Wednesday 4^th November 2009

I’m just about to board for Oxford, for the Ashmolean opening. Mustn’t forget my invitation. Essential for admission.  I haven’t been to Ford in years, not since the days of my great friendship with Paul Taylor, theatre critic of the Independent as was – there’s an outstanding personality who ought to be commemorated.

Now my waxed jeans.  I did a terrible thing.

I know it’s a loose thread and you’ve all been waiting to hear the end of it. To remind: the problem. In August I bought at H Nicks a pair of black waxed jeans by Lindeberg.  £90. Completely adore them but what to do, what to do about washing? Suppose, through washing, the waxed aspect ceases? Think about getting another, identical back-up pair. But no, too boring. See at Zara some brown waxed – perfect, different colour, a real addition to the wardrobe etc. Must have the sheen. It’s new, it’s exciting, it’s this season. But, but, but, none in my size. Meanwhile, lurking in the background are some brown waxed by Diesel at one hundred and ninety pounds. I had formed but not executed a plan to try these on and find fault with them – always a good approach with what you can’t or shouldn’t afford.

So, it is Saturday 16^th October. The following week I’m to be in Madrid with the Gay Mother.  If I leave it any longer, vultures will have picked clean all shelves of every pair of brown waxed. All the branches of Zara to be covered that day in search of …  Well, it’s getting late. Nearly 4pm. Mottram expected for dinner. I’ve tried King’s Road branch, Oxford Street, Regent Street. Am at Westfield Shopping Centre, Shepherd’s Bush, miles from home, way off course. Nothing there either. Actually not even a shop. I have to phone to White City.  Zara in Whiteley’s Centre absolute last chance. Get them on the phone. Yes, they’ve got a pair in my size!  I roar off, pound into the shop, barely able to speak, crash into the changing room.

You won’t believe it. They don’t fit. Too tight on the waist.  Although my size. Also, too baggy in the front. Get into a total muddle. Maybe I should try a bigger size. But they haven’t got bigger size, which would be even more baggy, wouldn’t they? What if I go to another branch, try bigger size but still want these ones, that don’t fit? I come back to Whiteley’s and they’re gone! Prospect of no waxed jeans at all opening up. Unthinkable. Creeping thought starts creeping – only £35, might get to like them more, have it in cash, can’t be any harm, maybe somehow they will stretch and shrink.

There I am, out on the street, with the bag. I have a little interlude at Whole Foods in Kensington High Street. Buy sea-bass filets for £12.92. That over, I vow to return home. With perhaps, just a little tiny diversion to H. Nicks, where the Diesel brown waxed are, at £190. Really should try them, just to be quite sure they’re not right. It’s a duty, really.

So, to H.Nicks. Pound downstairs, straight to exact spot of Diesel brown waxed jeans. Thoughts starting to veer. Maybe, with a little bit of creative accounting, if I count it as pre-spending on my January sale clothes budget… but surely they will be horrid.

Well, they’re not horrid. They fit perfectly. I writhe in the changing booth. But probably not enough. It’s so wicked. I will surely rot in hell. How reckless! On the other hand, you only live once….I should be bolder in my spending. Caution has always held me back. What would the Multis do?  If I pay £100 in cash, somehow it won’t count. And get the whole thing over with as fast as possible…

That’s it. That’s the story of the brown waxed jeans. Now I must dash up and clamber into Diesel heaven for the Ashmolean opening – except, I’ve just remembered, the invitation says, ‘Dress: cocktail’. What on earth does that mean?