Today I speak to you dear reader over a foamy cup of vanilla latte whilst I recover from my ordeal at the costume hire.
You might well ask what I was doing at the local theatre's costume party so let me just give you all a bit of a background. At the end of the month my friend Sophie and I shall be volunteering at a Tudor feast and we will, of course, be dressing up for the occasion. I had initially thought of trying my hand at dress making and sewing my own: kirtle, (the dress bit) undergarments, bodice and all but then I remembered what I was like on a sewing machine. Suffice it to say that I am useless.
Hiring a costume was considered the safest option and in theory the simplest. All I had to do was stroll in find my costume, reserve it and walk out again. Alas nothing in life is ever easy. Cue me an hour and a half later hot and sweaty in the changing room with my arms stuck in a kirtle.
The theatre costumes are all made to measure so none of them have any sizes listed. You literally have to try everything on in the vain hope that something...anything might fit.
However in the time spent over at the costume department I learnt that actors/ actresses or whatever the politically correct term is are all stick thin, I on the other hand am not.
With only ten minutes left before closing time and still no dress or skirt that actually fit in sight I hastily gathered up all the (too small) garments littering the changing room thinking that I will have to come back another day. I did however manage to locate the right size undergarments so if all else fails at least I can go to the feast in my petticoat.
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