Suits You

Today has been fraught. End of. So before I even say the words charity and shopping, I need to release...

It started off beautifully at the local garden centre this morning where the children and I had a good mooch around, selected presents for various little birthdays coming up, and then met a dear friend (she is expecting her 4th baby in just 5 days and she's only 30! Yikes!). We had a good catch up over coffee and cake in the warm sunshine while the kids played hide and seek. Pure heaven.

It suddenly all got manic at lunchtime when my Princess refused to eat her tuna pasta bake ("because I hate butter, cheese and milk and you put all three in") and then she kicked off enough to put the Prince off his. He started looking at the food as if it was poison.

After 45 minutes of losing my rag ("release, releeeeeeeease") the Princess ate it all up and asked for ice cream (isn't it weird, she HATES anything to do with dairy, but eats vanilla ice cream) and I put the Prince to bed for his 2.5 hour nap.

Only to find I was running out of the contraceptive pill and the chemist wouldn't give me more until I saw the doc and the only appointment was an hour after I called. So it meant I had to wake the Prince one and a half hours too soon. FOUL boy.

I then realised my husband (what do I call him in the blog after naming my kids after royals; the King??!! God no, imagine his ego).  Anyway where was I? Ah yes, I realised he STILL hadn't taken his suit to the dry cleaners, and we are off to a wedding on Friday. For two weeks he has been meaning to do this (he walks past the dry cleaners every single day on his way to the station). So I shoved that in a bag to take on my way to the docs. Then I remembered our library books were due back and ran off to get those. Then I needed the spare nappies and wet wipes.

The Prince was crying badly by this time due to being hungry (for not eating the poisonous tuna pasta bake) and for being woken up. The Princess was taking forever to get her shoes on, and time was ticking on.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I lost my keys, we got caught in the world's slowest changing traffic lights, the doc's surgery was full of Slapped Cheek Syndrome and sick bugs (great), the Prince trashed the surgery with a toy chucking game, I dropped the suit off at the wrong dry cleaners, remembered I had to post a parcel for my godson's birthday (late as always) and then totally forgot what I needed from Waitrose (teabags and chocolate) and it was too late by the time we returned home. Grrrrrrrr.

So anyway, not a disastrous day by any means, but a bit more crazy in the afternoon than I would have liked.

Now, about the suit I took to the dry cleaners for my husband - the most amazingly cool suit ever, which we found in Oxfam in Henley-on-Thames for a paltry £15.

There is a label sewn on the inside saying made in Singapore, and then in beautiful handwriting, a man has written his name and then the date 1970.

How do I describe this tailored suit? Hard to say now as only doing it from memory and a few photos, now that it's being dry cleaned. It is bottle green, fits my husband like a glove, and has a lovely light tweed feel to it. He looks ever so dapper and here is man in the suit, although I am sure he won't thank me for it.

I was pregnant (obviously!) in the photo above when we went to my brother's wedding. He then emigrated to Hawaii soon after and missed the birth of the Prince who arrived 6 days late. I was so huge, nothing nice fitted me and I hated what I wore on the day. I wanted to wear a gorgeous dress I'd seen but when I tried it on in the shop I looked like an elephant. I felt frumpy and very heavy and sore. But the wedding was fab and the bottle green suit was lush.

Ah this was at the Prince's christening in January. We had such a lovely day with both sets of grandparents and my sister and her fiance who are godparents (they get married the day after the Royal Wedding!).

My sister and I used to fall out loads when I was a teenager (she is six-and-a-half years younger than me and used to drive me nuts) but now we are over all that and are best friends. In fact she is more like my older sister, as my husband often points out. She is the calm, placid, mature one. I am...well, I am me!

She is good fun and we speak on the phone daily. At the moment it's all about her wedding plans. We are very excited as it's in a lush place and I just know it will be one of those feel good weddings.

Every guest had to choose two songs they want to dance to in the evening when they sent the RSVP, so I know the dancefloor will be packed! The Princess has chosen "I Got a Feeling" by Black Eyed Peas and "Ruby Ruby Ruby Ruby" by Kaiserchiefs. They are her favourite songs ever.  I have, of course, chosen Bon Jovi (Livin' on a Prayer, natch) and my other favourite song "Hey Ya" by Outkast. Shake it, shake it!!!

On to other things, I am going to my breast feeding group on Wednesday and have four fab charity shops to hit so watch this space!

My Boden beauty

Three years ago I stopped a mum friend in the school playground because she was wearing the most stunning Boden sundress. To most people it was probably just a pretty dress, nothing more. But to me I fell in love with it.

She revealed she'd got it in the sale and so I headed home sharpish to pick the same one. But they'd all sold out. The only one left was a bold blue and orange floral one in the same style, dirt cheap in the sale but not the one of my dreams. Still I bought it (will try and dig out a photo of it later) and tried to forget about the one I really wanted.

I then didn't see this mum friend again for ages because both her children went on to the junior school.
Then, a month ago I was shopping in Henley-on-Thames and popped into the Helen and Douglas House hospice charity shop and bought some pretty things for my daughter. I went to pay by card but was told I needed to spend another £2 first.

So I hunted around the shop and you will never believe what I found. Lo and behold, slightly tucked behind a huge silk gown, was the very Boden dress that I had coveted. No price tag on it, but (and I love the next three words so much) IN MY SIZE.

I grabbed it, couldn't believe my luck and went to the counter where the girl charged me £6 for it (even cheaper than when it was in the sale). She said it was probably more but couldn't work out how much it should be. I was delighted.

The weird thing is, ten minutes after buying the dress, I walked down to the river with my children to play in the park. And guess who I bumped into, having a picnic.

