Nice surfwear - not an oxymoron after all

Those who have made my acquaintance will agree that it doesn't take long to work out that I'm not really into most forms of exercise. I lack the requisite self-discipline for running regularly, and I can't bear to part with £60 every month for the privilege of exercising in the tiny sweaty box that is our local Fitness First. Last time I tried Yoga I had to sit out for half the class because I almost fainted. Some forms of exercise are fun and satisfying when only partaken in on an occasional basis. Like horse riding, ice skating, long walks on Hampstead Heath with nice people, swimming in the sea in India when it gets too hot to even consider being anywhere but in the water. All of these are acceptable because they are rare treats.
I was even persuaded by one of my oldest friends to try surfing once on a girly holiday in Cornwall. I will grudgingly admit it was quite fun, but I was never going to be an instant convert. After all, surfing may have it's own unique style, but I'm not exactly a fan of Hawaiian prints unless they're on 1950's bombshell dresses. And let's not even talk about wet suits.
Plus I don't hugely enjoy being in a bikini in front of, well, anyone really. Although years of serious training have made me able to pretend otherwise. The lack of mirrors in places like Goa really helps too, as does the fact that most of the skinny girls are on drugs or intensely annoying yoga heads. Or both. Which allows me to feel superior about my various wobbly bits.
But just when I though we had established firm sartorial reasons for my resistance to a repeat of being dragged into another humiliating surf experience, some buggers have come along and created a range of truly lust-worthy surf wear...
Despite having a rather twee Simone de Beauvoir quote on their website and a slightly silly label name, Jillian Demling and Karen Mulligan know what they're doing with Pret-a-surf.
They should do really. Demling is a Vogue editor and Mulligan manages Annie Leibovitz's studio. According to an interview with them in Vanity Fair this month, they set out to design a range of bikinis, swimsuits and rash guards inspired by 50's and 60's style because they wanted to "look good while playing with the boys."
I still think rash guards are deeply unsexy, but a mondrianesque print is a definite improvement. The only downer here really is they've chosen some ridiculously skinny models for the pret-a-surf lookbook, when really what's needed is a grown-up woman with breasts and some toned thigh.

The always swoon-worthy Marion Cotillard does a much better job of the same bikini in her Mario Testino shoot for Vogue, but I could only find these tiny picture to show you.

Pret-a-surf appears to currently only be stocked in the US. Although they do appear to have an online shop that ships to pretty much everywhere, I don't buy swimwear without trying it on first. Especially when it costs more than £100 and I still can't afford to be buying anything really nice at the moment if it's not from the car boot sale. But I really do want that bikini an awful lot. Sigh.

Talking of car boot sales, last weekend was a particularly successful one on that front. he sun brought out some good sellers. I found a cute Luella black shirt for £4, with white polka dots, black rhinestone buttons and tiny bows and ruffles on the cuffs. It's a bit big for me but will look good tucked into something high waisted I hope, or just left open as a light alternative to a jacket this summer. Other treasures from my weekend haul include a black Moschino Couture pencil skirt and a rabbit fur and silk cardigan for £3 each at my local primary school's summer fete. Not bad.

Epiphany

Today in Sainsburys I had a very important life moment. One of those moments that tells you all about where your priorities in life lie.
As previously mentioned, I am having a small money crisis. June is not a stylish month for poverty. At least  Frugal February would have a nice ring to it. But no, summer is here, I have a special preview to the Liberty sale, I want dresses and sandals and, and, and... sigh.
Anyway, I am taking each day as it comes and trying to spend as little money as possible because I need to make the £100 I have left last til the end of the month and still somehow pay the bills too. Today was a good day because I had a whole £5 note, discovered at the bottom of an old bag. I had a packed lunch and spent 55p on a roll of Fruit Pastels so I still had plenty left to spend in Sainsburys.
But at some point in her life every woman - ok, maybe not every, but a small and important minority - faces a difficult question; Vogue or food?
If I was Carrie Bradshaw when she was only slightly awful (pre season five) I would choose Vogue. But I am not. Thankfully. God that would be dreadful, wouldn't it?
In fact if forced to pick my magazine of choice is more likely to be Elle or something more expensive and harder to find like The Gentlewoman or Lula or Bon or Pop.
However today I realised that my commitment to fashion is definitely secondary to my love of food and the need for toilet paper. So it's hello fresh peppers and tomatoes and other things to make my new best friend pasta taste half way decent and help me deal with the fact that having no money basically forces you to exist mainly on carbs which goes against everything I usually believe in.
Maybe next month when I finally get paid I'll make up for it with a magazine binge...

Journey into hell (also known as Brent Cross)

I think that we have by now established that I am a big fan of shopping. I love the thrill of the chase, the finding of a bargain, the touch of something new and the spring in your step when you put on something that makes you feel fantastic for the first time.
But even I have my limits. Yesterday I spent most of the day recovering from a trip to Brent Cross, the epic-centre of everything evil in shopping. Somehow a group of architects, planners and retail folk all came together to create a place that saps every last inch of your will to live out of you while surrounded by lovely things that mock you by being out of stock or expensive and hundreds of incredibly badly dressed people who bump into you, make a lot of noise until your head hurts, or, in one extreme case, throw up on passers by (admittedly the thrower upper was about three). And the worst thing is that these incredibly badly dressed people can actually afford the things that you can't.  
This all in a grey faux-marble artificially lit environment that breeds a herd mentality of the kind that makes you queue for the supremely mediocre Wagmama's rather than just leaving as quickly as humanly possible with a bag of Waitrose's finest to scoff in the car on the way home feeling pleased with yourself for having escaped but supremely drained of all mental energy.
It's even worse at the weekends. Especially in the run up to Christmas.
Being a rare native north-west Londoner, I grew up with Brent Cross and have seen it evolve into its full Dante's-seventh-level-of-hell-like current incarnation. When we were young it was a good place to go and hang out after school because it was indoors and no-one would tell us off. Now it just gives me nightmares.
How could they do this to something as good as shopping?
I was forced to enter its horrid halls yesterday because my Mac suddenly froze and needed to be taken immediately for treatment at an Apple Store. But of course London Transport being the wonderful thing it is and me living on the Jubilee line, there is no tube to take me to the Apple shop in town at the weekends. So I girded my loins in the manner of Orpheus setting out to rescue Eurydice and drove through the pouring rain willingly into the underworld.
Look at how they've tried to decorate it for Christmas to make it seem almost cheery;

This is the best picture I could get of the nicest bit of Brent Cross. The roof in the central bit actually looks ok. Shame it only covers a small fraction of the shopping pit and none of the actual shops.

It's not even like the place would be useful if there was a zombie invasion (too many vulnerable access points). In fact, if anything, it's the place where the zombies are most likely to spawn.

Not everything about Brent Cross is bad. It does have both a Waitrose AND a John Lewis which means I can buy yummy cheese, Touche eclat, sewing supplies, Family Guy, Vogue and have a diverting rifle through Topshop all under one roof. But Sunday was horrific.