Today's definition of 'Irony'

It was a beautiful day, today.  The sun was shining and not in Moscow's usual 'bright blue but minus 5degreesC' March kind of way, but in an 'Oh my god it's still March, but it's +18degC and I am TOTALLY wearing the wrong shoes to drop the kids off at school' kind of way.

So I hotfooted it (quite literally) home and changed out of my trusty Timberland knee-high boots and into a pair of ecco bowling shoes.

What I did not do - crucially - was change my thick winter socks.  So a couple of hours later I found myself yomping through the middle of town on a series of errands in shoes that were right for the day, but socks that were rubbing, chafing, generally giving me hell, and most definitely were not right for anything other than deepest darkest Russian winter.

This, dear reader, is a rather lengthy back story to give you some idea of why the following might have happened.

I had just exited one of the most beautiful stations on the Moscow Metro (and for anyone who has visited this city and taken public transport, you'll know that is no small claim) Mayakovskaya, and was walking up the stairs.

In front of me was a living, breathing example of what fellow Moscow blogger Jennifer Eremeeva calls 'The Banana Generation'.  6 foot tall, weighing no more than 8 stone, looking as if it wouldn't take more than a St Tropez gentle breeze to blow her over, this girl was dressed in high Russian style, with her never-ending legs on show in a micro-skirt and vertiginous heels.  And when I say 'vertiginous', I'm not talking about your run of the mill 4" numbers, no;  I am talking about 6" skyscrapers.

To say I was fascinated is an understatement.  These shoes were not designed to be worn in 'real life'.  They were designed to be worn between car and A-list restaurant, or between car and A-list nightspot.  Admittedly, Russians do love their heels - finding an attractive pair of shoes with heels below 3" is an almost impossible task - but 99% of this city's die-hard high heel wearers would normally balk at wearing such weapons of choice on the metro.  And I don't mind admitting that as someone who is not a natural high-heel wearer (in the same way that Victoria Beckham is not a natural bowling shoe wearer), I was impressed.   How the hell was she standing upright in these things?  In fact, never mind, standing up - how was she walking?  And even more importantly; what on earth was she going to do when she reached the stairs that were fast approaching?

Well.  Sadly, I can't tell you how Ms Banana Generation 2014 fared on the stairs.

Because, in a turn of events that will be no surprise to my nearest and dearest, I was so intrigued with watching her teetering along, that I - the flat, sensible shoe wearing one in this story - tripped and fell up the stairs myself.

Oh, the glamour...

How you know you've lost the edge...

How do you know you've lost that sartorial edge?

Obviously, this post is not about me. I am, of course, a mere whippersnapper of coughcoughmumblemumble, only buying my clothes from Top Shop, Miss Sixty and other places that cater to the stick thin and trend-led such as myself.

Pause whilst PM picks herself up from the floor, laughing hysterically, and pops upstairs to change her sensible M&S underwear. Pelvic floors ain't what they used to be...

So, how do you know when following fashion is no longer your top priority?

When you show your best girlfriends the new pair of highly desirable boots you picked up on the Kings Road, with patent leather and everything, and the aspect of them that everyone agrees is amazing?

"Look at that! That's fantastic! Do you know how difficult it is to find a pair of nice-looking boots with a decent tread on them?"

We are becoming our mothers.

Banya hats & letting it all hang out...

A few posts back I wrote about a visit to the banya. I loved it, not sure why, but I did, and I'll be going back.

And when I do, I'll be wearing my fetching felt lilac flower-pot hat. Nothing else - except perhaps a decorously-draped towel - just the hat. It's not (only) a fashion statement - although the regular banya visitors all seemed to have much more interesting ones than mine, with pretty appliqued flowers etc - there is good reason for it; apparently it protects your hair from overheating which is a) bad for it and b) bad for the scalp beneath it.

So I don't know why I was surprised when Husband confirmed that men also wear these hats in the banya, but I was. The thought of a group of men sitting around naked in extreme heat, no doubt not bothering with anything as girlie and modest as towels, letting it all hang out, and wearing big felt hats (although probably without the flowers), for some reason seems even more ridiculous to me than a group of women doing the same thing.

And here, for those of you asking to see my hat, is a picture of what I'm talking about. Don't worry Iota: head-shot only...

Lovely, isn't it?

*Please note; I was wearing a towel when this photo was taken...

British Mummy Blogger of the Week

Sunday morning - and I'm off to help out at an event at school shortly. This is a bit of a minefield, not in the sense of 'will I know anyone?', or even 'how long will this take and when can I get back home to continue my rock and roll lifestyle of weekend laundry and tidying up?', but more in the sense of 'what the hell shall I wear?'

Since arriving in Moscow, I'm ashamed to admit that I have not been at my finest, sartorially speaking. When we first arrived, warmth and practicality were everything, and my skirts and high-heeled boots languished unnoticed at the back of my wardrobe for some time. Now that the weather is improving, it's proving difficult to get what little fashion mo-jo I ever had back in action, and this situation is further exacerbated by the fact that my normal shopping haunts are 1500 miles away. Sure, there are shops here, of course there are, but many of them sell clothes that are just - to put it politely - not me.

So a trip back to London to refresh my wardrobe is called for, but that then leaves me with the over-riding question; if the clothes on offer here are not me, what actually is?

So I've been hunting around the internet for inspiration, and that's when I came across this week's British Mummy Blogger of the Week. (I know, last week wine, this week fashion. Anyone else out there thinking that I really need a weekend away?) ThatGirl39 at Forty Not Out writes of herself:

'Inside of the mind of this woman is still That Girl. I used to be '39 and Counting' but now I'm all grown up! Follow me into Life Part Two and watch as I navigate parenthood, an ever growing shoe collection, fine lines and whatever else is in store. Ooh... did someone say store? Does it sell shoes?/

And whilst I might not be in right shape or price bracket for Michael Kors' slick creations just now, or Loboutins to wear on the school run, it never hurts to look and dream for a while, right?

For the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too).

Shock news; cold weather gear sucks...

I think I may need to smarten myself up a bit.

I reached this conclusion as I arrived at school to drop off Boy #1 this morning, clad in my normal sexy combo of Northface long-line padded coat, ski trousers, moon-boot sized snow boots, woolly hat and embarrassingly grubby gloves. My cheeks were red, my nose was running, and oh joy - as I discovered when I got home - the snow storm I had come through had helped the mascara I applied at 7.00am to migrate from my eyelashes to my cheeks. Not a good look.

All of this would be fine if my sartorial take on the morning school run was the majority choice, but dammit, it's not. Boy #1's school is populated by mummies who arrive wearing delicate high-heeled boots, stylish jeans, and body-conscious jackets. Or fur.

Which, by the way, I object to on principle - or rather, I did, until I found myself enduring the coldest Moscow winter for 30 years. Now, my high falutin' principles and protestations that 'there must be a decent man-made alternative, we are in the 21st century after all' are being worn by down the incessant minus 15 degC temperature to 'Gosh. You look warm...'

Anyway. I'm not cutting it in the yummy-stakes at the school gate. Which, whilst it isn't important enough for me to ditch the padding and shiver in style (hell, I never exactly wowed them in London, now I come to think of it), does make me wonder how they do it. Or rather, it did, until I put two and two together and realised that whilst I am yomping through the Arctic tundra pulling a sledge with two small boys on it, most of the other mums are tripping gaily out to their cars and hopping in the passenger seat as their driver takes them on to their next appointment...

Note to self: Add 'staff' to weekly shopping list...