Always ahead of the trends, me
Just back from hollybobs, and judging by the Sunday style mags I am, yet again, ahead of the current retro fashion. No, not loon pants. Or cowboy boots - big this winter, apparently - and I just happen to have some. Nope, I am ahead of the current fash for camping.
It's all because of the festival explosion, y'see. I mean, the explosion in festivals. The number of festivals. That are out there. Now. Are we there? (Syntax error - I do intend to suggest some horrific Islamist terrorist event at a music gig. Sorry about that). I used to go to festivals in my youth, but that's a whole 'nother post.
Anyhoo. If you want to sleep at a festival, you camp. No alternative option, except, if you believe the aforementioned mags, for glamping, which is just a shit name for luxury camping. I don't do glamping, I do glaravanning. (Uh. This might need some work. Stylavanning? Retrochicavanning? Chicavanning. Whatever). I have a retro-chic 'van. By this, I do not mean a seventies caravan which is so fucking old that it looks retro, but a deliberate seventies style caravan which I have on purpose because the style is chic and funky and disco. (Although, you could argue, and with some justification, that these are one and the same thing. If you must).
In fact, it was made in 1980, and trust me, I am gutted about this. What is it about 1979 which is retro and laid back and disco and therefore cool, but 1980 is yuppie brick-phone headband legwarmery shit? So from now on, it is a seventies retro-chic van, and I am not going to allow the truth to get in the way of a style decision. Agreed? Good.
It's got a brown awning with tassels on, for fuck's sake. And gas lamps. What's not to love?
So the whole family Crisis have just been for nine nights on the Yorkshire moors, with mountain bikes and maps and stuff. I have a new mountain bike, remind me to tell you about it. The LOML lost a Birkenstock in a bog and we had to go wading in the freezing stinky gloop for it. But found it. I got a bit pissed in a succession of country pubs while looking for somewhere to get lunch after two o'clock ("While we're here, we might as well just have a beer they've got their own microbrewery look, we'll get some crisps to keep the kids happy, yes pint of Old Snatch Grabber two blackcurrant fruit shoots and half a lime and lemonade, please. What? What?"). Went from Pickering to Whitby on the chuffer train. Lost the kids for 40 minutes in Whitby. Panic? Me? Never. Went to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park to look at the Andy Goldsworthy stuff. Fabby.
So, you'll have guessed, I am now back at work, which is why I am writing this and not actually doing anything proper. No change there then.
Nice to be back though.
It's all because of the festival explosion, y'see. I mean, the explosion in festivals. The number of festivals. That are out there. Now. Are we there? (Syntax error - I do intend to suggest some horrific Islamist terrorist event at a music gig. Sorry about that). I used to go to festivals in my youth, but that's a whole 'nother post.
Anyhoo. If you want to sleep at a festival, you camp. No alternative option, except, if you believe the aforementioned mags, for glamping, which is just a shit name for luxury camping. I don't do glamping, I do glaravanning. (Uh. This might need some work. Stylavanning? Retrochicavanning? Chicavanning. Whatever). I have a retro-chic 'van. By this, I do not mean a seventies caravan which is so fucking old that it looks retro, but a deliberate seventies style caravan which I have on purpose because the style is chic and funky and disco. (Although, you could argue, and with some justification, that these are one and the same thing. If you must).
In fact, it was made in 1980, and trust me, I am gutted about this. What is it about 1979 which is retro and laid back and disco and therefore cool, but 1980 is yuppie brick-phone headband legwarmery shit? So from now on, it is a seventies retro-chic van, and I am not going to allow the truth to get in the way of a style decision. Agreed? Good.
It's got a brown awning with tassels on, for fuck's sake. And gas lamps. What's not to love?
So the whole family Crisis have just been for nine nights on the Yorkshire moors, with mountain bikes and maps and stuff. I have a new mountain bike, remind me to tell you about it. The LOML lost a Birkenstock in a bog and we had to go wading in the freezing stinky gloop for it. But found it. I got a bit pissed in a succession of country pubs while looking for somewhere to get lunch after two o'clock ("While we're here, we might as well just have a beer they've got their own microbrewery look, we'll get some crisps to keep the kids happy, yes pint of Old Snatch Grabber two blackcurrant fruit shoots and half a lime and lemonade, please. What? What?"). Went from Pickering to Whitby on the chuffer train. Lost the kids for 40 minutes in Whitby. Panic? Me? Never. Went to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park to look at the Andy Goldsworthy stuff. Fabby.
So, you'll have guessed, I am now back at work, which is why I am writing this and not actually doing anything proper. No change there then.
Nice to be back though.
posted by crisiswhatcrisis at
9:34 am
1 Comments:
*waves vaguely in CWC's direction*
By
I, Like The View, at 7:46 pm
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