On a Sunday afternoon in February, after many cups of tea and the urge to bang her head off the desk repeatedly, a very normal, very frustrated girl was hit with a strong case of writer’s block. That girl was me, and I would like to dedicate this post to my friend Joseph who put up with my whining about writer’s block before throwing a load of great ideas at me when I was all out (seriously, I’m sorted for weeks now!) The Fox Files biggest fan apart from my Nan, just saying…
Anyway, I finally have some inspiration back and am ready to write, so here goes!
Picture a faux fur wearing hopeless romantic blogger, and add a village with a population of about seven and there, you have my life. Being a country girl isn’t easy when you have the heart of a city girl and a shoe collection that could put a Kardashian sister to shame. Of course, I don’t wear 90% of these shoes, the heels are too bloody fab to get smothered in mud, and I can’t walk in them anyway. They are simply for show and the occasional night out (if I have a lift into town, of course.) My wardrobe belongs to the wrong place altogether, no matter how hard you try, some towns just aren’t ready to start a fashion revolution, so you have to start one yourself even if it means standing alone in metallic heels and a leopard print coat.
Romance revolutions are even harder to start. If you try to find love it either turns out you’ve already loved him, he’s friends with someone you used to love, or you can’t love him because your friend does, and probably has since she was 16. It’s difficult to step outside of the bubble when you’re not in college, so all romance revolutions just seem to end up turning into romance revivals. Is it something about that rural air? The smell of freshly cut grass? Manure? Whatever it is, poor cupid is highly intoxicated because of it and his arrow aim is horrendously off. I know myself for example, I already have about 25 of the same arrows lodged in me because even when loved failed I kept going back for more, probably simply due to limited numbers of dreamlike men. And I don’t know if you realise, but 25 of these harmless marks from cupids arrow do eventually build up to one giant scar, unwanted bitterness and a serious case of ‘the fear’ when checking your sent messages on Sunday morning.
Can you ever start fresh in a small town? Is it possible that you can meet a guy and won’t be aware of his whole romantic (shift and drift) history? Can love ever start a new burning flame in a small area or will it always rise from the ashes of the past eventually? How can our hearts fully move on if our bodies remain in the same place? And will your own fashion sense only feel at home in certain places, or is it our job to build a home for the fashion to grow in no matter where we are?
Don’t get me wrong, I love living in the countryside and when I’m older I want to settle in the country… but a couple of youthful years in New York couldn’t hurt! There are cocktails to be drank, new jokes to be made, shoes to be bought, and plenty of love yet to fall into.
