How To Up Your Walking Stick Game.

This time last year I was using a crutch, and probably thought my relationship with walking aids would be akin to a serial Tinder aficionado – you know, lacking commitment and over before it ever really begun – but with the latest knee news, (more on that below...) it looks like my stick and I are in it for the long haul. 

I arrived back from our holiday to an MRI scan the following day. The results were rapid, and a few days later the root of my knee pain was revealed – a tear in the lateral meniscus. I couldn't glean much from my GP in relation to likely treatment, but I'll see an orthopaedic specialist soon.

So I’m no longer in the dark, and that's a good thing. In the meantime, I wait. I’ll carry on with my rehab exercises but must take it easy on the walking front.

Given I've done my time with a number of walking sticks, I thought I'd share some tips on how to wear your stick, so it doesn’t wear you – along with a roundup of some pretty good ones.

1.       Own it

Be prepared for questions. As a young person using a walking stick, it rarely goes unnoticed. People might be surprised, and I say let them! Questions vary, as do my answers. If I’m not in the mood, “it’s a long story” usually shuts them up. Generally, though, I’m happy to share (I spend most days on my own after all, so will take pretty much any human interaction I can get!!!).

The length of time it takes to be fully comfortable with the ‘new' you might take longer than you think. I have said this before, but focusing on what you can do, rather than the things you can’t, does help to frame changes in a more positive light. Allow yourself time to adjust – but accept that you can’t swerve it forever. 

2.       Find your new style

The day I ditched the standard NHS-issue grey walking stick was a revelation. The gold stick I had bought made me feel like I had taken control – it was like any other accessory, and could easily be part of my life.

What I wear hasn't really changed, and I don’t believe it should. Minor tweaks are enough. I avoid anything maxi (a serious tripping hazard!), and have had to swap my heels for trainers (*sob*). If like me, you need to wear trainers, make them your thing. Go bright, go bold! You might find something you really love.

I choose to cover the cast I wear on my ankle with tights or socks, because it's a bit ugly, and I don't have much time for that!

3.       Out in the open

Your mobility mates deserve a bit of respect. Don’t hide them away in cupboards, or wardrobes! Keep them where you need them. In the early days, I needed my crutch at all times, even to get out of bed in the night, now, not so much.

I like to buy stuff (!), and so my collection quickly expanded and began to look messy. At this point, I started to look for storage solutions and opted for this umbrella stand. Re-purposed, it works well for keeping sticks of all sizes together. I love the beech wood, contrasted with the black, in a minimalist Scandinavian style. It occupies a space in the hallway, generally tidying things up, but not hiding away the aids I need.   

Umbrella stand - A Place for Everything.   

4.       Arm candy

When it comes to clothes, you know sometimes it's good to invest. The winter coat to see you through multiple seasons – a classic white shirt and well-fitting jeans. I’ve come to realise things you use every day (even walking sticks) should be built to last, and where possible, beautiful too. I’ve found some lovely options for all budgets (linked below). I'm the proud owner of the leopard-print number, and an amazing turquoise and walnut Top & Derby.  

Sar x

All sticks and crutches below are available from designed2enable. 

[2017] The Year I Started Blogging.

I'm writing this having completed the mornings physio regime – not on the floor of my bedroom (seriously though The Glamour!) – but looking at blue skies and mountains from my balcony. I left half-finished longer posts, and videos in-the-making at home – none of it quite right, and requiring a level of effort that escapes me. Life is so much better in the crisp white sheets of a too-big hotel bed, no dishwasher to be emptied, or appointments to attend.

My skills include... making yoga mats out of pretty-much anything. 

This blog was born exactly a year ago, planned in my head on a hospital ward and through this, I've discovered a love for writing and a new creative outlet. The treatment, the impetus – has (bar surgery) gone well, and my hope is to continue blogging over the next year and beyond.

So on the first day of a new month (and year!) I thought I'd share a couple of things that have been on my mind of late.

