Colours, colours, colours

I'm going through a strange and fabulous phase of contradictions. Emotionally, things remain messy with a distinct dark side. And so it is for anyone who is only a month on from the loss of a loved one. Lately this has leaked out through anger. I have to think very carefully on the tube, at work, in the street, at the supermarket check out, to make sure I don't lose my rag over something any level headed and balanced person would take in their stride. That need to control my rage so I don't get landed with an ASBO leaks out in other ways, all loosely under the heading of REBELLION. And this is coming out in colour, big time. Last week I read a fashion article in a Sunday supplement that advised women over 40 not to wear coloured tights. Not a good look for the age, apparently. Women over 40 who want to do colour, need to do it with a small "pop", like wearing a bright pair of earrings with their grey or taupe twinsets. I read this article very carefully. Then went straight out and bought 6 pairs of tights. One deep blood red. One burgundy. One forest green. One teal. One bright acid turquoise. One deep yellow. And have worn them every day since. And, frankly, not with taupe twinsets either. This morning saw me laying out a local community tea wearing a bright yellow Top Shop sweater, denim skirt and acid turquoise tights. Yesterday I pranced up the high street in a purple corduroy mini skirt with yellow tights and brown Fly knee high boots. I am having a ball with this. If I keep going I am probably going to end up looking like a walking Lego box. In fact, if I add my green Gap snood (I love that word by the way. Who invented it?It sounds like an allergic sneeze), I probably already do resemble Lego Duplo.  It should feel counterintuitive, to be processing such extreme sadness with such an outward show of upbeat optimism, which is what bright colours always seem to me to project. But perhaps it isn't so odd. You can shout with colour as effectively as you can shout as a customer service manager, except wearing loud colours means nobody gets hurt (unless they don't have their sunglasses with them, in which case there is that risk of retinal damage).  Do I in reality look like a clown, and will I some day soon wake up to it and go back to Zara to invest in some ubiquitous black or khaki? In answer to the first, well that's a relative question isn't it. As John Malkovich said so brilliantly in Burn After Reading in response to his colleague who accured him of having a drinking problem "You're a Mormon. Next to you we ALL have a drinking problem". And so it is on the streets of London. It is Autumn, and commuters are wearing Sludge. Next to Sludge, any pop of colour is going to come across a bit like Mr Zippo's Flying Circus. Doesn't make it a crime to sport it. And in answer to the second?  No. Never have, certainly not going to start now. Yellow tights. Feels good to know I still have that rebellious streak. Feels even better to be liberated by grief to indulge it.