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Showing posts from September, 2011

Garfield and lasagne...

the two things go together like fake tan and cruise ships, like merlot and stinky cheese, and, most recently, like my pavement special pooch and my being overseas for two weeks. You see, on my arrival back home a few days ago I flung open the front door, let my hand luggage thump to the floor and assumed the position for maximum welcome home cuddles from my adorable puppy. What followed was quite unexpected...

Those who know me...

know that I am what you'd refer to in Sandton circles as 'a heels girl'. Few things set my pulse racing quite like a sky-high, streamlined, expertly fabricated pair of stilettos. When it comes to pursuing calf-defining height I am a purist. Sure I'll mix it up once in a while with a wedge or a solid cowgirl-esque boot but I believe that kittens belong in pet shops and cones are best served up with ice cream.  So, on a recent trip to the UK, the fact that the footwear department of my luggage contained mostly heels shouldn't come as much of a surprise. Now before you get the urge to chuckle and tease this blogger let me clarify that I left the six-inch skyscrapers at home and made a concerted effort to pack my 'sensible' heels, the kind that I can run up escalators in and are perfectly suitable for chasing after my puppy in the park if need be. As I made the tough calls between black or tan Aldo boots, between Nine West or Europa Art wedges and between ma

Because sharing is caring...

Every season I pick up a few great items from my mom-in-law's neighbour, Andy. You see, every quarter she transforms her home into a retail therapy oasis – rails and rails of seasonal fashion, great basics, some gems from overseas and fab accessories. I always walk away with several pretty things and for months afterwards I get the "That's gorgeous. Where'd you get it?" response to my purchases, which doesn't only put a spring in my step it reminds me that when the next Fashion Open Day rolls around I mustn't forget to spread the word. So here it goes...

Leaving the mothership's overrated

Few things inspire panic in a Northern suburbs woman quite like a shopping emergency. With just two weeks to go before hopping on plane to play bridesmaid in Cambridge I got call from the bride-to-be casually saying that she’s decided it best her entourage pick their own dresses for the nuptials. The advantage? I get to avoid looking like the victim of a cupcake explosion. The freak-out? Shopping under pressure is not for the faint-hearted. After activating the fashion emergency phone tree (most stylish friend, bargain-savvy mother in law and a handful of people who should put ‘professional bridesmaid’ on their CV) I had a plan of action. My mother and I were going to venture out of Jozi, beyond the familiar cobbled streets of Melrose Arch and the freshly revamped corridors of Sandton City, we were going to flex our shopping muscles in Pretoria – and we were going to do it via Gautrain...