One dress? Whatever you say, love.

That title sounds much more disparaging than I meant for it to be. I'm talking about Sheena Matheiken's The Uniform Project. She's endeavoring to spend one whole year wearing the same dress to raise money for Akanksha Foundation. They provide uniforms and other school essentials for children living in Indian slums.

Each day (she's some two months into the challenge) Sheena is revitalising said dress with what the Guardian's Paula Cocozza describes as 'a lot of imagination', but what is, more accurately, a lot of imagination, accessories and well, erm, other clothes.

But who cares – she is fabulous, and most of the 'other' clothes are vintage, second-hand or donated by her many followers. The dress that's the basis for each outfit is a simple reversible a-line number with enough character in the single pleat and neck to hem button-through to bear Sheema's often wacky accessorising. It's designed by Eliza Starbuck and man, do I want one! Concerned about the laundry logistics? Don't be – she's got seven to keep her smelling as sweet as she looks.

Alas, on me, it would be a black dress, but Sheena is a style magician and each transformation is incredible. Here are a few of my favourites...


She's got a great sense of humour too. Here's her oufit for the Coney Island Mermaid Parade and a special Michael Jackson tribute ensemble from the day after his death. Can you guess which is which?

I'm a winner!

I gushed about the Endangered Species poster on Wee Birdy last week and won myself a gorgeous Gemma Jones limited edition print for my efforts. Thank you Wee Birdy, thank you Gemma Jones. Can't wait to get my mits on it. It's winging its way from Oz, so I've got a little while to figure out where I'll be hanging it.

In other blog-based adventures, tonight I'm off to my first class at Make Lounge. Inspired by What Katie Does, I'm taking Extraordinary Embroidery. Eeeeeeee! Can't wait!

Animal A to Z

We just got around to hanging our Endangered Species of the British Isles poster.

I bought it for Tom for Christmas, and lo, it's only taken 7 months for it to reach the bathroom wall. It's designed/illustrated by Present & Correct and I'm absolutely smitten with it. I'm sure I'll never tire of looking at it as I brush my teeth.

Each species is so beautifully rendered; clean simple and yet brimming with personality (yup, even that odd little sea anemone fella). This week my favourite is the otter, last week the dormouse, can't wait to change my mind again next week...

Remember me? I'm the one you don't have to wind on.

Apparently I'm marginally less interesting than a collection of scuffed and idiosyncratic vintage cameras. Just ask my boyfriend.

This, in a way, is actually kind of lucky for him, because soon there won't be room for both me and said camera collection in our one bed flat – so at least his decision of which relationship to discontinue in the name of space will be less problematic. Until now...

With my eviction looming, I thought I'd use my second post to make my case. I'll not go without a fight! I'd hate for him to lose sleep; chewing over the pros and cons of each living arrangement, but my impulse to remain co-habited is greater than my concern for his mental well-being. I don't want to be homeless: displaced by an Agfa Optima-Parat and its friends. So here goes...

7 reasons why living with me is better
(That's one for every camera at the time of writing)

1) At 32DD, I'm fully developed.
2) I come preloaded with a brain which you shouldn't have to replace for the duration of my life.
3) My batteries are rechargeable. Top-up fluid can be purchased by the litre at most good off licences.
4) No need to find a snug-fitting leather case for travel. I carry myself. And elegantly too, I'm sure you'll agree.
5) I pay for my own expensive accessories, erm... for the most part.
6) No tripod is necessary - I stand unaided on an ingenious, patented two-leg system.
7) I'm willing to start flashing. Privately. Terms and conditions apply.

So, mister, what do you think? Can I stay?

The tyranny of the blank page

This is a bit like that WHSmith notebook I had in 1990. They did a line of A4 refill pads, each with a great British author on the cover. I chose Virginia Woolf, not because I was a burgeoning feminist even back then, but because she was prettier than Charles Dickens.

I never wrote a word in it. I was crippled by anxiety. What would I fill that first blank page with? Should I use a pen (and risk having to tear out a page) or a pencil (and have to embark on another great rubber search, because those pesky blighters are never handy)? And how in the name of Orlando would I live up to the woman on the cover? Ok - so I may have been a little tough on myself. I was only 8.

Still, this is a bit like that terrible time. There are a lot of stellar copywritten blogs, written by copywriters like and also very unlike me. They're funny and topical and real. I fear I won't be any of these things. But then I remember – no one's going to read it. Huzzah! And as if by magic, my first navel-gazing blog post is complete: that painful white page filled.

Phew.