Saturday 8^th January 2011

It started badly. I was three days late for the Sales. Joshua Baring was texting: ‘Hurry, hurry back from the country. The shelves are being picked clean by vultures’.

Some miraculous aura, still but strong, descended and swathed me. There seemed no doubt that my required items would heave themselves from the chaos into my basket. At Selfridges and H. Nicks I did not exactly stand in the middle of the shop floor and do nothing, but that’s how it felt. I was hovering and waiting. Over two days, levitating mildly, filled with pleasantness,  I got all the shops covered almost without noticing –  Selfridges, H. Nicks, Harrods, Joseph, The Library, Matches, Paul and Joe, Browns, Martin Margiela, Sefton, both Pradas.  The sense of drama and difficulty I mentioned in my last post were not lost but I was not tipped over into despair, I did not shatter or snatch buy. At Prada, the last pair of black shoes, 50% off, were waiting for me, as were some chestnut brown slacks, stretchy and huggy – just as I like.

The Sales are like life only more so. You must have a plan, you must identify the holes in your wardrobe, you must invest for the future (this I admit I have not done: come the summer, I’m going to be up a gum tree with nothing to wear), you must think what will freshen and revive the wardrobe as a whole. Just a few new pieces can inject new life. But you must be ready at a minute’s notice to veer violently off course, to snatch some totally unexpected opportunity from the rack.  Above all, as I said in my last post, you must struggle for your purchases, they must not come easily. It must be a difficult birth, otherwise you will not love your babelet.  Now this January I offer you this new gift of spirituality at the sales, of calm, alert suspension, in the fray, suffering, yet at peace, driven yet removed, of this world, yet not of this world.

Do try to achieve this yourself.

I had not expected to buy a champagne cardy, but at The Library they’d got Fabrizio del Carlo back in. Not seen for years. Fabulous, rare, rare designer of stretchy knitwear – the summer tops! Already it has proved useful, an excellent contrast garment, adaptable, suitable for a small dinner. I’ve worn it to three in a week. At Selfridges, I had expected a white shirt by Jil Sander. They had a goodly selection, much of which had been sabotaged by someone with a marker pen. Prada, Balenciaga and Jil Sander do marvellous shirts, well-worth the money if they’re half price. I ended up with one by Jil Sander but in a colour described as ‘opal’, an extraordinary, mysterious, tiny lavender tinge. Finally at Martin Margiela I bagged some moleskin trousers in honey beige, washable, adaptable to both formal and casual. The assistant said: ‘Have you many more shops to visit?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘that’s it. I’m going home.’

Well, it wasn’t quite. Later I nipped out to Sefton and bought a white shirt by Raf Simons with fabulous navy flashings (‘Very architectural,’ Bruce MacBain, my personal architect said).

There’s where the trouble started and the entire Harris Tweed saga began to unfold.  But, first, before taking you on that terrifying roller-coaster, tomorrow I’m going to impart my pearls of wisdom re: the London frock scene – the look, the shops, the designers.

Interesting Carpet Treatment at Prada, Sloane Street

A Cluck at Martin Margiela, Not Bought by Me

Black Shoes from Prada Down by 50%

Champagne Cardy by Fabrizio del Carlo at The Library in Dishcloth Knit

Honey-beige Moleskin Slacks by Martin Margiela - Washable, Adaptable, Designer

'Architectural' White Shirt with Navy Flashings by Raf Simons

'Opal' Shirt by Jil Sander - Tiny Lavender Tinge