Sorting out your wardrobe, back-handed compliments, wooden beads

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CAROL'S COLUMN
Views & tips from your side of the counter*........*

I suppose I should have seen what was coming this year and taken to my bed for the duration of summer! As regular readers will know I have had a complete disaster when it came to renewing my wardrobe this year. None of the outfits I bought either fitted me or suited me and my new ‘holiday clothes’ consists of two new tops that I managed to grab in Tesco, in between choosing a loaf of bread and some strawberries.

We have a gorgeous range of up-market shops where I live and yet none of them could supply me with so much as a t-shirt that suited! Not that I really need any summer clothes for my holiday – this is the time of year when I do my patriotic duty and have a week at the Great British seaside looking over our great Castles and clambering about over rocky coves.

This year I think a pair of wellies and a trench coat will be more to the point. And might as well not bother packing a hairdryer or brush as my unruly locks have been nothing but frizz since the rain started (and forgot to stop). But to cap it all, and to add insult to injury, I’ve found a mysterious layer of flesh that I’m sure wasn’t there last week firmly attaching itself to my stomach! I can honestly say that I’ve never seen it before and I have no idea where it has come from.

I’ve always considered myself to be slim – I’ve been called ‘Twiggy’ and ‘Boney’ before today and have even been called ‘stick-thin’. It’s no virtue on my part, I was just made that way, so where on earth has this roll of flesh come from? I woke up one morning perfectly normal size and shape, showered, dressed and there it was, hanging over the top of my pants. I blinked and did a double-take and ran over to check in the mirror – in case my sight had been damaged whilst I was asleep, but no, there it still was.

I poked it and prodded it – just to find out if it was definitely attached to me and it was. I yelled out to my partner ‘Come and look at this!’ He came running, not because he’s obedient, he’s just downright nosey. ‘Look at this; says I, pointing to the offending roll of fat. ‘Yes, I Know,’ he says ‘it’s called a belly and I’ve got one of my own? Well I couldn’t argue with that – he has, and what’s more I’ve seen it, but that doesn’t help me at all. I decided I needed to think about it a big so I did what I always do when I need to think – opened a bag of crisps and a Snickers to chew on until

I came up with an answer. I went through all the options, buying bigger knickers, investing in some Kaftans or simply ignoring it and hoping it would go by tomorrow, but by the time I’d finished my crisps I’d decided it was time to take myself (and my belly) in hand.

I suppose there’s nothing for it but to cut all those ‘bags of things’ I keep eating and reach for the fruit bowl instead. I can’t say that a juicy apple has the same appeal as a box of Belgian chocolates but if I don’t do something now who knows what will have expanded when I next look in the mirror? I need to do something anyway before my next girlie-get-together – some of my friends have tongues whose edges could slice a tomato in half and they’re bound to notice, they notice everything – I still haven’t recovered from the time they accused me of ‘letting myself go’ when I turned up without nail polish.

So perhaps it’s as well that I haven’t made too many investments in the clothes department lately as they wouldn’t fit me anyway when I run around the block and come back looking like Kate Moss.

I wonder if there are any ‘foundation garment’ shops on the South Coast?

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