And they're off ...

Tomorrow I am going to Royal Ascot.

This is the highlight of my social calendar, and a wonderful tradition that I look foward to each year.

I can remember, quite vividly, my first trip with three girlfriends, and the picnic that we hauled into the Silver Ring (the cheap seats). I can remember the sense of daring when placing a £1 each way bet, and the extravagance of the jug of Pimms.

Tomorrow we are a group of six. Three of the originals, one long standing attendee, one back for the second year, and one newbie. But we all embrace the excess these days, spending the weeks before comparing notes on dresses, shoes, and, of course, hats. We will pamper in the morning, arrive around lunchtime, sup champagne all afternoon, and, of course, have a flutter on the horses.

So now my dress (the third that I bought this year in my effort to find just the right thing) is hanging up, still with the price tags on, so that it will feel extra specially new when I put it on in the morning.







My hat sits nestled in its tissue paper bed, having been quietly tried on and posed in several times over, waiting for its Top Of The Bill appearance tomorrow.

And, in this house, we are getting in the swing of things!




Pop back tomorrow, and I'll report back on champagne shenanigans, horse races won and lost, and the colour of the Queen's hat.

Does Any Person Here Present ...

... know of any excuse that I can use for not having told you all about the wedding of the year, now almost three weeks ago?

No. Me neither. But since the bride and groom will be back from their honeymoon in a day or two, I think I should procrastinate no more and tell you about it.

So, the wedding was that of my lovely friend Angela who is my oldest friend in the whole wide world ever ever. We were friends when I was three and she was two. Isn't that amazing? And in Mark, she was marrying someone absolutely right for her in every way. They compliment one another perfectly, and appreciate it, which is just fabulous.

I get a wee bit emotional when I see my friends settle down with the right people which, by and large, they have (there are one or two exceptions, of course, which I think decorum requires me to not name ...) so forgive a little sentimentality.

The wedding was in a village near where we all grew up, at the church in which we saw another great couple married a couple of years ago, and the reception was (now you're going to like this) at a brewery in the next town. A brewery. Delicious!

And it was all just brilliant. The vicar was just batty enough to fit the bill, the carols were sung with gusto (but then, my friend Simon sounds a lot like Harry Secombe's more talented brother, so we tend to all stand behind him and mouth along), and there was enough booze that my friend Adrian gave us a wee monologue about how much he loved us all. The speeches struck an emotional note (reducing more than just the bride to tears ... **ahem**) and we even managed a bit of a dance (to, amongst other things, Chesney Hawkes (who knew that he was still going?!) which is something of a perennial favourite). It was just fab.

And the bride, of course, looked radiant, in quite possibly the most lovely wedding dress that I have ever seen. The story of how she came to be wearing it on the Big Day is quite a long one, which gives testament to the fact that sometimes, these things are just meant to be. That was her dress, and the planets were aligned to make sure she flaming well got down the aisle wearing it.

You might notice the small but beautifully formed doo-dah in her hair? Well that was courtesy of moi! I was given a brief to make something a bit like one of those, with some of them, and a bit like that, and absolutely NONE of them, and I created away. I think the customer got what she wanted. It certainly looked the part, even if I do say so ...!

But the thing about which I was most very really truly very excited was my gift to the happy couple. They have lived together for a few years, and really have everything they need to run a successful household. Their wedding list was therefore, rather magnanimously, I thought, with Oxfam Unwrapped. But this is my oldest pal, and I wanted to give her something more material and less worthy (don't look at me like that! I bunged a note in a collection box on their behalf too). Imagine my glee then, when I was pointed, by a friend of taste, at this lady, who made these (eyes right) lovely things for me!

Aren't they ace? A mini Mangela! Aren't they just the BEST thing you ever did see? I would urge you all to rush out and buy every bride and groom you know a pair of these gorgeous little buddies.

So there you have it! The social event of the year, and it was wonderful. Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses please and toast ... the happy couple.

xxx

The Adventures of the Invisible Woman

Today the Invisible Woman went shopping. She needed something fabulous to wear for a wedding next weekend, which she ought to have thought about before now. She decided to go to Westfield.

She left the house and set off to walk to the station. Half way there, four workmen stepped onto the path blocking her way.

"Not to worry," thought the Invisible Woman. "I am six feet tall and of not-delicate proportions. They will see me coming and step aside." (The Invisible Woman had forgotten that she was invisible). When she got to the workmen, she said, "excuse me please," which confused them, causing them all to look around to see where the voice had come from. Not being able to see anyone near by, they didn't move, so the Invisible Woman had to squeeeeeeeeze between them and their big mucky van, and then go on her way.

When she got to the station there were people using the two ticket machines, so she waited for them to finish. As one of them came available, another lady came from nowhere and stepped in front of the Invisible Woman. The Invisible Woman said, "erm ..." but the lady hadn't seen her, and was in a rush, so she carried on, and the Invisible Woman had to wait to buy her ticket, then to hurry for the train.