The first is an unwelcome upshot from a few months on steroids (along with the other better known side-effects), resulting in newly acquired facial hair (stay with me). That’s right – there’s bum fluff in places it isn't very welcome, and whilst (not-so-secretly) comforting to stroke I'd quite like it sorted out. Priority number one – suggestions for tackling are welcome. 

Looming large in second place is the need to focus on my rehabilitation. It's not that it has fallen out of favour or become any less important, but the last few months have seen set-backs due to persistent left knee pain. The imminent MRI scan, which is planned for next week *should* help to determine whether the pain is caused by compensatory posture or a separate ‘knee specific’ issue.

I expect hashtag #NewYearNewMe to start doing the rounds today – gyms soon full of new members, eager and fighting for places on classes and rowing machines.

And me?

Well, for the next couple of days, you’ll find me eating my weight in chocolate-covered crepes, whilst wishing you all a very happy New Year.

Sar x

MRI Scan Results.

I’ll start by saying that if you follow me on Instagram, Twitter or Facebook you probably already know this (if you don't, then please please show me some love, it can be lonely in the social media stratosphere!). 

And for those that aren't sure/might-have-forgotten/want to hear it again...

There were smiles and hugs from my consultant which means, despite the highest levels of scanxiety to date, I am about to share good news.  My recent scan results were positive. Positive! I'm so pleased that the treatment is working effectively and the tumour has shrunk some more. 

It’s not quite over yet – I completed my ninth cycle of chemotherapy this week and will continue having treatment in the New Year – three cycles from January through to March.

I’ve done some exciting things to celebrate which include, dressing like a grown-up sensible harajuku girl and eating at my favourite Korean café (Manchester folk you *really* need to checkout Seoul Kimchi – you won't regret it, although we might find ourselves fighting for the limited table space!). I’ll share details about the other stuff as soon as I can.

For now, I’ll leave it at that. Merry Christmas. 

Sar x

Very autumnal skirt - New Look, tights - Pretty Polly

It Really Is December Again.

It was snowing in Manchester over the weekend and watching the fluffy flakes slowly swirling, I was struck by the sudden realisation that it *really* is December. Questions about what I’m doing for Christmas have taken me by surprise – but the snow, and trees which are now strikingly sparse, have jolted me into the real world, reminding me that my treatment is in its second winter and that somewhere along the line, there has been spring, summer and autumn in between. 

My head has been buried in dates on letters that I mustn’t forget, and on days, and weeks. Mentally counting down – crossing off sessions, cycles, stages. At first, it seemed lingering, stretched out, and now? The monthly reviews and chemotherapy cycles are routine.

There have been engagements, babies and new jobs for friends and colleagues. Ask me about treatment and I am able to recount exactly when things took place; from egg freezing to radiotherapy and even dates of seizures – other things, well, they are much fuzzier.  I have a system for working things out using new parameters – what was my walking like? Did I have a crutch or walking stick? What about my hair?  

Tomorrow I have an MRI scan, the results of which will determine what happens next. My last scan was four months ago, and positive, so apart from a very drawn out, stubborn cold (four weeks and counting!!) and a general increase in fatigue, there have been no significant changes. No reason to think that it will be bad news, and yet, I am battling an internal dialogue that goes from ‘it will be fine’ to ‘what if’. Neither wins, and they both just hang there. In the air, and in my head.

I will, of course, report back.

Sar x

Adventures In Cravate Noire.

I distinctly remember proclaiming with unashamed envy – as my husband bought a new suit for the occasion – that I wanted to be invited to a black-tie dinner. I’d never been to one.

I knew the sort of thing I’d wear. A dress, of course, full-length perhaps – or backless. I’d wear the highest-of-heels and big big earrings.

The new suit buying was a couple of years ago now, and so the recent invitation came with less than perfect timing – between chemo cycles, on a date when several layers of concealer will most certainly be required.

