Mum and matching colours

Mum was a great one for matching accessories; handbags, earrings scarves had to match an outfit or 'tone'.  These accessories were usually in her favourite colours: caramel, beige, ecru, taupe - i.e. brown (I really hate brown - what's to like?).

Matching became a bit of an obsession when she started dressing us in similar outfits.  I vaguely remember us wearing matching kilts and capes - mine was green and Mum's navy blue. There is a nice picture of us holding hands in front of the Viking ship at Pegwell Bay - Mum, young, slim and dark in a pale dress with a sticky-out skirt, me, small, blonde and cute (yup - I was once - for about five minutes) in a matching frock.  Goodness how long it took to get a decent photo as I spent much of the time sulking, having a strop or whining.  Back to the photo - I suspect I might have been the infant equivalent of Paris Hilton's handbag dog.

When my sister was about two and I was eleven Mum began taking the matching to new heights (lows?).    She decided to save money by making our clothes.  I particularly remember the purple crocheted dress with matching white pom-poms.  Sister being a tiny, dark-headed moppet looked quite sweet in her purple outfit; I, being at that skinny, gangly, knees-too-big for-legs stage looked hideous.

One delightful outfit was an A-line dress (flattering to most shapes - especially those with no shape), large, puffy sleeves (not so good) and a ruffled clown-style collar - think big, think enormous. In a subtle colour this might have been just about bearable, but it wasn't subtle in anyway.  The fabric had a white background with large swirly patterns on it - might have been a super-sized paisley - in shades of yellow and orange (I really hate yellow and orange - almost as much as brown - makes me go all shivery thinking about it).  I've never seen anything quite like the fabric - suspect it was for making curtains or upholstery.  This example of haute couture or should I say basse couture (been revising French GCSE with daughter - vocabulary increasing by the day...).  Again nice on the moppet, but a garment of extreme embarrassment for me - there was no hope I would ever grow out of it as it was made to be grown into.  

  Fortunately Mum got fed up with this new hobby and I was able to have clothes like normal people.