Sequins, The Sausage Woman & A Roast Beef Dinner

I was working again at the weekend. This time it was Saturday and Sunday, both days wearing a sausage fascinator and sequins, which turns out to be a great conversation starting outfit as I got loads of compliments and chatting to loads of women at a the Womanifest festival.

By Sunday evening I was back home in my pyjamas looking forward to a roast beef dinner before climbing into a bed made up with freshly washed sheets that had been drying on the washing line in the sunshine all afternoon…

And I loved every minute of both of those things.

A few years ago, I'd probably have thought those two versions of me didn't really go together. Surely if you're the loud, colourful one with the giant pink boa, cardboard sausage machine and a workshop involving sausage machine bingo, then you're also supposed to be the one who wants to be out partying until the early hours.

Except that's not really been me for a long time. (I can’t cope with the hangovers these days.)

Womanifest was everything I'd hoped it would be. The weather was kind to us (although at times, I'd have happily welcomed a bit less sunshine because it was hot inside those tents), everyone seemed to be smiling and there was just a really lovely vibe. People complimenting each other's outfits. Random conversations in queues. Women you'd never met before stopping to chat as though you'd known each other for years.

It felt dead easy and I loved that.

What I hadn't quite appreciated beforehand was just how much there would be to choose from. It was one of those festivals where everywhere you looked there was another amazing speaker, another workshop, another activity, another experience. Firewalking, glass walking, arrow breaking. Things I'd already done. Things I'd never even heard of. Things that sounded fascinating but perhaps just a tiny bit too woo for me without knowing a bit more first.

So instead, Jenny and I found ourselves sitting in the middle of a field with a couple of spare chairs beside us and, over the course of nearly three hours, loads of women came and went. Some stayed ten minutes, some much longer. We chatted about business, life, creativity, workshops, confidence, clothes, all sorts really.

When I got home (back to the land of phone signals and Wi-Fi) and started seeing everyone else's photos, there was a tiny part of me that wondered whether I'd made the most of the weekend. But actually, I realised I had.

Because if I had to choose between ticking experiences off a list or spending my day connecting and having fab conversations with interesting women, I'd choose the conversations every single time. You never know where a conversation might lead. I have several conversations to follow up about touting myself out as a workshop host!

The organisers did an incredible job. I genuinely don't know how they kept track of everything that was happening. There must have been one helluva spreadsheet behind the scenes. By about five o'clock on Saturday though, Jenny and I were done. Not done with the festival but really tired from just peopling.

Which I find really interesting because up until fairly recently, I'd have described myself as an extrovert. I love standing on a stage and running workshops. Give me a microphone and a room full of women and I'm more than happy. But I now know (because my wing woman Jenny is a personality trait specialist) that's not actually what determines whether you're an introvert or an extrovert. It's more about where you get your energy from. Do you recharge by being with people or by being alone.

Anyway, we stopped at a little Waitrose in the petrol station on the way back to the hotel, bought a chicken salad meal deal with crisps and an aranciata San Pellegrino. (Danny Beard calls it Tory Fanta which makes me laugh every time I think about it.) The night before we'd gone to the pub next door. The food was mediocre and the service was shocking, so our pyjama picnic felt positively luxurious despite being a lot cheaper.

There we were, sitting on the bed in our pyjamas, eating our Waitrose feast with Titanic on in the background, saying very little because neither of us really needed to and it felt wonderfully decadent.

Then, twenty-four hours later, I pulled onto the drive at home. The freshly washed bedding was blowing gently on the line. I knew exactly how lovely those sheets were going to smell later. And even better, as I walked through the kitchen door I could smell roast beef cooking.

Paul had asked if there was anything I fancied for dinner. I’d said I didn’t mind, but because he’s a keeper of a husband, he already knew. Roast beef with all the trimmings is my favourite. He'd stripped the bed washed everything, pegged it out, cooked dinner and generally looked after me after a full-on weekend. That's how he shows his love. And I felt very loved.

As regularly happens these days, it struck me afterwards how ridiculous that all this sounds written down. One-minute sequins, sausage machine bingo and Funky Diva energy. The next, Yorkshire puddings, comfy pj’s and fresh bedding, yet somehow, they're all part of my life.

Stuff has quietly shifted over the past year. This time last year I’d half-heartedly decided I was retiring. A big part of that decision was because felt as though I was constantly trying to explain myself, to convince people that what I did wasn't just styling. I’d had enough of trying to fit into an online business world that wasn’t truly my vibe (the chorizo with the Linkedin profile) and was left feeling frustrated that people didn't quite get it. Looking back, anaemia and hustle culture weren't particularly good travelling companions either.

I was exhausted, eventually I just stopped trying, and I started painting because it made me happy.

·Then the Funky Divas appeared.

·Then came the Sausage Machine of Conformity.

·Then the Sassy Shoes Experience

If you'd told me two years ago that I'd become known as the sausage woman, I'd have thought you'd completely lost the plot. But somewhere along the way I stopped being a ‘stylist with a different approach’ and became Lisa Newport in her Funky Diva energy.

The funny thing is none of those things are random.

·The sausages.

·The shoes.

·The Funky Divas.

·The stories.

·The cards.

They've all become little anchors that point towards the same thing. - permission. Delivering my workshops over the past couple of weekends reminded me of that. Watching women relax, hearing them share stories they perhaps weren't expecting to share and watching complete strangers cheer each other on. Seeing people dancing, laughing and remembering who they actually are…

It's a privilege to facilitate spaces where people feel psychologically safe enough to simply be themselves. That, more than anything else, is the work.

I've spent quite a while saying I was semi-retiring. As I said last week - I don't think I was ever retiring. I’ve just been refining. Burning it all to the ground and pulling things apart. Working out what belonged and what didn't, then rebuilding foundations.

Now everything feels as though it's joining up. The ecosystem finally makes sense to me. The website is catching up, my messaging feels solid. I'm no longer interested in being chorizo with a LinkedIn profile or following somebody else's blueprint for what a successful business should look like.

I'm building something on my terms. Will it make lots of money? That would be nice. But if it breaks even but fills me with this much joy, that's still a pretty good outcome.

The weird thing is that enquiries are coming in again to anyway. Colour and style enquiries this week from people who've either been recommended or found me somewhere I need to remember to ask about because there’s bugger all on my website just now – that’s work in progress.

Maybe that's what happens when you stop trying so hard to be understood and simply become more yourself. The next thing I need to build isn't really the business. It's the life around it. I've changed over the past year, and my business has changed with me. Now it feels like it's time for the rest of my life to catch up. Watch this space.