Saturday, 31 August 2013

At least it wasn't red

I was about to say that compared to the previous post, this one will be about lighter things, but I'm not sure that would be appropriate.

Choosing a wedding dress is always difficult - not that I have ever had to - and since they are usually only worn about three times these days, the bride has to make as big an impact as tastefully possible, the design a delicate balance between displaying the maturity and worldliness which is desirable when entering a contract of marriage, and the virginal modesty that the groom looks for in a wife. I wonder if the back of this dress has been cut-out and replaced with a veil of thin lace?

A business woman in Bath was on the front page of our local paper last week, standing in the kitchen of her '£1 million' home (that's just about any home in Bath these days) which she has furnished entirely from discarded articles found in rubbish skips. She says in the article that she has - somehow - made a 'chair' from her wedding dress, as she couldn't bear to leave it in a box in the cupboard after only one day's use.

Being our pretty useless local newspaper, there is no photo of the wedding dress chair, so I don't know how she did it.  Being a bit of a practical sculptor, I have an image of the fabric, soaked in polyester resin and stiff enough to support someone sitting on it, even if they do cut themselves on the razor-sharp edges of resined lace.

Talking of being stiff enough to support someone sitting on it, I am off to the Somerset Levels again today, to attend a one-off exhibition in which H.I. has a few paintings, in the house of a friend of ours.

The show has been put up by her son and daughter who, I am beginning to suspect, have left it far too late to make a success of it. This is the first art exhibition they have ever organised, so I expect it has been a steep learning-curve (to use an irritating idiom) for them, and I hope that they will make a more professional job out of the next one, if there is a next one.

I may be pleasantly surprised, but I had my doubts when I noticed that the daughter - in an email flyer she sent out three days before the event - had spelt her own name incorrectly in the email contact details...


  1. I suppose if you're trying to inform your future husband that he's about to marry a strumpet, it's a pretty good way of doing so!

  2. Dear Tom, maybe she is a member of the Femen-group - here modestly sort of hiding her décolleté?
    As to exhibitions: I wish H.I. that everything will be alright. As long as the date and address is right...

    1. There's probably a Pussy Riot going on in there.

  3. Replies
    1. Oh my ... a hangover and then I read where I've been last night! Damn. And this is why you are being gifted a signed copy of my book, Mr Stephenson.
      In my defence, that comment was not aimed at the content of your post but the photograph of THAT dress (and possibly a bit of midnight grumpy maudlinisms about why no one will marry me. Self explanatory really.)

    2. I'm glad it's not only me who types up drunken messages at night, then cannot remember doing it in the morning. I try not to post at night now, for that reason.

      I'm sure I would marry you if I was about 25 (30? I don't want to insult you) years younger and living somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere, but I'm not sure you'd marry me, even then.

    3. 20 would do ...
      Still grumpy.

  4. ouch! that looks uncomfortable.