Thursday, 23 September 2010


I think I'm coming down with something.

Husband gave me his credit card to buy a present for friend's birthday.

So I went to Mecca - I mean, Harrods - with a whole bag of wardrobe wonders in mind. For myself, obviously.

I actually needed a pair of shoes to go with the dress I plan on wearing.

But as I stepped through the door, by Smythson (made mental note for new diary), I felt an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling stir.

It continued to grow as I walked up to the Louboutin lair and past the Jimmy Choo jungle.

Dismissing my lack of enthusiasm as sugar withdrawal (from new diet), I knew the sight of YSL Palais pumps would bring me back to life. It didn't.

I bought them anyway, to prove a point of course, but my heart wasn't in it.  I had no urge to pur-chase. None whatsoever. Not even with someone else's money, which is so unlike me.

I visited all my favourite sections, determined to fight the feeling, but not even the prospect of a new diary perked me up.

To top it off, the shoes don't match the dress.  I am now on a timed mission to find a suitable pair before tomorrow.

And so disorientated was I by this fashion flu that has so aggressively struck, I forgot to buy the present.

Will have to summon the energy to go back again tonight.

P.S Look at this adorable Chanel cabinet display I spied on the way out. Life in plastic really is fantastic.

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