A funny thing happens to me every January. I walk into a small delightful bijoux shop in the centre of Worcester and buy a few fancy items of clothing. Things I will never wear again. It happens every year; they see me coming – that woman with a mission. They notice my sidelong glance, pause, and dash for the bargain rail. They know that I will be tempted by the incredible price tag that blinds me to the hideous colour and wrong size- too large? no problem, too small? no matter: they can be altered. IT’S A BARGAIN!
I secrete them home guiltily, hiding them away in the depths of my wardrobe; then resort to comfort mode in my army of stretch and trek gear from Millets.
These once-expensive clothes belong to a fantasy world where I need to look strange and sophisticated, just have to wear high end fashion for the private views, the Turner prize givings, the frequent publishers meetings and regular but occasional Newsnight appearances. I can’t possiblyengage with Kirsty Wark looking like my usual rag bag self, and she’d certainly be disappointed to see the same outfit twice. So really it’s a bit of a collection, albeit gathering dust; just a load of label obsessed baloney.
Most of my wardrobe is made up of bargain buys that will never be worn. Ah, I hear you cry, you poor Cinderella, you. Well, hey, as a former Girl Guide, at least I can say I am prepared.