But, I'm invited! And whilst initially disappointed about being unable to ‘do’ the event as I had previously imagined black-tie to be. I realised it was, in fact, a challenge!

A chance to wear something completely different, and so the quest for The Outfit has very much begun. For glam flats, I can walk in. Sleek lines – tailoring, and more sequins than Saturday-night Strictly.

I’m feeling ready to pop my black-tie cherry. Whether I’ll make it past 10.30 p.m., is, unfortunately, a less certain matter. 

Sar x

 Shiny, merry and bright

Lace me up, strap me in

Click images for links to items. 

It Takes Two, Baby - Me and Deliveroo.

‘What are your hobbies?’ He asked.

My mind was blank. Is it OK to say Instagram? Probably not.

Wearing my new red coat with everything, and Deliveroo are what I seem to be spending a lot of time doing. Naturally, I lied and heard myself say, ‘reading and going to the cinema.’ 

I do like the cinema – but having been twice in 2017, it doesn’t feel like that meets quantifiable ‘hobby’ proportions.

‘And what about your hobbies before?’ 

Maybe it’s the word ‘hobby’ that’s the problem for me – images of boys (and sometimes *ahem* fully-grown men) huddled in Games Workshop painting little figures, and looking like they could be having the best day of their lives.

Swap hobbies for say, interests, and it feels… more open.  My interests ‘before’ included french martinis, travelling and running (I didn’t mention the french martinis – as there didn’t seem much to be gained by adopting a full-disclosure policy at this point).

The exchange about hobbies was part of an assessment to determine my suitability for some sessions with a Neuro Physiotherapist at a brain and spinal injury charity. It involved forms, questionnaires and talking about what had brought me to the centre – what happened during the operation – life ‘before’, and what it is like now.

‘You have experienced a trauma,’ he concluded.

The word hung heavy in the air.

‘It has been a funny year,’ I replied.

We moved on to the physical assessment.  Without the cast, that I have to wear to stabilise my ankle and left foot, walking is much more difficult – my deficits at their most exposed.

He commented that ‘the (left) foot quickly fatigues.’

The neurological pathways have not yet fully remapped. I’m working on it – putting the pieces back together, but no one can say how long it might take or if ‘it’ will ever fully repair.

I remind myself – during assessments like this – how far I’ve come.

My balance, walking, and ability to shift my weight in different directions were evaluated using fancy pieces of kit. I’m excited to have the opportunity to try out cutting-edge equipment and think it will be really helpful for me to make further progress.

One of ten recent appointments, and coinciding with my 7th cycle of chemotherapy it has been a busy couple of weeks.

During the quiet journey home, I thought about the word he’d used – ‘trauma’ and found myself in tears.

A year spent in waiting rooms where you are one-of-many can be numbing. The departments are filled with countless disorders and scars – the treadmill of treatment a distraction of sorts.

I hadn’t given myself permission to acknowledge what it had been.

I thought it too indulgent. When, much to my surprise – that day at least – it was exactly what I needed to hear.

Sar x

Three Cleansers To Make You Feel Clean And Smug.

I was a late developer on the skincare front – only taking it remotely seriously when I got to around 28, and read in magazines that I should already be doing my utmost to slow the ageing process before it was (shock horror) too late. Since then, I've amassed several shelves of lotions, creams and the like. I have a fairly steady skincare routine. But, well, I can be unpredictable. I'm not always in the bathroom when I say I will be – too tired, or there's something good to watch.

Glowing goddesses suggest keeping products next to the bed, so there's no excuse for not applying at bedtime – but, you really do need a sink when it comes to properly cleansing, and in my experience simply having things by the bed won't make you (me) use them.

Cleansing, with water, requires a certain effort, and sometimes there simply aren't enough hours in the day. I am generally converted to finding pleasure in taking 5 minutes – with the bathroom door closed, to massage my face clean. More time in the bathroom also warrants making it a nice space to be in – building a stock of flannels and muslins, along with some easy on the eye storage solutions.

