I was going for the C17th Flemish still life look here. No, really – I did deliberately underexpose by two stops. I’m now wondering if that was two thirds of a stop too much… but let’s call it “creativity”, if you don’t mind, and step around the fact that you might be having to squint at your screen in order to work out what it is.
In case even that’s not working for you: it’s a tulip.
Today’s schedule:
1. Drive to Cirencester. check
2. Drink too much coffee and eat something inappropriate – because stress. check
3. Find Sahara. check
4. Discover that this was shop you should have been in all along, because rails are stuffed with your kind of clothes. check
5. Collect armsful of garments, sit Husband in comfy chair, retire to fitting room. check
6. Sashay out of fitting room in first outfit, watch Husband’s face go all squidgy, hear him say “You don’t need to try anything else – that’s lovely.” Smirk. check
7. Proceed to try on loads more things anyway; helped by absolutely charming assistant, gradually narrow down choice. check
8. Make final selection; then at last moment, throw riotously extravagant scarf into the mix, because shopping is suddenly wonderful and at this juncture trying to save a few quid would be wholly pointless gesture. check
9. Take steadying breath and proffer credit card. check
10. Skip out into street alongside smiling Husband carrying beautifully wrapped package; go for lunch; drink wine. check
Half time score:
Father of the Bride 1 : 1 Mother of the Bride
I could yet win this, if I can find a pair of shoes before R buys a tie – though I didn’t help my chances (silly girl) by incautiously letting slip the words “William Morris”. I really must try to be less helpful.
Today was a Good Day, in more ways than just the resolution of my wedding outfit drama. For instance, re Brexit, I’m happy to tell you that we’re going to be fine after all: Uri Geller’s on the case.
