It may give you an indication of how relaxed I am, that I have stopped wearing a wrist watch and I mislaid my diary for a fortnight and it didn’t bother me. I’m wearing no make-up and I often receive people in my pyjamas (I’m wearing the pyjamas, in case there is ambiguity there). It’s remarkable.
In some small defensive last stand, I might mention that they don’t much look like pyjamas, and the tops are actually long sleeved tee shirts. The trousers are plain and not overly baggy. I was quite startled, upon investigating M&S nightwear section, to discover the cost of the things – bottoms were around £20 for a plain cotton knit number, and the tops were £15. I went downstairs to the casual womenswear section and found that tee shirts were only £7, which leads me to suspect a rip-off somewhere. I’m not quite so far gone as to stay in the same garments night and day, by the way – I do change for bed.
The slight downside of having no diary meant that I was very pleased when two friends dropped in yesterday afternoon, and rather surprised when I found that they had come for a meeting that had, apparently, been arranged three weeks ago. A fourth arrived a few minutes later (I being number 3 of course) so we had our meeting with me reclining for my afternoon rest on the bed. Quite without shame. I’ll never live it down. Furthermore, the Sage and I have agreed that the bed will stay in the drawing room for another week. Heh. I love it, actually. It’s splendidly comfy and it’s lovely to go to sleep with a fire still flickering in the grate.
Weeza and family are coming over tomorrow. She is going to help us with the preparation of the catalogue for the next auction and Phil will look after Zerlina. He is planning to cycle over and meet them here. His idea of fun is not mine, I confess – he cycles some 15 miles a day as part of his commute (the middle section is by train) and he can think of little more enjoyable to do on a Sunday than cycle another 22. Well, presumably he’ll then bike home again, so 44 miles.
This evening, I finished the bottle of wine that I started on Tuesday. I’m glad to report that I feel no healthier for this relative abstinence. Glad, because it means that I don’t need to feel I have to remain at this frugal level in future.
I saw a woman in pajamas, robe and fluffy houseshoes in the grocery store early one morning about 2 weeks ago. I’m not kidding. At first, it was a little startling, but then I thought, so what? Really, clothes are clothes. It’s us who give them roles to play.
Tesco has been in the news recently for banning people shopping in their pyjamas. A woman who was escorted from a store was indignant – she explained that they were her smart pjs and in any case, she’d only popped out for a packet of cigarettes – for a full shop, she’d have got dressed!
Lots of people here seem to think it is all right to leave the house in pj bottoms. They justify this by calling them yoga pants-even though they are made of same fabric. At least they aren’t as awful as those baggy pants some boys wear with the waist band at their hips. I don’t want to know what brand underwear they wear-or if they wear underwear!
Lots of people here seem to think it is all right to leave the house in pj bottoms. They justify this by calling them yoga pants-even though they are made of same fabric. At least they aren’t as awful as those baggy pants some boys wear with the waist band at their hips. I don’t want to know what brand underwear they wear-or if they wear underwear!
I’d wear PJs everywhere if I could. Especially my Dr Who ones.
Could I get away with shoping in my PJs, they have snoopy on them?
Cheers!
I’m confused. Are the family coming over tomorrow (today now, as I’m commenting the day after you posted) or Saturday (yesterday now)? Or will Phil’s cycling trip take him 24 hours?
It’s temptingly comfortable, isn’t it. However, in the long run I think high heels and stockings will prevail with me.
Thanks, Dave – I meant Sunday, of course. I published and didn’t re-read.
Your meeting sounds splendidly oriental. Hookahs and halva all round.
And reclining on the bed in pyjamas. Straight out of the Arabian Nights.
I now have a craving for the Indian cardamon halva that I’ve only ever been able to find at Madras airport departure shop. Oh dear.
So this once sober drawing room filled with northern light of clarity turns into an dimmly lit oriental boudoir …
Oh dear, I had you down as a “sensible shoes” person, not as high heels and stockings … I shall have to go away and re-think you…
Sensible shoes have been forced upon me, AQ, they’re not my choice. Although I don’t sacrifice comfort to fashion, either.