I did something quite hazardous to my health yesterday.  I was 'dream browsing'.  No, not the online safe sort.  The in-store, with wafty music and in amongst the presence of other shoppers who could well afford the racks of clothes on offer, kind of 'dream browsing'.  I did this dangerous activity in the London department store trio of Harvey Nichols (is it me or has the ambiance improved greatly?), Selfridges (is it me or has the ambiance gotten more dreadful?) and Liberty (is it me or does this store never fail to instill a sense of calmness in you?).

It's another year and Wimbledon has come around again.  My interest in sports in general is unsurprisingly minimal but for some reason tennis has me hooked in a way that is quite inexplicable seeing as I don't play it particularly well either, yet any old match will have me glued to the screen for hours on end.  This year though, a more sensible explanation for my tennis fixation, would be that the style stakes at Wimbledon have been ramped up, so much so that newspapers are commenting on what players are wearing as much as how they are faring in the competition.  Actually, that's not the real explanation either but it is quite hilarious to see people making a fuss about *gasp* a pair of shorts on a woman.  Tutus and white trenches on court, rumours of kilts and Federer's preppy vs. Nadal's pirate look; all the sort of 'style' drivel that are cluttering up the back pages of newspapers and also Vogue.com. 

When people send me emails and say that my blog is one of the best fashion blogs out there, I have to immediately dismiss them not out of false modesty but because.... well, my fashion blogging heights can't possibly compare with what has happened to Bryanboy.  Let's rewind and recount...