Ah, half term. King of weeks in the teacher’s calendar. I choose to celebrate by taking large stacks of washing to the homes of all my loved ones. You really learn who your friends are when your washing machine is broken.

It’s a time for introspection, taking stock, swimming in lake moi, if you will.

Given the aforementioned washing machine debacle, it’s also a time for some outrageous fashion choices. Gym clothes were the first to go, so now I can be found in yoga class in a fairly hefty knit (all my drapey garms are at the bottom of the laundry basket) and sporting ankle socks as I heft weights in pump. I wore one of my grandad’s jumpers over a shirt (which I couldn’t reveal due to also not owning an iron) to work the other day, and received so many compliments that I’m starting to wonder if I’m more stylish when I don’t try.

Coincidentally, my New Year’s resolution was not to wear make-up – for, as a friend so eloquently summarised it, ‘why do we all draw lines on our faces even though everyone knows that’s not what we look like?’ Why indeed. Taking account of all constituent parts, I am down to only having to make effort with hair and footwear, which is a welcome release from the bonds of femininity.

You may want to keep one eye peeled for a Doc Marten donning Botticelli beauty round London this week. If you see her, tell her there’s a girl in Berks who needs some tips.


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