Ain't no sunshine

Sunshine has been a rare commodity of late. When yet again we woke up to a dark and moody day on November's final Friday, we knew we needed all the help our daylight therapy lamp could give us.

After breakfast bathed in artificial daylight, Jos walked into the village to get a newspaper for us and an elderly neighbour, nipping into the garage for our car on the way back. 

As it was Friday, we were off on our weekly charity shopping trip, planning to take outfit photos afterwards, crossing our fingers for a ray of sunshine later in the day. But while the rain held off until we were back, it started getting gloomier by the minute. By mid-afternoon, realizing that we were running out of time, we returned our car to the garage, hoping that its white brick wall and skylight would provide sufficient natural light without having to use our camera's flash.

My outfit's main components, the dress and cardigan, both from contemporary retro labels, were charity shopped on the same day a couple of weeks ago.

When I dressed up Angelica in them to show you my finds, I loved the mix of caramel and blue of the dress with the butterscotch yellow of the cardigan so much that I decided to wear them together myself.

The dress was accessorized with a tan belt and a tan and black beaded necklace, while the squishy stag head's brooch provided a fun and funky element. I love how the cardigan's buttons echo the colour of the belt, which was serendipitous rather than intentional.

I've been wearing my houndstooth patterned coat on repeat, as it's keeping me and my legs warm and toasty in all kinds of inclement weather. With the thermometer stuck at 4°C, it was very welcome indeed. 

Here it is book-ended in tans by my beret and boots. The scarf with its jigsaw stripes in orange, purple, green and blue, is a repeat offender too, and has been darned in various places where it got stuck in zipper teeth.

That Friday, our shopping trip first took us to the outskirts of a town called Mechelen, just under 10 kilometer from Dove Cottage. The charity shop here is a large, two-floored one, with the second floor entirely dedicated to clothing and textiles.

This time it was Jos who struck lucky, as we found him a chunky grey zip-up cardigan - not pictured - and this rather fabulous brown jumper striped in blue, orange and white.

We also splashed out on this € 1,5 vintage Antwerp souvenir plaque, showing the cathedral in all its glory and without scaffolding, with the River Scheldt in the background. It has already joined our Wall of Souvenirs in the hallway.

There were some treasures waiting for me in our second shop, which was the famous three-floored one in Duffel.

Here I found a short-sleeved blue and white marled knit jumper closing with a row of three shoulder buttons, as well as a thin green long-sleeved one, a turquoise chunky scarf and - oh joy - a vintage slip still with its tags. It is inset with Dentelles de Calais, a type of lace which has been produced in the Calais area for at least two hundred years. According to their website, Dentelles de Calais is the label of an iconic lace, the stuff of dreams with its beautiful craftsmanship and timeless glamour. The lace is inherently linked with French chic, elegance and femininity and talented designers use its sublime beauty and transparency to show off the body’s curves and delicate skin.

My final find were these magnificent denim blue Western style boots. It was only when I got them home that I noticed they were by Sasha, a Dutch label established in 1909. There's a Sasha shop near my office, and when I went to check them out during one of my lunch breaks, I was delighted to see similar boots with a € 175 price tag. Mine were just € 4,50 and in near perfect condition. Oh, the joys of charity shopping.

To make the most of the sparse amount of daylight streaming in through our dining room window, I posed for photos while standing on Bess's round orange carpet directly in front of it. 

I was facing Bess's battery of Snooze Bays across the room, and this is what I saw. Oh Bess!

There was no change in temperature on Saturday, but lo and behold, there was strange yellow orb in the sky that morning. 

According to the weather forecast, we were in for more rain in the afternoon, so that wasted no time in making the most of this short-lived stroke of luck by going for a walk.

Pinks and greys were my outfit's main ingredients that day. I've had the zig-zag jumper - charity shopped, obviously - for absolutely ages, but the skirt, in a fine corduroy fabric with a swishy lining, only crossed my path last Winter.

The jumper being rather short, it kept escaping from the skirt's waistband, so I wore it on top, cinching in my waist with a snake print belt. The latter was bought brand new on the high street during the January sales. My pink beret came from a high street shop as well.

The liquorice necklace - dubbed as such by an Instagram follower - came from Oxfam, while the brooch with its hand painted rose was an old flea market find.

Layered between my jumper and my favourite vintage fur-collared jacket was a fluffy cardigan to combat the cold, but you'll have to take my word for it as there's no photographic evidence. 

The pink boa matches my beret's colour exactly, so that I am treating them as a set and often wear them together. I wore the burgundy boots - picked up at Think Twice several years ago - just for walking to our garage and taking these photos. Courtesy of all the rain we've had, it was far too muddy, so obviously I didn't want to take the risk of ruining them, exchanging them for my old brown boots for our intended walk.

Although a wintry blue sky filled with patches of innocent looking white clouds was trying to trick us into believing we'd be in for a sunny day, the predicted return of the rain clouds kept us close to home. 

Weighing our options, we decided on yet another visit to the sculpture park. We had to wade through a succession of puddles to get from our car to the entrance, but once we'd circumnavigated the worst of these we were fine.

I have no idea what kind trees these are, but aren't their alternating yellow and red berries delightful against the blue of the sky? 

The container installation is a work of art too, by  Belgian architect, urbanist and artist Luc Deleu. It dates from 2004 and it called Orbino.

We said hello to the three Walking Nuns (1960-61) by  Elia Ajolfi (bottom right) and chuckled at Girl Looking Down (1956-57) by Reg Butler (bottom left) who we were pretty sure wouldn't be able to see anything much looking down but her own rather impressive bosom!

The title of Floriano Bodini's Ladies (1961, top left) is rather misleading, as one glance at the sculpture makes it clear that they are scarred by life. In fact, the sculpture radiates fear and horror.

The rather grumpy looking creature in Will to Live (1952) by Hildo Crop was looking non too pleased by the Autumn leaves which had landed in its lap!

We, on the other hand, rejoiced in the fitted carpet of Autumn leaves at our feet, and were delighted to see a colony of tiny mushrooms climbing up the tree on the bottom right. That's one of them up close on the top right.

Fiery red leaves and Clematis seed heads join the pure whites of the Braem Pavillion (1971, bottom right) and "L" by Augustin Cardenas (1968, top left).

At barely above freezing point, we did feel a tad sorry for Sitting Figure (1929) by Georg Kolbe.

We'd brought sandwiches for a picnic, which we ate sitting gingerly on pieces of oilcloth we keep especially to spread on wet or soiled benches. 

Then we spotted some empty tables on the terrace of the museum café, where we had cappuccinos and cakes, wrapped in thoughtfully supplied blankets.

My glasses had misted over by the time I'd climbed the stairs to the toilets where I blindly snapped a handful of pictures of the bird's eye view of the park.

It was only afterwards that I noticed the delightfully painterly properties of this one.

In the meantime, clouds had gathered, and we'd only just made it home before darkness descended and it started to rain once more.