Whoever invented the pencil skirt - and it could only be a man who designed the things - should be shot. If they're dead, someone needs to back in time and shoot them.
Obviously, they were designed to be aesthetically pleasing and therefore, in the tradition of suffering for your beauty/art/whatever they've decided you have to suffer for next, they are a royal pain in the arse. They were obviously designed to be worn only by women who spend their lives standing up, stock still, legs together. I don't know whether cars were invented at the time, but there was obviously no consideration taken to the dignity one loses by having to climb out of the back seat or fall out of a mini-bus, which I have done at least twice, as you can't move your legs! You cannot go anywhere fast, stairs are occasionally an interesting experience and all the things seem to do is ride up your legs and show off the thigh you'd prayed to keep under wraps.
Ooh. Why can't they sell slightly less constricting smart skirts! God, following uniform codes is such a bore (damn contract). I own two pencil skirts, because you can only walk home to a rural pocket through the mud so many times until you run out of clean, smart trousers. They piss me off immensely. As someone who prefers to spend their time running wild and wearing comfy things, they are a royal pain in the arse, but there's only so much you can do in these situations when no one's selling much else on the high street.
Research (thank you, Wikipedia): these things were designed by Christian Dior. Bloody typical. And they did have cars at the time, it was during the 1940s. Silly man. What was he thinking?
In other news, next week is going to be hellish, which is more than mildly depressing. I'm up in Cambridge on Monday and Wednesday for entrance interviews and tests respectively, so wish me luck! Along with that, I have a concert to sing in on Thursday and rehearsals for a Christmas revue, which goes up on Saturday. Argh. I do far too much. Considering that I only found out about the Wednesday Cambridge bits and pieces yesterday and am now having hell with my transport arrangements (looks like I'll be spending £40 on train fare), this is going to be an interesting week, entirely devoid of History, oddly enough. Ah, well, these things happen.
fic has, therefore, had to be heavily scaled down from the monster I'd originally planned to a short, mildly humorous snippet involving a slightly drunken Owen, among other things. I've got about 500 words so far, so we'll see where it takes me. Humour helps me keep my mind off scary prospects of interviews and upcoming exams, so I'm not going to complain.