The mum from school. I told her about the dress I'd bought and showed her! She couldn't believe it. She said hers was at home and she hadn't donated it, but remembered how much I wanted it and we both found it strange that having not seen each other for ages, we should bump into each other like this, straight after I bought the dress.

I've posted a pic of me wearing it today. I love it so much and it is really comfy. Will be great to wear when we go to France in the summer.  I just love the pattern on it and green isn't normally my colour.

Mortified as a teenager

Before I reminisce about my lucky charity shop purchases, I need to make a guilty confession. When I was 12, I thought everything around me was uncool (little did I realise that, ahem, actually I was the uncool one).

I used to wince at my mum's sky blue RAF Morris Traveller (similar to the one in this link http://www.allcarcentral.com/pix-Morris_Minor_Traveller_1967.jpg). She would pick me and my siblings up from school in it, we would sit on the little wooden benches in the back and I would cringe with embarrasment.

I recall the burning smell as it overheated (the handbrake also once came off in my mum's hand as we parked on a steep hill - yes, I hated the car back then).

Now of course, I can only dream about owning such an amazing car with its double doors with gleaming lock and stunning wooden panelling. The dear, sweet chug chug of its engine, the familiar petrol smell.

Other uncool things when I was younger, oh yes, I also once ignored my parents and actually shunned them, after seeing them walking out of a charity shop and then bumping into me and my friends.

Mortified wasn't the word. Oxfam was a forbidden word to me and my friends (we were pre-teens), we just didn't want to know about it. I didn't forgive my parents for ages for showing me up.

Yet I never knew back then, the pleasure I would find in rummaging through these charity shops, feeling the fabric of unwanted garments and wondering if I could give them a new lease of life.

Which leads me to my headscarf which I bought from the Salvation Army store in Adelaide, 2000.

It was actually tucked right at the back of a basket of cheap scarves, hats and belts. I was sorting through while killing time before our bus arrived and lo and behold, I found the headscarf that I can now never be parted from.

It is a big square of soft cotton fabric, in the most delicious soft icecream colours. Pale buttercream yellow and marshmallow pink, with flashes of mint blue in a gentle swirling paisley pattern. To anyone else who came across it in the store, it was just a headscarf.  But to me it was stunning. And I paid next to nothing for it. About a pound.

This headscarf was then lovingly washed at the next campsite we reached (we were backpacking around Australia and often ran out of money so camping was a frequent money saver), and worn just about every day after that. It sheltered my shoulders from the bright Outback sun that burned through our skin. It protected my head not just from the sun, but from the rain. I wore it as a belt, as a shawl, as a turban and as a "haven't washed my hair but no one will notice" fashion statement.

There is a photo somewhere of me wearing it while kayaking down the Katherine River. I must find it and post the pic. Every time I see the headscarf in my wardrobe, I can even smell the travels in my memory. I wore it when spying all the fruit bats in the trees above us, when Uluru (Ayers Rock)  sent shivers down my spine, on the stunning beaches, I wore it constantly.

I think you get the picture - my charity shop Cherry Tree headscarf. My trusty friend. Never to be donated or unloved again.

Here are three photos of me wearing the headscarf on my travels. In the hammock pic, you have to squint to see it, but I swear it's there on the top of my dozing head.

My affair with all things thrifty

I have had a penchant for charity shops for years. For so long, that it's beginning to take over my life. I cannot EVER go past a charity shop without going in. No matter how scuzzy it may look from the outside.

I have estimated that 75 per cent of my wardrobe is from umpteen charity shops and it gives me incredible pleasure to feel I am donating to a good cause, I am getting a bargain and I am wearing something that someone else fell out of love with. It warms the heart. Well, mine anyway.

Five years ago I bought a Harrods rocking horse for a measley £5 from a charity shop on Kensington High Street. He is stunning (see the below pics, the first was taken on Red Nose Day by my daughter). Who could have got so fed up with him (I say it's a Him, he looks male) they donated him to charity? Poor thing.

My husband had dropped me off outside the shop (I think it was Oxfam) and gave me the familiar vaguely wary look as he said "Don't be long, I'll get the car and pick you up outside. Don't buy anything silly that we can't take home with us."

Imagine his face when seven minutes later, I was on the pavement with Floppy (my daughter named him within seconds of us taking him home), I still can't be sure how we fitted him in our little car but I was determined. To this day, both my children adore Floppy and rest assured we will never part with him.

Before that, I decided to rebuild a collection of vintage Ladybird books. I had loads when I was young but somehow they had all vanished so I started hunting them down in any charity shop I could find.

To be honest, I expect mine were all donated to charity by my parents all those years ago and I am probably buying them back. But even that gives me a thrill. To date I have 91 Ladybird books, from Peter and Jane to The Magic Porridge Pot. I will post a pic sometime. Still keep an eye out for the ones I don't have. It's a hobby.

So I've decided to blog about my finds, share the delights,  and more importantly, aim to complete my quest of completely overhauling my wardrobe so that it proudly stores 100 per cent charity shop items.

I don't want designer stuff or expensive high street clobber that I've just bought off the peg and paid a ridiculous price for. That's not retail therapy for me.

I want the heart stopping moment that I get, an adrenalin rush, when I spot something so gorgeous and in my size.

And I always refer to charity shops as cherry tree shops, hence the name of my blog.

Must end it here to feed my children who are tearing around the garden and scaring our resident robin and bluetits, but I really want to blog about the head scarf I picked up from a second hand shop in Adelaide, Australia. I cannot ever part with it.

It holds the key to my many memories of my backpacking year with my husband, way before we tied the knot and had children.