I heard whispers at work about the Alexande McQueen sample sale being held over three days last week. A bit of googling and I was on it. Headed down at 11:30 for the 12 o'clock opening in Farringdon last Thursday. Walking along Clerkenwell Road a woman walks past in black shoe boots flashing their fuchsia soles and heels at me. I was closing in.
Suddenly walking past an overpriced trendy coffee shop, two fashionista's pull out in front of me. Damn skinny bitches in heels! But I have an advantage over the latte balancing babes - I'm in flats! Woosh I go!
Faced with a mega que. My elbows flying into the faces of those in way way, I charge in straight to the shoes. Pow! Black and flesh shoe boots are mine! Run to work out of breath, shaking from shopping adreneline, cluthcing shoe box in one hand bank card in the other.
Being a glutten for punishment I go back for more on Saturday morning. This time at 8:30am for a 10am opening in the hope to avoid the que. Que? What que!? The place is empty! Berghh. An orderly que has formed the closer it gets. Slight smug feeling being at the front of the que.
Oh dear, all the good stuff is gone! Look around, try on a ridiculous peach frilly thing. Ankle to waist zip up trousers that go no further than my knees. All hope is lost untill I guess I'll try on some couture gowns for a laugh. Suddenly I'm not laughing. My heart rises into my throat and my heart beat quickens.
I've tried it on. I'm in love. Although I've had to pack my breasts into it to make the zip close, it's a good look none the less. As if it was all over in a flash I am leaving the sale £195 lighter and about 10 feet of black silk heavier. What have I done!
It's being taken to the tailor to get it cropped above my knee. None of this floor length ball gown nonsence.