Spring is here?

Well, it snowed yesterday, so I'm going to go with 'no'. I just wish someone would tell the shops. And the fashion magazines. I'm not in the market for shopping right now (I am having trouble closing my wardrobe as it is). But it still irritates me, for no reason, that at every turn I'm being ambushed with florals, pastels, and, admittedly lovely, little dresses in light-weave cotton. Oh, and acid-wash ripped jeans and neon t-shirts (the 80s revival is still alive and thriving in London, like a bad smell that won't go away (also alive and thriving in London)). Although those pieces exert a lot less pull on me than the aforementioned dresses.

Because that's the really really annoying part in all of this - I actually want to buy all these things, despite their complete and utter seasonal inappropriateness. I have a tendency to go a wee bit crazy around this time of year, no doubt brought on by the constant low-level worry that this will be the year winter doesn't actually end, and absolutely fed up with winter clothes, shell out hundreds of pounds on beautiful clothes that won't actually be able to be worn for many months yet. But then I make the really fatal mistake of going ahead and wearing them anyway, trying to layer them up for extra warmth and failing, so I spend the last couple of months of winter and the first couple of months of spring in a continuous state of cold, my blue-tinged, goose-pimpled skin setting off my lovely new clothes in a really unlovely way. That wasn't a mistake, either - it really will stay close to freezing here for a good few months yet, right into spring. In any other reasonable country, spring is the symbol that summer is on its way, but here, it serves as more of a reminder that technically there should be four seasons, and we will acknowledge them whether they exist or not.
This year I'm trying to stay strong and dress as the weather dictates, rather than as the shops and magazines would have it, but I don't like my chances. I should just stop looking in shop windows altogether. Excepting GAP, which has it right and, last time I looked, was displaying a whole heap of soft, fleecy sweatshirts. They caught me on a particularly cold day and I have never been so tempted to jump right in, rolling round in the comfort and cuddliness of those highly unfashionable but oh-so-warm sweatshirts. That is the way I am determined to be right up until the Boat Race, horrendously unfashionable but warm.
London Fashion Week begins on 19 February. Luckily I'm not going, as that would promptly put paid to all my warm-but-worryingly-unstylish plans. Although the designers are showing their autumn/winter collections (of course - just because we are still stuck in the grim grip of this winter is no reason not to start considering the next) and so possibly I would fit right in with the models (um, clothes-wise, that is - sadly not in any other way, shape, or form at all).
In other events, it was Waitangi Day on 6 February. We went with a group of friends, both Kiwi and honorary Kiwi, for lunch at the Kiwi Kitchen, only to find it closed, with a note indicating the owners were away for January. Clearly the fact it was actually February didn't make any difference, and it certainly didn't make the restaurant open. We forgot Waitangi Day and headed off for brunch instead - celebrating (hmmm, celebrating? Acknowledging? What do you do on Waitangi Day??) it when wrapped in countless layers of cardigans, scarves, and coats just seemed wrong anyway. Although the boys chose to have beer with their brunch, neatly adding an authentically Kiwi flavour to the proceedings regardless. Thank you boys!