Matchy-Matchy Accessories

Let me get straight to the point, the fail is referring to my appalling lack of photos from Punchestown. I was hoping to penetrate the glitterati at the event and try and lure out some of the more left-field stylistas. Anyone who avoided the tried-and-tested matchy-matchy accessorising and ubiquitous frothy dress was worth a snap. And there was plenty of off-kilter fun to be had – jumpsuits and maxis and excellent trouser-suits and beautiful clutches and swoon-inducing jewels and fabulous, fabulous shoes. But I was too distracted with racing-rage to properly concentrate. The queuing and the waiting and the queuing and the ringing and the queuing and the leering…it was just too much.  I must point out that I arrived at the tail-end of ladies day, sober and full of rosy-tinted expectations of Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet (I’ve only been to the races twice). So I was thrown when we were greeted at the gates by 14 year old girls staggering around bare-foot and bedraggled and champagne-stewed men catcalling their wins way above the acceptable noise limits. I had my first drink at 9pm and could only seethe in rage until that point. So in a nutshell, no photographs from Punchestown.

Me and the Cousin sporting matching fringes. So we don’t lose each other in a crowd

The Swish Swish refers to my new fringe. I finally did the dirty deed and acquiesced to a fringe at Style Club on Thursday eve. My fringe challenges have been previously documented and I had written myself off as a frizzy-haired, fringe outsider, but something came over me in the salon. Something always comes over me in a salon. I go in wanting a trim and I come out with a severe bob, I ask for blonde highlights and I get red lowlights, I say straight, they say curly. I’m easily swayed…Things is, hair grows. Worse case scenario and you’ve been given a Deirdre Barlow bouffant, you just stay bedridden for a few weeks, embrace a hat and wait for all to right itself. No grumbles from me on this count though – I love the fringe. Now it is entirely impractical. On the first night, I tried to sleep in one position so as not to threaten the symmetry of the fringe and I awoke with a crick in my neck. By day two I had developed a nervous twitch, which involved repeatedly straightening the curtain effect. Day three saw a kind-of helmet evolution and by day four the fringe has been pinned back so to the impartial observer I look like I don’t have one. But for those few hours of just-been-blowdried brilliance, I am happy – my forehead has been magically downsized, my eyes are framed nicely and I get a soothing ‘swish-swish’ sound when I flick it to the side.