Meanwhile, I was trawling the stores of Oxford Street yesterday in search of something non-shabby that I can respectably leave the house in, but what passes for fashion today is so utterly depressing for anyone who isn't a wealthy blonde stick-insect that this artistic impression popped out:
Nope, it's not a true story, it's just a metaphor. But it's either this or throttling innocent bystanders in Dorothy Perkins, so I think I'm choosing the right outlet...
