This was how my thought pattern was running this weekend, very spasmodic and just bit confused!
I met up with the family outside of London, in the valley of the Rar and O.K Yar in Oxford. Perhaps to anyone who is not familiar with the British class system might like a swift, biting and oh-so-very tongue in cheek definition of a 'rar' or an 'O.K Yar'.
Also known as a Sloane in the 80s, they are children of upper class descent who favour the following shops; Jack Wills, Abercrombie&Fitch, Ralph Lauren, Fat Face, and White Stuff. Both sexes enjoy any form of rugby shirt which the female sex accompany stylishly with a pashmina and gravity defying back brushed hair ,whereas the male sex invariably wear with boating shoes or flip flops regardless of the seasons. The term 'rar' and 'O.K yar' refers to the loud braying noises often emitted from them into i-phones or across pubs to each other as a form of communication.
As arrogant as a chav playing their latest Ndubz tune on their phone discerningly combined with the correct use of the Queen's English, the 'rar' is both feared, loved and loathed throughout Britain. However the females technical approach to vah-vhooming hair and appearing girly in a totally indifferent manner I can admire and is most definitely inspiring my style right now.
This weekend I came across another sector of Tory voters, in fact I was staying in their house at a local B&B near Oxford. As my sister said of the place it was like walking inside a museum of all things kitsch. There were china dolls, toy cars, plates covering the walls, witches hanging from the ceiling and of course a yappy bulgy eyed, runt of the litter rat of a dog, to provide a soundtrack of high pitched barks during our 24 hour visit.
The icing on the cake was the parting opinion, from the seemingly sweet old lady who ran the guest house, which ran along the lines of 'single mothers are the downfall and breakdown of society'. She was Maggie Thatcher in a twin set and pearls.
Politics and snobbery aside, the rar's and the single mother bashing older ladies know how to work some serious style with the older generation matching pastels, florals and lace. It was all suddenly starting to look a bit Luella.
Therefore today I am dressing in honour of the Rar's and the blue rinse brigade with Luella in mind in lace gloves, satin bows, pearls, a spring-like floral dress, red lipstick and vah-vhoomed hair. Though I think I'll leave the un p.c thoughts at home amongst the china dolls and yappy dogs.