I've been using this trio regularly for the last 12 months, and they are now in my ever-growing ‘empties’ pile.

Post-cleanse (is that a thing?) my face feels shiny and new. I rest my head with a smugness similar to telling colleagues you've been to the gym or for a swim before work – you know, *casually* dropping it in at the opening of a meeting, and feeling like you've never been a better version of yourself. 

Clean and smug. A winning combination, if ever there was one.

Sar x

CLINIQUE take the day off cleansing balm

This isn't budget by any means, but one pot lasted me twelve months – you really only need a smidge. It's a proper balm, providing enough slip to get a good massage on and removing makeup like a dream. There’s not a lot to say about the scent which whilst mild and completely inoffensive, is hard to describe. 

The Body Shop camomile sumptuous cleansing butter

I like this one A LOT. The price is reasonable (as is the whole camomile range), and it smells divine. It has more of a 'buttery' texture, and is quite solid in the tin – but once warmed in the hands is perfect for both massaging the face and removing makeup. Leaves skin moisturised and soft. 

LUSH ultrabland facial cleanser


Harder to categorise, Ultrabland isn’t a balm (or butter), but is thicker and more ‘cream’ like. It’s a good one for sensitive skins as it doesn't have much of a scent. I've found it to be a reliable everyday cleanser, particularly during breakouts. The black pots are pleasingly sleek and minimal should you be thinking about bathroom styling opportunities!

Pimp your bathroom. 

Rose gold basket - H&M Home. Soap dish - Orla Kiely. Flannels - Primark and Ikea. 

Today Would Have Been My Wedding Day.

For the last week our phone calendars have been flashing up with reminders. I’ve responded to emails requesting finalisation of the tapas dishes we wished to be served. 

Today was our wedding day. Except it isn't, won't be – because we’re already married!

Despite the diagnosis, we'd intended to stick to our plan of a small wedding in a city that held special memories. The venue, date and catering were all sorted.

But then, well, the awake craniotomy didn't go as planned. There was the errant left arm, hand, and that learning walk stuff which shifts your focus a bit. 

Having been wheeled by a porter from my ward (at Salford Royal NHS Foundation Trust) to the small Christie unit there in January, awaiting a CT scan and radiotherapy mask fitting, and cannula-ed up – we nodded our mutual agreement.

Let’s just do it.

There were formalities to sort out – giving notice and the like – but apart from that it was simple.

We grappled with guilt for a few weeks, I mean could we really not invite anyone? The truth was that it was what we really wanted, and so yes, we did have the guts (and the T-bomb for backup should we need it).

The biggest challenge was finding something to wear. The crutch, and drop foot – I didn’t want to marry in trainers.

I relied heavily on internet shopping and went on mad online sprees, returning most of it soon after it was delivered.

In the end I wore what looked like a trouser suit, but technically wasn’t, and ordered a nude strap for my foot because wearing black under white trousers was most certainly a no no.

Matt looked ever so dashing, and we were coordinated in grey (independently chosen – I add, and surely a good sign if one was needed!!).


What you doing this weekend? Oh, nothing much.

We went to the Register Office in an Uber (how else!). A champagne breakfast was followed by an unhurried lunch, where we were served by a waiter that couldn’t quite decide if our tale of having just got married was a joke or not.

Four weeks into chemoradiotherapy I’d consequently peaked by mid-afternoon. Sneaking across the city, (seriously though  how would I explain my limping around in a very white suit on a grey Saturday to friends/family/colleagues) we spent the evening listening to Bob Dylan, Nick Cave, and caught Meet the Fockers on the sofa (such an underrated comedy classic in my book!).

Quite unsure how I would respond to treatment, yet it wasn't about that. We did it for the hell of it!

Devoid of grand expectations, the words we exchanged were weightier.  

We were married, and the big room felt small.

