Tight

Today

We decided last night to have a proper Friday night. So I set the posh table with posh crockery etc, assembled the wherewithals for champagne cocktails and changed into a dress.

To complete the look, I put on a nice pair of fine tights, it being far too cold to go bare-legged. As I put them on I found myself thinking about these somewhat frivolous garments and how I first came to wear them.

In My Day

Back in the '50s, of course, women wore stockings. "Nylons" they were generally called. They came to about halfway up your thigh and were held in place with a suspender belt. Mamma bought me my first ever pair of stockings for my first ever date with John Medlock, my first ever boyfriend, when I was thirteen.

I felt very grown-up but quickly came to hate the treachery of this particular garment combination. For one, thing, I had very long legs and the length of stockings was very variable, especially those that I could afford. So it often wasn't until the first one was unravelled and halfway up my leg that I realised that it would only come to just over my knee. Then the suspender had to be stretched to meet it. There were three possible outcomes: the suspenders did their job but the garment itself was pulled down to a place uncomfortably beneath my tummy; the little buttons which held the stocking slipped out of their loop, leaving a stocking on the droop and me hastily trying to do it back up so that no-one could see; the suspender actually broke, leaving me a with a stocking on the droop and a suspender dangling sexily down way past my knees. Safety pins became an essential item in one's purse.

On really bad occasions I simply had to slip into a quiet place and remove the entire lot, which then meant that I was carrying around a broken suspender belt and pair of stockings for the rest of the day.....

Even when all this didn't happen there was still the dangerous possibility that a gust of wind or incautious movement would cause the machinery, so to speak, plus a lot of white thigh to be revealed in an embarrassing place.

In the '60s tights (or "pantyhose" as I believe the Americans still call them) came into the shops. I think I first learnt about them talking to another tall girl at a party who was wearing them. Amazing! An unbroken smooth pale coffee colour from toe to hip.  I never looked back!

It is true that cheap tights are still sometimes too short, so that I have to hold them up by wearing knickers on top but they generally keep you covered and warm up the whole length of your leg (how I used to hate that chilly gap with stockings!). And they add that chic finish to one's outfit.

What I can't understand is a) why any sane woman would want to wear stockings and b) why men find stockings and suspenders sexually arousing.

Storing it up

Today

Well, at last it's happened; we've made the move to our new home and are having fun learning about it and all its little quirks.

We have had to fit in stuff both from the flat and the house at 7 Mead Close. Co-ordinating a double move seemed pretty nigh impossible so we first had everything from the Brighton flat put into storage until it could be moved here.

We've also had to put a great deal of our stuff from Stoke into storage until we have proper places for it all. I think that there are about two hundred boxes of various sizes holding all Paul's hobby items, our books, CDs and my teapots.

Paul was wondering about how safe they are "Well," I said "I think that they're probably safer than in the garage here." Really, of course, what he would like is to be reunited with his beloved possessions and he is so looking forward to the day when they will have their own new home.

In My Day

In 1985/6. the move from Eastbourne to Southanpton was managed in fits and starts. We sold the house in Westham in the November but had no home to go to. A kind friend offered us temporary accommodation in Crowborough. This was a fully equipped house, so we decided to put everything in store. "I'm not taking any chances," I said "We'll go for the best there is." Which at that time meant Pickfords. Our belongings, other than clothes, were duly stored.

I don't know how much we missed our stuff; my life was extra hectic as I travelled about the South-East training people how to use computers and I guess what Paul really missed (apart from me) was having a settled home.

After a couple of false starts we were able to move in to the house at Broadlands Road in Southampton in February 1986. It was a bitterly cold morning and snow had fallen. The Pickfords truck arrived and our belongings were somehow stuffed into the house. My view of Pickfords being the best was somewhat altered when one of the removal men cheerfully jumped out of the truck with our precious House of Commons drawing, that had been given to Daddy on his retirement, entirely open to the elements, and holding it just by the string. The glass was cracked too; a great curving line. We noticed and commented on it right away and Pickfords replaced the glass. But to my trained eye there is a slight line across the picture where the broken glass had disturbed the pencil.

I'd love to see my teapots again but, right now, can't think where on earth I'm going to put them!