You'll Find Me In Portobello...

Sundays are ALL about strolling down Portobello Road. This weekend's intermittent bursts of sunshine and happy wanderers made this less squirming through hoards of Spanish students on a Saturday, more passing smiles and nodding acknowledgements with locals and traders. Leafy, bustly and quirky this place is still abundant with trend setters all at ease in their local coffee spots just hanging in their obviously very thought out ensemble. All brogues and shades, smokes and denim. 

My friend and I dodge the highstreet shops that have popped up over the years: Office, All Saints, Cath Kidston, Poundland (are you kidding me?) We walk down through to the bridge that overhangs a treasure trove of stands all pitched up and hitched up by real London folk there to flog the lot. Jackpot.

This is my dwelling ground for the next, oh who knows how many hours! Now, being a typical Libra I am completely incapable of making quick decisions, especially when it comes to my wardrobe. I often return home from work and gasp at what looks like a raid by some incessant mess making baboon, but oh no that was my own doing that morning after a planned outfit had gone hideously awry and I’d had to leg it out the door unzipped and un-ironed. 

So when it comes to buying, browsing and bartering I take it all in my stride, subtly enquiring about the items that in my head I know I just HAVE TO HAVE. Then walking on to the next stall I am the essence of unassuming consumer, cool and collected, eyes only darting back occasionally to ensure no one is muscling in on my find. This is just how I played it today amidst the bric-a-brac, ex-army gear, records and vintage clothing.

After almost succumbing to a pair of men’s army jodhpurs (complete with leather braces!) and then a
mannequin hand, I move on to the next stall. This one run by a quintessential London gal, slightly rough around the edges with badly dyed hair and a chesty drawl. But, as I soon discover, she’s got more than the gift of the gab and the garments to prove it.

I pick out some leather shorts (desperately after a pair), yep they're real leather but were clearly men's trousers in a former life. Not worth the 30 bob on my watch. Then I see a black leather skirt, high-waisted, knee length, soft and perfectly worn in. It’s a classic wardrobe item that I have yet to acquire. I ask about sizes, try on both and then thank her returning each to the rail all nonchalant (but always polite).

There is so much to riffle through. She also has a stunning cashmere jumper with a gorgeous fleck through it. Flecks are very in. Frustratingly though, its predecessor had been a little flamboyant with the chilli sauce. 

Next I plucked out a white tailored shirt, long with fanned cuffs and no collar. Another classic item that pieced together with the skirt would make for a sexy, chic office look.

Our eyes meet, and whilst I try to appear casual she gauges my imminent offer whilst sussing end of day trade on her peripheral. ‘Will you take £30 for the two?’ I ask. She pauses, looks on at me with a cheeky, admirable smile and says ‘yeah, go on then’.