Sar x


Photography - Let Love Flourish, Trousers and Jacket - Zara (similar still stocked)

Top - Lace and Beads (similar here), Shoes - ASOS (now sold out), Nude/beige foot-up - Ossur

Wig - courtesy of the NHS

See You On The Other Side.

There’s something very human about acknowledging dates – it just feels right, and so it was inevitable that I would feel the need to mark twelve months since my brain tumour diagnosis.

Having written about that day before, I decided to get someone else’s perspective. I asked my very good friend (at short notice – sorry!) if she’d share her thoughts, and luckily she agreed. 

Here's what Kate said about what she remembers most from the last year.... (contains *all* the feels... and literally the nicest of words... I promise I didn't pay her much). 

On getting the news

The words brain tumour are scary, no doubt about it. When someone you love has their life change in such an intense way, your life will change too.

In the lead up to your appointment I was definitely convinced that the seizure that triggered it all was a one off anomaly, so when I got your text ‘It’s bad news’ I was not prepared for what was to come!

I remember clearly that you were like I will call you later, and me thinking no you will call me now bitch, I wasn’t waiting! I left work at lunch time and rang you and you told me you’d got a brain tumour. I was in absolute shock, but the conversation we had was so matter of fact.

I feel like we talked about you having a wax, and that you had gone for lunch and then we hung up and I burst into tears.

On finding the right words

The whole thing has been a tough experience obvs, but I felt a bit like the pre-surgery portion was like walking a tightrope. What was appropriate to say? We text each other basically every day, but I was struggling with should the texts be more brain tumour or bake off?!

You’ve always been a tough nut so I didn’t want to push a load of oh shit brain surgery chat, but then I wanted to make sure that you knew I hadn’t forgotten what was going on and that you were going in for brain surgery in December.  

I’ve gone through all my old WhatsApp’s to look at things we discussed immediately pre-surgery and one of them was whether you should pack tinted lip balm to the hospital and that if you were asleep when I came to see you in the hospital I’d do you a full smoky eye and dramatic eyeliner flick so you didn’t have to worry about not being on your a-game on the ward!

On the day (of surgery)

The day before you went in the last thing you text me was ‘see you on the other side, we’re nearly there xxxxxxx’ and I spent all day at work when you were in surgery thinking what if I don’t see Sarah again?! I got no work done and I had no time for anyone in the office, I was too busy clutching my phone waiting for an update.

It felt like forever, but obviously it was longer for you, and then when I got an update off Han it was like a massive weight off that you’d made it through.

On visiting

I definitely had a stomach full of butterflies when I was going to see you for the first time after surgery. I hate hospitals at the best of times but going to see your friend after surgery, not knowing what to expect or knowing whether we’d be able to have a conversation or whether you’d be really ill, meant that my head was in overdrive getting the tram to the hospital.

When I saw you in bed the first thing I thought was God what an amazingly attractive bandage! It was wrapped about double the thickness of your tiny head and you looked like an alien. A gorgeous alien obvs.

That first visit was tough because I selfishly wanted to have you to myself, and do the checks I wanted to do on you to make sure you were ok! We had a bit of a chat and I was feeling good that your brain hadn’t been frazzled, but then the physios came to give you an assessment and that was when the reality of the situation hit me harder.

It was a combo of laughing at your peachy bottom on full display as they were rolling you to your feet, and then wiping away tears when you struggled to stand.

On *weird* birthday celebrations

As I couldn't text I woke up to this AMAZE birthday picture message.

We’d already celebrated your 30th out and about Manchester with you carrying a massive orchid, but your actual birthday was spent in hospital. It’s times like that when I felt guilty, that you were living such a different life than I was, but you showed a massive amount of strength when I would have been bawling about being in hospital on my birthday. Especially seeing as we’ve spent nearly every birthday together since I was 14. Let’s not forget so smashed you were sick in your mum’s new turkey tray for Christmas!

