Daily diary; Not enough is too much.


I have been a seriously chatty person (apparently) since I was three years old. A true empath by the time I was four, communication was always something that came quite easily in my formative years. I think if you were being polite you would have called me a precocious child. I remember being at the hairdressers and my wonderful hairdresser Bev who reminded me so much of Linda Evangelista as this was around the hay day of the supermodel so my reference was very on point for the time.

I remember her telling me that compared to her two sisters she wasn’t pretty at all, (we had at this point been in a lengthy conversation about how lovely I thought she was) I exclaimed that I felt she was doing herself a great injustice and I for one thought she was beautiful, inside and out. I did not realise at the age of ten that this was perhaps unusual or even a little ridiculous, until I looked in the mirror and saw her friendly laugh and the amused laughing faces of the entire rest of the salon. None were being mean and in fact I thought I was very clever and everyone adored me, I was far more confident then than almost thirty years later.


Before this even I was aware that perhaps my communication or humour was not quite matching my years. In class one aged five, when giving feedback to my mother with how I was settling into school, Mrs Lamb said, “..The only thing is, I can’t ever joke to myself in an adult way, I did so the other day and looked up and Emma was giggling and nodding her head!” The private mutterings of my neat little welsh teacher were forever ruined as I was hanging around practically knocking back a gin saying “I hear ya love”.

I have found, as I get older and my chat has never really altered or dissipated, despite  having access and permission to a number of swears if the joke or story requires, but I don’t like swearing too much I always feel guilty. The main issue I am finding is the need for near constant apology for my loquacious nature. It seems the common conception is that it is just a bit too much to deal with, it makes heads hurt and one of the worst was that It makes me “such a character” fantastic.


To be honest I’d rather not be considered “a character” ever in life, it does not feel in any way an attribute worth nurturing. Not to say I’d like to be thought of as dull or not leave any impression at all but the constant feeling of “too much” is very damaging to the ego. I have tried being quieter, I endeavoured for people to consider me shy and sweet, but there are so many thoughts and opinions sprinting around my brain box I end up feeling anxious and fed up when I hold them in.


I feel like this must be how Macaulay Culkin feels, whatever either of us did at the age of five was funny, adorable and well lets face it just down right cute. But both at the same age of thirty-eight, no one wants our offerings of precociousness, becuase now it’s just a bit weird.

Maybe yoga will help, I hear it’s good for most things and perhaps will give me so much inner peace I won’t feel the need to speak so much to all the outer spaces.

I’ll update how I go, I do think I am verging on becoming like Margot Durrell for having epiphanies but I’ll think about how to deal with that quietly, in silence, perhaps.


Daily Diary: Dog Walks and odd talks.


Since having my very own puppy – Ted is a smooth haired black and tan miniature Dachshund and without a doubt the love of my life, (sorry Mr E) – I have embarked on many a dog walk.

I was going to write “daily” walks, but that would be a blatant lie as there are the odd days that neither Ted or I feel the need to head out into the cold. We can easily poke our noses out the back door for a breath of fresh air from our lovely garden if we feel the need. Or a wee. Ted that is not me.


Our walks as they do occur are in equal measures lovely and weird. When the sun chases away the chill we stroll along, Ted’s voluminous ears flowing in the wind occasionally glancing up at me to remind me how well he is doing at walking and being adorable.


I am not at all phased by a quick dog walking chat, only when the grip of anxiety is punching me square in the brain do I sometimes stare vacantly at the burst of information or observation that can pass between total strangers on a dog walk. How funny that the English in particular could not converse so easily at any other occasion, in fact the thought of speaking to a stranger, even shouting across a road to them, because lets say you both had the same kind of coat on, would be preposterous and would not indeed happen. Ever.

But you have a dog; I have a dog so lets cheerily bark at each other with platitudes and noises to indicate cuteness and approval.

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Mr. E, does not and will not partake in any of this dog centred etiquette. Dogs are not a Segway into friendship or small talk for Mr.E, in fact he will happily leave me in the throws of dog discussion and simply continue on to his destination with or without us, every man for himself he claims.


On one occasion when out with Ted a small compact lady in head to toe tweed, didn’t so much march at me but thrust herself in our path, shouting, “HE WOULD MAKE A LOVELY STUD FOR MY BITCH”

In circumstances such as these I tend to panic, which results in either complete compliance or extreme sarcasm, neither of which are appropriate really. Luckily, in this situation the lady did not require much input from me at all. She was let’s say, a torrent of information and reminded me greatly of the scene in “A Brief Encounter” where Celia Johnson is seriously contemplating throwing herself out the window rather than listen to another word her unfortunate companion has to say.

