Had a rare late afternoon off from work and crept of to my wench, my dirty secret, my on-off love affair, yes, Topshop.
I go back for yet another fix of well designed catwalk rip-offs made of cheap fabrics with fraying seams, will I ever learn? No. I try things on endlessly, the thrill of the black dress with sulptural shoulders ware off as soon as it's been twirled in. I rarely ever go to the the flagship store for fear of being caught.
Instead I creep down to the concession in Selfridges so I can escape easily, wandering off into the make up counters and my lack of orientation being my excuse. I would consider taking you home, little layered pink top, to meet the rest of my clothing family but you are polyester and I hoped you would have been silk. So I try you on, and put you back. I'm a Topshop user and abuser behind those fitting room curtains.
But wait it gets worse. Not content with Topshop I sneak into River Island. Literally looking both ways before entering as you would on entering and adult entertainment shop in Soho.
My weakness for bling leads me straight to this chunk of gold. Reminds me off some things I've seen on Kabiri.
The racks of sale sirens on hangers call me in seductively. Grey jersey zip up jacket with padded shoulder and a pelmet waist. No only is it wrong, it's in the sale, £15. This is the fabric equivalent of Pretty Woman, the one who made it. The jacket will be mine and integrated with the rest of my finery.
The end result.
River Island jacket, Olanic fringed leotard, H&M acid wash leggings, Topshop heels.