The train was quite busy, but there was a seat that a man had put his bag down on. The Invisible Woman asked if he would mind moving his bag, but he didn't hear her. She asked again, but he still didn't hear her. Then another seat came available so the Invisible Woman sat there instead.

She got to Westfield with a spring in her invisible step and a feeling of optimism about the shopping day ahead. Into the centre she went, and headed for ladieswear!

She drifted in an out of shops, but no-one saw her. Shop assistants stood in front of her, or cut across in front of her making her have to stop and let them through. Other shoppers also pushed in front, then ambled, slowly, in front of her, oblivious of the fact that the Invisible Woman wanted to get moving.

(Unfortunately, when the Invisible Woman tried on wedding outfits, and looked in the mirror, she noticed that her lumpy and ripply bits weren't invisible, which was a shame).

In and out of shops and changing rooms she went, and, whilst she was enjoying a day of her own company, and her own thoughts, she was a little bit sad that no-one could see her.

Finally, having tried on what seemed like fifty or sixty outfits, she found a dress that she liked, and headed for the tills, feeling triumphant.

At the tills there was one lady already being served, and there were three members of staff having a conversation. The Invisible Woman tried to catch the eye of one of the chattering staff, but of course they didn't know she was there, so no-one came to take her money (which by now, was burning a hole in her invisible pocket). It crossed her mind that, if she was invisible, she could probably walk out of the shop with the goodies in her hand, but the Invisible Woman does have some scruples, so she waited for the only member of staff who could see her, and paid for her new frock (new shoes, new bag, new cardigan, new other dress (just in case)).

On her way out of the shop, the Invisible Woman was walking between clothes rails, when a man stepped in front of her, and put several large shopping bags down in her path, whilst his wife tried on a coat.

The invisible red mist came down, and the Invisible Woman went crazy. She threw her new purchases on the floor, the better to jump up and down on the man's bags, and then, for good measure, on the man. As she did so, she screeched and screamed, "why can't any of you see me? I'm right here, and I've been fricking invisible all sodding day!" and tore at her clothes. She then did two laps of the shop, stark naked, calling out, "can you see me now? Eh? Can you? CAN YOU?!" before putting her clothes back on, picking up her shopping, and calmly heading back to the train station.*

The Invisible Woman in now at home with a cup of tea and the biscuit tin, too tired from a day of hardcore shopping to cook anything nutritious for dinner. She thinks that she might have the energy to get the giant bag of doritos out of the kitchen. She's thinking, "what the hell. If I'm invisible, I might as well be chubby and happy." Don't judge her.

* This bit didn't really happen, but in the film of the Invisible Woman's life, when she's played by Angelina Jolie's more attractive younger sister, it will.

Dressing for dinner

A friend of mine is quite giddy with excitement at the fact that he's just booked his DJ for his company Christmas party.

I rally a bit against organised fun. It makes me come out in a bit of a rash. I loathe New Year, I struggle with hen parties, I try my best not to have a birthday unless I can help it. Any event, basically, which involves a host of planning, and won't live up to expectation makes me squirm.

But a wee bit of me felt wistful for the big dressy affair. It's been such a long time since I properly dressed up, and I do so love it. I used to work for bit corporate monsters which had annual dinners, and now I work for small niche firms where that sort of thing just isn't practical. I haven't put on an evening dress and heels for such a long time, and I'm not sure when I will next get the chance to. I wonder ... do we little girls ever tire of playing at dressy ups?

So today at lunchtime I was feeling a bit twitchy, and in need of a walk, so I left the office and wandered up Carnaby Street. The windows are all full of party outfits and sparkles now, and there are shoes, shoes, shoes to be gawped at, but nothing that I really need, so I kept walking.

At the top of the street, I ducked into Liberty's back door, and wandered aimlessly through gifts, perfumes, bags, jewellery, and lots of lovely things to satisfy my glamour craving.

Out the front door and on to Regent Street, and again with the windows full of sequins, sparkles, silk, satin, fluff, and feather. I slipped into one or two shops to let the fabrics run through my fingers and think lovely party thoughts, then back out again, and on up to Oxford Circus.

I decided that I ought to head back to the office, so I shuffled through the scrums, and nipped through a department store, back to Carnaby Street and to the office.

A shame, I hear you mutter, that, with such romantic shopping notions, and so many opportunities, I should come home empty handed.

Well you're WRONG! Of COURSE I bought something! Of COURSE I have something new and exciting to slip on. Of COURSE I have something just perfect for the approaching holiday season.

I am sitting here, typing this post, whilst wearing ... my NEW SLIPPERS. With pom poms on the toes. Oh yes! I am ready for the Christmas party season, and I'm doing it in style!

Ho ho ho!