I've seen those English dramas too.

Polkadot blouse: mum's, vintage Sarsaparilla. Leather skirt: £4, charity shop (similar here, and probably won't fall apart the first time you wear it). Two-tone flats: 50p, Russell and Bromley via ebay. Shopper bag: c/o Laura Ashley. Lipstick: Topshop Really Ruby.

Apart from the obligatory burger snaps, you may have noticed a few bloggers' instagrams had a slightly different backdrop than usual yesterday. Lucy, Kristabel, Carrie and I headed West to visit our pal Dina in her university city of Oxford. One of the most beautiful cities in the country, with undoubtedly some of the most awe-inspiring architecture around (yep, I'm the girl who walks round staring up at the buildings rather than looking where she's going), I couldn't wait to head back after my two years away. 

If you don't know much about the system at Oxford, applicants apply to a college rather than to the university as a whole, and each college has its own mini campus. Dina's at Lincoln, so we headed there first to have a wander around the quad and check out the Harry Potter-style dining hall (they actually filmed it down the road at Christ Church), which put my own university's carnatic halls to shame. We meandered around many of the city's colleges, including Magdalen (where my outfit photos were taken!), which has its own deer park, and New, home to some of the most colourful flower gardens I've ever come across. The location for our mandatory group shot (taken by the ever-patient Sonia) was underneath the bridge of sighs, which should probably be renamed the bridge of lols after the amount of failed jumping shots we attempted to take - you can't have everything, after all.

We probably needed the exercise after our lunch at Atomic Burger on Cowley Road. In true fashion, we piled in at peak time, and squeezed around a table with Dina's university friends. I sampled the Jake n Elwood (blue cheese, bacon, and onions), although I noticed a Messy Jessie and Bandit around our table. It's definitely worth popping into if you're in the area, even if only for the Barbie-themed toilets. We rolled (nearly literally...) into Pierre Victoire for dinner for something a little more refined, if that's how you classify eating with a knife and fork. Sadly we then went our separate ways into the night, after our day of being tourists. Looks like I'll be heading back soon though - we didn't even have time to go punting!

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And when he does his little rounds round the boutiques of London town.

Although my mother and I have our differences (namely about the definition of "late"), there are some things we have in common. Okay, the photos are very clearly of a handbag (from this post) and a bread bin, which don't often bear similarities, but they're both designed under the name of Biba. Today you can buy Biba from House of Fraser, but in my mum's day it was Kensington Church Street which housed the clothing brand.

When Biba was first around it was a bit different to today. To buy clothes that your mum wouldn't be seen dead in (soz ma, my skirt is that short), you had to get the train to High Street Kensington. You could walk down to Kensington market to get your Marc Bolan tees, but if you continued a bit further and turned right onto Church Street you'd find Bus Stop and Biba. Bus Stop, I am reliably informed, was filled with amazing tea dresses and floral blouses, but was ruled over by fearsome shop assistants who stood on chairs by the till to catch out shoplifters in the packed space. Further down the road, Biba was a kind of haven. It was a different world, where every item of clothing you could possibly want to own was to be found hung up in the corner, and you could go out on Saturday and never see anyone else in the same thing. From a boutique the size of a kitchen, it expanded into the empty Derry and Toms department store, and sold everything from ball gowns to, um, loo roll. I used to sneak into Waterstones and read the Biba book for the photos of the amazing art deco restaurant, because it sadly no longer exists as it expanded way too quickly for it to survive. My mum's favourite piece was a red satin jacket which she has since, unfortunately for me, donated to a charity shop, but you can always see original bits pop up on ebay all the time.

Although I could talk about Biba for hours on end (trust me, this is a very condensed version of the draft in my head), I'll just let you know about A Party With Biba being hosted at House of Fraser stores this Thursday 12th. There'll be a champagne reception in their Oxford Street store to showcase the new collection and there'll be a tote bag thrown in for purchases over £75. I've got my eye on this perfect Chung coat, but it's hardly like I need any more excuses to look like I've walked out of the 'sixties.

This post was written in collaboration with House of Fraser, but I do love Biba, that is an original, and I'm still crying over the loss of that jacket.

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Henrietta, we got no flowers for you.

Dress: £4.50, charity shop (similar here). Denim jacket: vintage Levi's, aunt's. Bag: vintage, from Claire's giveaway. Boots: Topshop (old). Flower garland: c/o Missguided.

Sunday is always the most relaxed day of the festival. We spent ours sat in the sun before the main stage and wandering around the stalls in the arena. I popped along to the Havens Hospices tent as they were the honoured charity this year. They were the charity shop where I took half of my belongings before moving house (and picked up this dress to make up for the extra space - more on that later). I then meandered along a couple of tents to find my friends in the shisha tent, only for my camera to be stolen by them to take artsy greyscale shots, ahem. Once my camera had been wrestled out of the others' hands and was returned to its normal settings, we had possibly the best pizza I've ever had by Pizza to the People, covered in chorizo and good stuff (my specs for a good meal, obviously) leaving us pretty full, and ready for whatever was going to be thrown at us that night. That evening we saw veteran Brownstock artist Beardyman (photographed below) threaten to eat our brains, and finished off with The Fratellis, who reminded my why I listened to their debut album constantly in year eleven - please tell me I wasn't the only one to have their own dance to flathead? The music may have been a bit of an odd mix, but that's the best thing about festivals!

Arguably the worst thing about festivals is the camping situation. However much I love being woken up by people falling into your tent, it doesn't make for the best changing room (although it does help being short enough to stand up inside). We tend to cheat a little and head to the local supermarket (and McDonald's...) to use their toilets in the morning, but there's nothing that's gonna stop my mane from turning a little wild. In true festival style, for the first and last time ever, I popped on a floral garland (I've nothing against them, I just find them a bit too cliché for my liking) and a dress short enough to have me thinking about laser hair removal costs, but you only go to festivals at least once every summer, so that makes it okay, right? Come the time the arena closed for the final time, we headed back to our circle of tents and sat with our neighbours (hi Neil!) for a good few hours singing everything but Wonderwall, before retiring for the last time. Striking camp is always a rather melancholy affair once you've got over your tent never actually fitting back into its bag, but now mine's stowed away in the garage, patiently awaiting next year's adventures.

I'd just like to end with a big thank you to the Browns for having me again at Brownstock this year, and providing me with a press pass (yes, there's an interview coming soon!) and a weekend of new nicknames and hearing chelsea dagger sung out of tune - I wouldn't have had it any other way!

This post contains a sponsored link. It paid for my cider over the course of this weekend, so that makes it relevant, right?

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