I bought an outfit today at Zara –– simple, monochromatic, slightly avant garde –– that’s quite unlike me. The pants have a million Miyake pleats in them and the top, wide and billowy, is a fine knit graphic silk. Except it’s not, because it cost $29, but sod it, it looks good. And while I was drawn to the floral tops that look like curtains, the sparky tulle skirts and the leggings in bright colours, it’s always fun to veer off track.

At a men’s clothing sale last winter, I came across the beautifully printed silk ties of English haberdasher, Drakes. As luck would have it, the brand has teamed up with JCrew on a line of stunning pajama inspired shirts and trousers, scarves and shoes that has my name all over it. Think pink and greens and rich royal blues. Think unicorns, peacocks and bengal tigers. I’m going head-to-toe printed silk, because –– well, why not?

I don’t believe that you can go out wearing polka dots and not have fun. There’s something childlike and whimsical about a polka dot print, even if the cut of the dress is demure and sleek. In fact, I rather like that juxtaposition. But then there is this, this, this and this, that assuming you have the humour and chutzpah to wear, will guarantee a good time.

I’m a big fan of stripes. One can never go wrong with a chic breton stripe –– but wide stripes, mismatched stripes and stripes in bold colours –– are so much more fun. And unless you work in an ultra conservative office, (whereby your undergarments should be as silly, frilly and sexy as possible) I say choose the stripe with the greatest sense of humour. Because really, the world is filled with enough straight lines as it is.

I came across the work of Brazilian artist, Willian Santiago today. His instagram feed is delightful, with a mix of illustrations, succulents and splashes of red (tomatoes, a typewriter and his sneakers). It’s the portraits that I really love, this one, this one, and this one . The lady in her candy striped sunnies and giant headscarf is pretty fabulous, too.

I’ve always had a thing for white cotton Victorian dresses and blouses. When I lived in Kensington Market, I used to spend hours at Courage my Love admiring all the beautiful frocks in white Damask. The shop still carries them today. I have a couple of dresses –– richly embroidered with a dainty drop waist –– that are pretty and demure, and Victorian in spirit. But one of these days, I’ll buy the real thing and wear it with a pair of kick-ass trainers.

Yesterday, Iole and I were very politely asked to leave the JCC. It was a tiny bit awkward for me, but much more awkward for the nice chap who’d been sent down to tell me off. A child, I discovered, is not allowed to hang out with her Mum while she lifts 3lbs dumbbells. The dumbbell could fall on the kid’s foot. Fair enough. And the Mum should be wearing appropriate work-out gear. A Mexican cotton moomoo and leopard print ballerinas didn’t qualify. So, my attempt at a little weight training just got super boring without Iole there to sing and giggle with me. I wonder if a Bonnie Cashin towelling toga would be ok?