It is a fact universally acknowledged that one who wears a jumpsuit to a festival will surely regret it. A fact I sadly overlooked at the weekend in this daisy-covered number, a gift from my lovely friend Kallie (if there’s anything better than thrift store shopping, it’s shopping your friends’ wardrobes). Having hacked a foot of fabric off the legs (she is a little more statuesque than I), I thought I’d give it an outing before it frayed into nothing. Since we were also cycling to said festival, a trouser leg was a wise move, as were the black and gold Nikes which were bought for exercising but have spent more time flouncing around town drinking coffee.
Although a cycling helmet is never a chic addition to a look, I’m now old enough to value not having brain damage over coolness (it took a while), so helmet hair was my companion for much of the day, as was a smug glow from all that bike-based calorie burning. And the camel attached to the back of my bike, a hangover from last year’s Burning Man which I’ve become too attached to to liberate from her fender-top home.
But, clearly, what you all want to know is, did it pass the formidable portaloo (or porta potty, as they are known here) test? Well, since this was a daytime family festival, at 4pm the facilities were still in a state of cleanliness acceptable for those who need to undress completely to pee. Any later in the day and I couldn’t tell you, I was on my way home, helmet atop my head, ready for some coco and an early night.