The Hwyl

I was late blogging the other day because, as I explained in an email, I had the hwyl to do some sorting out and these feelings must be taken advantage of.

It started with a jumper gifted to me many years ago by someone I like and respect.  I never really liked it but good manners prevented me from saying so.  I hoped there might come a time when it would fit into my wardrobe.  But no.  It’s not a colour I wear, the neckline is all wrong, it’s figure hugging and just not me.   

I was going out to lunch with Pearl, wanted to look tidy, tried it yet again and thought “No.”

Under it in the drawer was a long blue top which other people have complimented me in but is elasticated in the wrong place.  To quote my mother it makes me feel like “a sack of sh*t tied in the middle.”  So that went.

Next to the wardrobe.  Another top.  This time pink which Fester likes me in.  But the neckline plunges far too far and the colour is insipid.

Then I thought about the suitcase under the bed.

The place things go ‘for later’ but actually to be forgotten.

Inside that there were three calf length pleated ‘office’ skirts.  The sort I used to wear when working as a PR consultant.  Apart from being very ‘eighties’ that length never suited me and they don’t have pockets.

Next to them trousers and shorts which I obviously though I would fit and or wear one day.  Three pairs were put on the pile.

Then there was a pair of jeans.  At some point I’d taken them in at the waist.  I undid the stitching and, result, they now fit. Not that I actually absolutely need another pair of jeans…

With that success the hwyl left me and the suitcase went back under the bed.

The next day Ferretfingers and I took two charity bags up to St Oswalds Hospice Shop, the source of much of my wardrobe.

Hwyl, like hiraeth, is a Welsh word which has no exact English translation.   

Most people associate it with preachers or singers or sport but it also has a more everyday meaning.  "I’ve got the hwyl" can mean being in the mood to do something.  

Mum, a Geordie, came closest when she used to talk about doing things “while the spirit moves”.