After a 5.5 year period of Australian laissez-faire fashion I am ready to take on English dressing. Following my return from down under I attended a Pimms & Rounders picnic on Hampstead Heath. It probably doesn't get any more English.
The preppy city boys arrived in chinos bearing scotch eggs and the pretty blonde girls who grew up in Pakistan wore beautifully embroidered pashminas. The gathering was a drunken postcard for English summer. Barefoot girls in maxi dresses and pastel cardigans hoola-hooped in fits of giggles.
A new age Tory-boy made a style statement wearing a mustard navel grazing tiger tee complete with a floppy fringe and grandad's gold vintage rolex. The west country visitors arrived all rosey cheeked carrying a picnic basket full of cider and cut sandwiches. Bertie (Bertram) the token Frenchman posed for photos fag in mouth, in his Breton tee with a worried looking duck that he caught from the lake. Tempers flaired after his gulping vin rouge became an irate rant on Sarcozi and the French tax system, the gitaine never parting from his mouth corner.
The fashion uniform was Tods loafers, petite nose studs and travel bangles by the wristful, each one marking a festival or an Inca trail. It's amazing how a social setting can reassure a returning expat that all is well in the Kingdom. Just for once it was refreshing not to be in Uggs, thongs, singlets and board shorts. Man it felt good.
♥ BexBella.
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