I did give her my phone number; I don’t know how it happened. So it was even luckier that she didn’t hear a word I said correctly, I do feel a degree of guilt for not any stage correcting her and in fact felt a small amount of glee when she pressed “save to contacts” the guilt does sincerely extend however for any person she actually did manage to contact on the number I faithfully gave. I wonder what they would think to pick up the phone while she yelled, “ESME? NOW ABOUT YOUR STUD”.



Autumn already?


No one ever wants to wish the sunshine away. Especially all of us in the British Isles that never usually really experience a summer.


But, the highstreet dictates that August means Autumn with the bombardment so far of leopard prints, silky satin midi’s and less basket bags than we’ve seen for quite some time!

And so we follow, lured in by the refreshing feeling of the “new” and I have to say having worked in retail for more years than I care to remember, I still feel so ready to move the old stock on and bring in the new and the exciting.





In my non working life this equates to loving the gentle ease of the charity shops adding in old bobbled jumpers and in this case a cotton midi in brown paisley. I know right – DELICIOUS!


At first, yes, a 1970’s brown paisly midi skirt may not seem your go to transitional skirt, but look at her! She’s gorgeous! I love this little bag too, she’s got the sweetest handle, she is destined for my little Etsy shop – but I had to give her a spin first to make sure she was adorable. She is.

Teddy was far more interested in the ferns which hold a lot of treats if you’re a little puppy.



The little shirt is so pretty! A sheer cotton with a scalloped edge peter pan collar and tiny skinny bow at her neckline.




Yes, metallic green tiny block heeled ballet pumps,YES.


If this post is anything to go by I think I might enjoy the forthcoming autumnal weather. Imagine those shoes with thick black tights! Ugh I need a lie down.


Fin x x

Merry & Bright.

English weather is not just an obsession of mine, it’s a joy. It is no secret the the Brits like to discuss ( not just moan ) about our changeable weather, weather chat for us is more than it seems, it’s our awkward social saviour.


Often when we chat about the weather it is our stilted way of warming ourselves up (excuse the pun) to be bolder and braver in conversation. Because once we get going it’s great, we just have to recall a season past or current fail of our climate and we feel eased into the real deal of conversation.

I am next level with this, when I speak about our weather it’s truly because I love, love, every season and all its micro seasons within. I’ve always been the same, since I was very small and weird.


Today’s halceon drift of early summer made me so happy, so rare is it for us to have truly hot weather (ever) on a bank holiday.


I genuinely think part of my love of weather is because I do so love changeable things and I love the challenge of how I will meet said rain storm, deep snow, or in this case heatwave sartorially. A little vapid maybe but nevertheless I feel giddy when I think WHAT will my outfit of choice be???


Lightweight summer dress for the snow storm….add in thermals, roll neck, thick tights and oversize cardigan, with beret and ankle wellies..D-R-E-A-M-Y.

Heatwave? Well a 1960’s yellow, blue and white daisy (my favourite flower) print summer dress, with front zip, mandarin collar – sleeveless and naturally in the lightest cotton. Perfect!


As I was at home for the day with my little pup whom I love so very much, there were few accessories other than him needed.




An attempt to control my mop of hair with a black braided barette being the only additon. Apart from my daily staples of best love engagement ring and favourite tiny bracelet from Cabinet Jewellery


Beautiful Vintage Book by Pia Storm check out her stunning blog and instagram..swoooon..


WT x


My shop baby.

Whimsy Thrift oh how I love thee!

I would like to introduce my very own little shop. She’s a tiny space in a vintage co-operative which houses many traders selling their antiques and uniquecollections.


I sell clothing and accessories, pretty little bits all vintage or thrifted and I love it.

I go down there as often as I can and make it look as pretty as possible. It’s a dream come true to curate my own little shop, even if it doesn’t have any walls!


These little shoes are made in Italy and behind are little painted jugs made in England (sigh).


I’ve just added more stock in for spring/summer. Silk florals and polkadots, lace ruffles in sugar pink and peach. Even though the weather on this day was pouring with rain my little shop sung sweetly of an Audrey Hepburn Roman Holiday.


Tiny hand painted vases and glasses, trinket dishes and cut glass tea plates…


The teeny mint green sugar bowl is filled with vintage apricot rose buttons!


And there you have it! My little shop updated and ready for another busy week (I hope!).

WT xx