...!

 

Am I the only lady in Blogland who doesn't like shirts?

 

So having deliberated for 45 minutes over what-to-wear-under-a-jumper-even-though-the-item-is-barely-visible, I was now ready for the next stage of Dressing The Pout.

 

 

Neckage.  These days my neck needs hiding from the world.  It needs neck-cammo.  So I pulled on the Tie rack silk scarf, casually yet elegantly :-) slung over the shoulders.

 

But hey, I was going out, so didn't want that scarf a-slippin' and a-slidin' under my coat, so it was lashed around my neck, cowboy style.

 

Then on to footwear.  Clarks lace-ups.  With heels.  High heels.  I am so proud of myself! 

A bit 1940s, a bit on the school marm side of dressing but the thing is, because the heels are high yet uber-comfortable, I feel good sassy walking in them, so I walk like I feel - Confident Lady. 

 

 I think the way shoes get you to walk and get you to feel about yourself is very important.  "Do these shoes get me to hold my head high and walk like a lady?" is the test I apply in shoe shops. 

It's important.  To me. 

And oh the temperatures are dropping.  We got down to 3c yesterday with 60 mph winds.  It was brrrrr.  But no snow :-(.  So, another scarf.  This one there for warmth, not neck camouflage!

 

So, "brrr" calls for headwear too.  Thus the final stage of Dressing The Pout is to find a hat.



 

  

 

And that's where we came in.  How do you wear your fedora?  Plonked or tilted?

 

 

So, dear reader, today we have Dressed The Pout.  It's a gruelling process, eh?

A la perchoine.