Being Julia











{April 5, 2009}   ‘J’ time

Had myself a two-hour Julia-time treat a couple of weeks ago that I haven’t got round to blogging until now (it’s 3 in the morning and I can’t sleep).

All happened after I spotted a size 14 yet tiny, distressed denim mini skirt in New Look. £20. Bought.

It fits like a dream (although I tend to need size 16 for dresses), so it was off into the Derbyshire countryside to change and strut down an empty country lane, the look completed by a black high neck sweater, big black and silver belt, flowery necklace, handbag and and 4″ stiletto boots. Who cares if it’s a bit OTT – I wanna be glam and practise walking with a wiggle!

On a budget so no forms . . . I stuff my black, lacy bra with socks and pad my knickers with, er more knickers to give myself an ass of note.

An excellent make-up session and long black wig looking good, so I decide to brave some populated streets. I drive through a town I don’t remember the name of and stop in a quiet street to pop my bag full of ‘Bob’ clothes into the boot. Sun’s out, I feel great. GG with a gorgeous bum walks by but barely registers me, although elderly fella in a bungalow does a double take.

Back in the car and I arrive at Sudbury, a little village with a shop a pub and a National Trust hall. I’ve been here before, on one of my first ever tips out and it’s a pretty safe bet for strutting but not getting bothered. Park up in the village car park, pop on black, leather opera gloves (like I say, OTT but I’m up for it and my furry hands wouldn’t pass muster) and off into the fresh air.

I feel bloody wonderful! Try walking like a model, you know as if on a straight, painted white line, one high-heeled foot in front of the other, throw my  arm out and wiggle my ass a little. Peer in a shop window and then decide to brave the grounds of the country hall. But there’s a 20-something bloke hanging around the entrance and that dashes my courage somewhat. Decide to turn round and visit that shop instead.

The steps up into the shop take some negotiating in those heels and the place falls silent as I walk in. But no bother from the three folks inside. Spend a couple of minutes ‘looking at  greetings cards’ and then exit. Steps even harder on the way down.

Strut back to the car, head held high and on the journey back stop to read the notices at a nearby post office but arrival of white van man sees me scurrying for the safety of my car and home. A great afternoon out though, although my necklace gets caught up in my wig as I de-tranify and snaps. Drat! The wig loses a few strands too but should survive. If not, a good excuse to try a blonde one perhaps?

Since then have tried on a couple of blonde wigs at a shop in Wolverhampton but it doesn’t seem to suit – brunette for me I guess (although I’d like to try Dana Scully red sometime). Went to a size 16-plus shop and bought an off the shoulder, long sleeve, grey mini-dress, another black belt and some wet-look leggings which are wonderful.

I plan another outing next week and, possibly to a town I was brought up in. A perverse challenge, I guess although I don’t expect there’s anyone there who remembers me. I might even strut past our old house.

To complete the look there’ll be a Primark visit for a new pair of opaque control tights, cleavage enhancers (no more socks!) and a new necklace. Then, inspired by the ultra-glossy lips of a rather glamorous GG colleague, off to Superdrug for some dual layer, ultra gloss lipstick.

So, if you’re see an OTT, 6ft tall brunette strutting the streets of a certain Staffordshire town in a tiny denim mini, wet-look leggings, black top and black boots, and with the deepest, glossiest lips ever, say ‘Hi Julia’.

I’ll either say ‘Hi’ back . . . or scarper!  😉

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