Today I managed to walk halfway down Portman Street with my dress tucked into my knickers. Thankfully a sharp-dressed man carrying a copy of the Guardian alerted me to my faux pas before I hit Oxford Street, so I was saved the humiliation of having one of the many Asian tourists armed with their 2000x optical zoom DSLRs catching it on film. Instead they continued to take snaps of traffic lights and try and trip me up on my way to Topshop.
The reason for me leaving the comfort of my sofa, where I have happily vegetated for the past three weeks, was to try and buy some clothes. Step into my bedroom and you will find stacks of fashion magazines. Browse my internet history and you will discover that I regularly trawl the pages of ASOS, Topshop and various other clothing websites. But the thing I hate, no, abhor, is clothes shopping in the real world. Food shopping is fine, shopping for house interior stuff I love, but trekking around shops full of variations of the same ugly dress, being elbowed by skinny bitches and fashionistas’ oversized handbags is just horrible. So I tramped in and out virtually every shop of the mile-and-a-half-long stretch, growing more and more flustered and angry. Realising I’d spent a good 3 hours with only one jacket to show for my efforts, I hauled my bruised, broken backside into the headquarters of the skinny-bitch, handbag-wielding style-nerds, Urban Outfitters, and promptly handed over £68 for a nondescript checked shirt and a stripey tshirt. Eurgh.
Now I am off to make some jelly for my birthday tea party (you’re never too old) tomorrow. In the meantime, I leave you with an interesting article by JK Rowling in today’s Times, to warm you up for tomorrow’s party leaders’ debate (more on that later) http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/guest_contributors/article7096786.ece