In which I conclude that we will never be style icons

I took this as one of a series of shots trying to capture the sunlit, glittering fountain framed by the city walls.

Carcassonne lower city is laid out in grid pattern like many other iconic cities worldwide. It is (architecturally) stunning, clean, stylish, neat and fashion forward.One must conclude, everything that I am not.

 

As I flipped back through my shots, I noticed almost all featured an archetypal smart city dweller stylishly dressed, usually in black or versions thereof, often with co-ordinating small dogs.

I noted my own flying to UK oufit. On Thursday last it consisted of sawdust crusted jeans, biker boots, comfy teeshirt and cardi that had seen better days, plus giant shawl to pull on, or rip off, as the changing temperature dictated. What was left of my fingernails were caked in plaster.

This put me to reminiscing that, even when I was young, reasonably cute and skinny, I was never going to win any fashion awards. Outside the occasions where I must wear formal dark work suits, my casual style is way left of any centre known to the chic woman.

I recall my first husband ( If you listen to my sister, I have had truckloads) coming home from his Monday- Friday soujourn in York taking his Masters Degree (long story) saying “looking good today Gill!” . At the time I was wearing ancient cut off Levis over woolly patterned tights , base ball boots  and a man’s sweater covered in holes and patches ( and paint stains of course)

I expressed suprise at this flattering but unlikely statement and queried it. “But that’s your style!”  he said. He was right too. Not that I am alone in this, see photo below  of Trev.. yes he IS wearing socks and slides…. at least I am rocking scruffy slightly French country cool.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I must be, my outfits raise nary an eyebrow in Campagne.