Clothes Crisis

6am: woken by pitious miaows of cat outside bedroom window, on roof of lean-to. Foolish beast, she refused to come in last night. "Out ratting," suggested J, whose view on the cat is that it belongs outside at all times.

J had a day off, getting ready for the London Marathon on Sunday. He rushed off to the expo as soon as it opened to get his number and to peruse the overpriced London 09 branded sportswear. It's the only time he goes into a clothes shopping frenzy. I have seen him buy, oh, three sports tops and as many as five pairs of socks.

He forgot to get me any socks, even though I texted him. (To which he will reply: "But I got you some dirt!" And yes, he did buy me a bag of compost which he always mysteriously calls "dirt" so Mustn't Grumble I suppose, even if it would be up there on the Chris Evans list of strange presents).

Meanwhile I was preparing to go into town (London) for a meeting and having a fully fledged Clothes Crisis. These are particularly likely at crossover times, eg when the seasons are changing or the one or two days that constitute summer are happening earlier than expected. Eeek! Suddenly it feels too warm for opaque tights and black, but it's not warm enough for the full summer panoply of cream, florals, bare legs and exposed toes.

The crisis was compounded, ladies, by all my trousers mysteriously becoming half mast overnight. I had several pairs shortened recently at the very helpful dry cleaner's, but I fear they mistook centimetres for inches and now my trousers are all the cropped variety, which as Trinny and Susannah will tell you, do nothing for those below 5'11.

Anyway, eventually I set off in "greige" suit and the brown high heeled shoes I told Wendy I never wear to London (too uncomfortable), and resolved to go shopping tomorrow. Yes, there's nothing for it - Bluewater it must be. Wish me luck!