I'll apologise in advance to those mislead by the title of this post.
The pictures to follow were not taken on holiday in Rome.
"TRAITOR!", I hear the hoards of visually ravenous youngsters of the blogging persuasion! "I shall avert my attention elsewhere! Blasted ye misguided scribe of Satan!"
(I occasionally like to pretend the odd person reads my incessant ramblings, yet is offended by a title of a post, a misspelling, a crappy picture or some other oddity and chooses not to accept my kindred friendship on blind principle. Don't worry, I'm seeing a Therapist.)
If you are a British Citizen of sorts and are accustomed to the UTTERLY HORRENDOUS weather, then, like I, you will have been enthralled to endure smashing temperatures tickling the 30's over the previous weekend.
The famous five (minus one) made the four hour journey to Sidmouth in the deep and dirty South of England, for a weekend of Birthday toasts and frolics in the water.
Looking back on these photographs, I seriously felt a pang of pride for our scabby country. If it can knock-out one of these killer weekends once in a while, I would maybe be a little less negative, pessimistic and whiny. No promises, mind.
Plus I got another excuse to make a cake (WEEYYY, serious in-joke. I like to make cakes. Seeing a Therapist for this too.) but it was a bloody STUNNAH of a cake. Hummingbird Bakery Brooklyn Blackout cake for those also of a pastry persuasion.
So yes, no Roman Holiday, but a few disturbing pictures of a British seaside masquerading as a quaint village on the coast of ___* (*insert completely exotic foreign lands of untold pleasures.)
Vintage 50's dress from Cow in Nottingham, my current haunt for the ultimate £3 dress. All Saints sunglasses. Topshop kittens.
