In which the girl bids adieu to short shorts.

The phrase "I think I'm too old for that" was not supposed to arrive in my lexicon until my 40s, at which time I would welcome him and his companions Lord Reading Glasses and Lady Gel Insoles with open arms in the safe and certain knowledge that I was an elegant woman of comfortable means.

When I started avoiding Topshop and River Island last year I eructed road blocks in the path of this phrase and convinced myself (somewhat legitimately) that it was the cheap fabrics and poor craftsman ship to which I was developing an aversion. Nothing to do with the neon prints, loud music and One Direction tshirts, no - nothing at all. Fact is, who wants to be too old for anything at 25? Besides, I wasn't elegant or confident yet.

However in March, twenty years earlier than expected I uttered that fateful phrase. Upon facing a pair of...shorts (?) of which the main component was GUSSET I calmly said it; "I think I'm too old for that." In the absence of photographic evidence to the contrary I want to deny turning down the corners of my mouth and shaking my head white I said it...but I can't be sure it didn't happen.

Even more shockingly than the unanticipated advent of maturity was the assurance that followed. Rarely do I consider myself a feminist, after all I will ask a gent to open a jar and happily accept his seat on a train, yet in this moment I surprised myself by winning a battle I didn't know I was fighting. I said no to the incessant prattle that told me my body, nay woman's body, was to be used for attention and acceptance. I said no to the niggling voice which said "you won't have good legs forever". I said no the photoshopped nymphs which smugly insisted they were better than me. I said no to the careful marketing which defiantly declared this was the right thing to wear. And I said no to the tyrant who would use my body as a piece of social branding, a tool to impose a set of ethics I wasn't sure I supported. I said no.

Being too old, I suddenly realised, had nothing to do with being old and everything to do with being confident. I don't need shorts which leave a wedge of bum exposed in order to feel acceptable. Actually, I don't want to feel acceptable! I no longer belong to the generation of fidgeting, glossed girls who toss their hair like horses avoiding flies and employ shrieks as their communication means of choice....and oh what a relief! I went home that night and unfollowed the gaggle of beauty/fashion magazines and bloggers clogging up my news feeds. With startling ease I was free from a judgemental, consumerist stream of Top Tips, Must Haves and Summer Essentials.

I don't need to be told what to do, I'm not six! I'm too old for that. From now on I'm keeping my gusset in my pants.

 

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How to be rich!

As someone who has spent the majority of their life in education I've amassed a wealth of knowledge. Sadly, I've earnt little and saved less (neither have I developed any practical, transferable skills, but that's another post!) All these misspent years mean that I know a thing or two about feeling rich when you're poor.

Hey you guys, did you know that the best things on life are free?!! What's that? This thought doesn't fill you with joy and anticipation? Funny enough, after a week filled with nothing but pasta shells and twice used tea bags (true story) I had very little good will left to consider how doth the flower grow. Rather I preferred to brood about how my purse full of lint was ruin my life or dwell on all the everything I would buy/do/eat/see/wear when I could afford it! Unsurprisingly, this created its own particular brand of misery. I shall now share some of the ways I found to balance extravagance and frugality.

Smart Sampling

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to splurge on fancy make up or cosmetics, not when there are so many glorious books and luscious fabrics begging to be bought! Yet that does mean I shall content myself with bargain beauty. Oh no! Cosmetic companies are always willing to tempt new customers by letting them try their products. Ask your local beauty counter for a sample of one or two potions and you'll be able to enjoy a few days of cosmetic wealth!

Take a trip to the spa

Clear your calendar, turn off your phone, light some candles, stick some pan pipes on YouTube, put a fresh towel on the radiator and fill the bath. Behold! You've made your own spa! Complete the experience with a cheap face mask, even better if it's an organic, locally sourced and ethically produced one (read: homemade).

Go on a date

When I'm strapped for cash I usually find myself becoming a hermit. The glamourous social events pixilated for my envy on Facebook all seem very expensive, and I'm not sure I have the emotional strenght to shirk this creeping despondency. So I stay in and make sure I spend nothing, hitting refresh on FB/Twitter/Instagram, stalking through ASOS on the trail of someone's outfit and generally feeling like a peasant. Bah humbug! Coiff your hair, paint your nails, do your make up, hold your head high, slip on a smile and sashay out to greet the world! If you're alone I advocate a coffee house and a book. If you are accompanied I HIGHLY recommend heading to a bodega or a bistro and sitting at the bar. A friend and I did this not too long ago. We ordered a cheese board to share and a glass of wine. A few moments banter with the bar tender resulted in a steady supply of mini cocktails for the next several hours! Highest ever return on a £10 spend!

Top tip: Arrive after lunch and leave before dinner, it's not fair to hog a table and cost your venue money.

Be a hostess

Casual nights in always result in the best fun. Stick on a big pot of something hearty, tasty and cheap, ask the guests to supply the sides and get some retro tunes playing. For an added zing to your Generation Y ego, snap some photos of artfully staged food.

Get out!

Feeling rich is really about feeling free. Finding freedom from the nagging voices that tell you you're not worth as much as other people will keep you sane and help you feel grateful for the fortune at your fingertips. I know you don't want to hear it - being rich is not about the things you own! It's not about things you can touch or anything that you can compare. It's about the laughter that echoes from your past and the light that shines from your future. When I need to remember this I carve out some quiet. Anywhere I can make it will do, but I especially like here...

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In Which the Girl is OK

Surrendering myself to the countryside caused many moments of panic, most notably over the lack of recreational opportunities that presented themselves to a city girl unfamiliar (and utterly unwilling to engage) with the 'The Great Outdoors'. The distinct absence of a cocktail shaker within a 10 (20? 30? 50???) was also a concern.

...yet lo! Time has ticked and suddenly I'm in the slow lane...and happy! I spent yesterday afternoon appreciating fresh air, the company of birds and a jug of infused water, or Ditch Juice as the Gentleman has dubbed it! Look at the sliver of Spring sky trapped in the bottom of my glass, I almost didn't miss the gin!

Cucumber, lemon and parsley. !Fresca!

 

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