Tongue-tied and breathless.

Warehouse leather jacket: £1, sample sale. Warehouse check shirt: £1, sample sale. Oasis Isabella jeans: £27. Hobbs boots: £40. Asos fedora hat: £25. Jaeger clutch bag: £25, Freeport Braintree (similar).

Hello, is it a mid-week post you're looking for? Regardless of the answer (or if you're reading this on Saturday), this is exactly what you've stumbled across. I'm not one for blogmas, vedj or whatever weird acronym is magicked up next, but I'm feeling blogtober and am aiming to get two posts up a week for this month only. Which either sounds:

a) lame. But then again, you're the one reading it;

b) not that much effort. You try working full-time, having a 37.5% abv social life and then touching your laptop post-collapse at home; or

c) superhuman. The one I'm going for, as I cough myself into oblivion.

Depending on the audience*, I tend to tell people I'm from Chelmsford. This is true - I do live here, sleep here, write this blog post here. But aside from vegetating in knitwear of an evening, my trips into town don't really consist of much more than heading to the station before the sun's even risen or a rare trip to the gym. To mix things up a little, my mum and I headed to Chelmsford Museum as they had an exhibition (strong word, it was a room) on about the history of swimming costumes. It's an odd little museum, featuring a lot of military history, shout outs to Marconi and some taxidermy, but there's a lot to be said for day trips that take less than half an hour to travel back from. A trip down the road calls for ultimate comfort, so I plucked my skinnies from the top of the pile and learnt a little bit more about where I live. Some people (I'm looking at you, Dickens) may have thought Chelmsford was "the dullest and most stupid spot", he might not be far wrong, but apparently Hendrix played here once, who knew? 

*Never ever tell boozed up men you're from Essex. Ever.