In a few days I’m flying back to the UK for an old friend’s wedding. He’s getting married in a castle in Scotland and its bound to be the kind of smart occasion of which romantic comedies set in England are made.
Half the guests will be French women and pretty much everybody will be wealthy and expensively maintained.
So, I need an outfit. Something elegant but simple, not too short (at 35, showing leg above the knee at such occasions is sleazy) or too low cut (more to hide sunburn than cleavage, but you get the idea).
Not black, of course. Its not done to wear black to a wedding.
And not the currently fashionable ‘shapeless sack’ style of dress which is in all the shops now. Unless you’re 19 years old and a size 6, it just looks like a 3-man tent overwhelmed you in passing.
No, I need something with structure. Tailored to prevent me looking like a sack of taters.
So – given that I know exactly what I want and I have the whole of Sydney in which to shop – how difficult can it be to find something suitable?
Oh! my friends, the fates conspire against me. As do the mirrors in Myer.
And what is particularly galling is that I have several perfectly good outfits packed into boxes in storage in the UK.