Hestia's Denim Detox

I could never wear those frilly knickers with
conviction,  #i might END UP with a conviction
if I wore them in Scotland though.

So, when we were up in Glasgow a couple of weeks ago, I was idly lying on the sofa, perusing Red magazine and my gaze alighted on a feature where a very glam blonde opted to forgo her usual diet of denim for a week. 'My God,' thought I, working my way through a Kitkat,' I'd DIE if I had to give up my jeans for a whole week.'




Right then and there, of course, I resolved to do 7 days without a shred of denim.



Day 1 started off badly, I'm afraid.  By this time, of course, we were back home and recovering from a few seriously nice restaurant meals and umpteen crates of wine. It was Sunday morning, I had spent a couple of hours giving my poor old wardrobe a pep talk and hanging everything up properly and checking for lost buttons and all that sort of thing.

I had opted for a nice pair of tweed trews with tiny colourful flecks of fuchsia, orange and pink (ancient, from M&S sale about 5 years ago) teamed with a fuchsia pink sweater, straightened my hair, had my make-up on...channelling a fashionable person for once, when, DISASTER struck.

Standing with my cup of tea in hand, answering a question from my son, I let out what I thought was a small unobtrusive fart.  Dear Reader, I don't know how to tell you this, but there was.....more than just air.  Shocked at my own body's lack of warning for such a terrible event, I John Wayned it up stairs and got myself sorted out.  I can only put it down to rich food, no gallbladder and a fairly spicy jalapeno thing the previous night.

I was back in the jeans while my trousers did a light-load cycle to relieve them of their, erm, own light load.

Reader, I won't bore you with all the detail of what I wore for the rest of the week, but not only did I manage a week without a thread of denim passing my hips, I'm on to week two!  I feel that I'm making much better use of my clothes now, rather than just lazily reaching for the first pair of blue strides at the bottom of the bed of a morning....I can recommend it to The House.

I did, of course, take photos of my gear on a daily basis, but SOMETHING mysterious happened to the camera and all the pix are gone. No-one is confessing to deleting my runway looks, but I'm thinking that Tartarus has been quite pleasant yesterday and today, so he's the most likely culprit.  Of course, I could just run upstairs and do the 10 changes of clothes again, but Strictly will be on soon and well, if you think I'm missing Nancy Del Olive Oil's opening dance for the sake of a photo of me in a badly fitting black leather pencil skirt, you are mistaken.

Strictly - hoping Lulu is fabulous, putting a small bet on the chappie from McFly as he's the right sort of shape.  Hoping Nancy is in it for weeks and weeks and weeks!!!

So, do you dare rise to the Denim Detox challenge?