Considering you had a head of staples and had had brain surgery days ago, you wouldn’t have known because you were always immaculately turned out. A strong lip, nails done and a misting spray at hand if you needed it.

On getting used to the 'Mitchell' look

Now I think you’d look weird to me if you had long flowing locks, but I remember the first time I saw your head in all its shiny glory it was a bit of a shocker.

We were going swimming and I came round and you were all turbaned up but then we got to the baths and you whipped it off and I was definitely internally going ‘oh my god where’s the hair gone’ for about 5 mins trying to be really casual.

But it was your attitude to it that normalised the baldness for me, you were there bold as brass in the changing room, moisturising your head (lol), giving no fucks. I don’t know whether you were thinking about it or worried about going full on bald but from that day I was in awe of how you just handled that in a matter of fact way.

Also, we have to be thankful you have a nice small good proportioned head, and that you weren’t hiding a weird shaped cone under that hair.

On the road to recovery

From that day in the hospital when it took two people to help you stand up, to where you are now is incredible. It’s not ideal of course, but you’ve gone from being wheeled about to a zimmer frame, to parading around in Insta photos with an array of glam walking sticks and box fresh orange trainers. It’s remembering where you were and where you are now when I think how much you’ve smashed it.

But worrying about surgery, treatment and the future has taken a back seat to a constant sense of amazement I have watching you succeed and overcome challenges at every turn. I don’t want to be too cheesy of course, no one needs that, but the sense of pride I have watching you adapt to your new life and smashing it at every turn is ridiculous, and I probably will never be able to sum it up properly.

Here’s to more laughs, more shrinkage of the inconvenient brain tumour, red lipstick, jumpsuits and a spa break soon!


If you like it, then you really should put a pin on it.

Where have you been I hear you ask.... well, I'm back. Wearing over-sized tees with important messages - and full of vigour about how much more frequently I'll be doing new posts - back to weekly? Maybe!

Let’s move on and talk about pin badges. You can't scroll through Insta without encountering a pin badge or two... overnight these curious shiny gems have appeared from all directions.

Put a pin on it!

Brain Tumour Research issued a badge designed by milliner Piers Atkinson, earlier this year. The *fabulous* red lip is literally my shade (Mac - Ruby Woo, FYI) so it’s giving me all the shiny hard joy.

The millinery link is to their annual Wear A Hat Day – the charity are fundraising tirelessly to reduce the number of surprises found lurking under our hats.

Let's not split hairs about whether its just-that-bit-too-big to be a pin badge - it probably doesn't matter. I say, stick a pin on it and call it what you like. 

You can buy the badge here

Sar x

Enamel from another mother

Whilst we’re on the subject, I spotted a couple of boobie related numbers (above). Cute pins, and all for a good cause. Click images for links to buy. 

Fangirling my way to the neurosurgeon’s office.

Just over a fortnight ago I had an MRI scan - the results were amazingly positive. The tumour has shrunk! The chemo and radiotherapy have been doing their thing. So much so that we’ll be carrying on, past the September end date, through to Christmas, and then we’ll see.

At the Neurosurgery appointment last week my surgeon said I looked bright and well considering the chemo, and concluded that my rehabilitation to date has been “impressive”. With flushed cheeks I giggled like I’d bumped into Tom Hardy in the lift. The nice shiny apple worked a treat.

Savouring the praise, I regaled friends and family with details. I say take compliments where you can get them, but – what with the infrequent appointments and all – medical professionals are not a wholly reliable source. Better to seek opportunities far and wide because you might just need a hit in between.

Back home, I tried to get my left foot into these fabulous pony-skin, animal print sliders. But my brain couldn’t handle it (neither could my foot), and so, I was back to knowing my place. Having a word with myself, and all that.  

Since I’m keeping closer tabs on my spending, accessories offer the solace I need. Outfit making, at lower cost. Win-win!

I went a bit mad in Lovisa. They do their own version of the Insta-famous tassel earrings, plus more subtle versions (see above) if like me, you are bored of them. 

