Purple Phase: Using *that* purple poem on my 1st ever layout

Hello again.

The end of November is nigh and I promised myself I'd be through with my Purple Phase by then ... so here I am frantically tryng to blog the remaining things I had planned, while having to accept that some of my colour might bleed into December at this rate.

So let's get started:

Way back in September, in my first Purple Phase post I posted a music video about wearing purple ... which [after I'd stopped dancing] put me in my mind of the famous poem by Jenny Joseph 'Warning' which features the lines:

"When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me." [see bottom of post for full poem].
Which, in turn, reminded me of the first ever 12x12 scrapbook pages I made a handful of years ago. Which were these:

I know ... my style changed a little in the intervening years ... but that's not the point!

The idea behind the page was that, whereas the poem lists all the things the narrator will do when she grows old:

I don't think my Grandma really waited for old age to be an excuse to be herself;

... to not care what other people thought of her:

To tread her own path, press alarm bells and wear clothes that didn't match!

I can learn from this [even right now ... while sharing my first ever attempts at scrapbooking!] and I can go on not really caring if anyone else likes what I wear ... even if it's purple:

And:

• At the end of the month I'll be photographing - and blogging -  myself wearing purple one last time for the series.
• How about you?
• You're welcome to join me - you can blog your post anytime - I'm just doing it this week to finish-off the series nicely.
• I'll still be pinning purple blog posts until you hear otherwise.
• November's My Month in Numbers is going to wait until Thursday / Friday now.

See you soon ... in your finest purple I hope!

Julie x

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Warning - by Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people's gardens
and learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
By Jenny Joseph