Sar x


No More Pret Debt.

I am being entirely sincere when I say that on finishing work before my surgery in December, I was more worried about being away from the office for up to 8 weeks, than the awake craniotomy itself.

I know. What sort of person was I? That person – the one sending not very important emails at midnight and checking my NHS-issue Blackberry every 10 seconds. I thought being off work would be terrible. I’d be bored at the very least, but above all, wouldn’t know about all those important things going on and you know, might even be forgotten!

When further treatment commenced and I focused on my rehabilitation it was suddenly the least of my worries. I discovered I can *actually* exist in the world sans work email. What a revelation! 

I held onto the notion that I might be able to work part-time during my treatment but it became clear my body had other ideas. The need to adjust the goal posts has become par for the course.

On starting chemo radiotherapy, I had visions of how I would use the time – maybe baking my own bread, fermenting vegetables (that’s a thing now) and getting on top of years of paperwork. It's with no remorse that I admit none of it has happened and it's safe to say it probably won't.

I’m lucky to be employed somewhere with a generous occupational sick pay scheme but like others at the early stage of their career have moved around quite a lot between private and public sectors. Therefore, in relation to continuous service my number of years didn’t cut the mustard for maximum entitlement. 

Irrespective of how good your workplace scheme is, eventually it will stop. Statutory sick pay (capped at 28 weeks in total) is £89.35 a week. 

I suppose the point I wanted to make here was that a long term illness will undoubtedly affect your finances eventually – the extent will depend entirely on your circumstances. There are benefits you can claim – complicated processes with very long forms.  Patience or support from somewhere like Maggies, Macmillan, or your Specialist Nurse might help.  

It’s easy with hindsight to advocate the importance of health cover and other such insurances, but in your twenties and early thirties (if you are child free) priorities are likely to be paying the bills, having some money to have a good time, and hitting up Zara once a month.

I’m slightly reformed, more frugal. No early morning Café Nero calls or £8.50 Pret stops. The drawers full of beauty products are getting used and the mutlitude of mini hotel freebies are not gathering more dust – shower roulette is happening and a surprise new scent every few days is quite a treat!

I'm out of my comfort zone (brain tumours are good for that) newly financially dependent on another, but fortunate enough not to need the spare room at my mums just yet.

There was only one thing to do on my last proper pay day. Forget being sensible and have one last big (online) shop up.

I went IN, savouring every click. 

Sar x

Let's talk about that haul.... 

DSCN1492 (2).JPG

This jumper! The low back, stripes. Red detail giving it that little something! Sadly, no longer available as it was in the sale. I've linked something vaguely similar below. 

A pair of leather look trousers should be a capsule item. More 'put together' than jeans or black chinos and equally good with heels or trainers. The staple pair I've had for years from Zara have a busted zip (the month on steroids is to blame!) and I thought it was time to reinvest. This pair (River Island) have a higher waist which can hide infinite sins.  

My Insta husband has limited availability and so sometimes a vaguely green wall in a car park has to do. We're working on it. 

Jumper dresses can evoke feelings of drab work wear - function over form, but not this one. Flattering for all shapes, the ribbed grey, red and navy colour blocks mean it's winning on every front. 

Due to the cast (which helps by the way) trainers with a flexible sole are what serve me best. These statement orange/red babies were literally calling my name. I've got into my red stride now and two random in the street compliments make them almost value for money (pictured/linked below).

A colleague bought me the PUR scented candle pictured as a 'before surgery' gift. It has now taken pride of place in the bedroom (I had a candle backlog too!!). Handmade in Ramsbottom, it smells fresh and generally divine. 

Clutch pictured is old (Warehouse). Bonas (I'm going to call them from now on - you know what I mean) do great sunglasses and these cappuccino cat eye beauties were only 6 quid (pictured/linked below). 

Did you see the piece I wrote featured by the lovely ladies at Chapter W? Check it out here