Call the fashion police

There is one part of my life that isn't extraordinarily busy - thank god - and that's my social life. I don't really have one. Staying in is the new going out. Has been for a while actually. Except that last night I threw caution to the wind and actually left the village. Shock.

It was a friend's birthday and it happened to coincide with a special ladies shopping evening at the House of Fraser in Reading. It was an invitation only thing where you go along in the evening, have champagne and nibbles, listen to the Dior make up team tell you how you could look 20 years younger if you spend about £1 million on their products, followed by a talk on how to wear this year's fashions if you're a normal person with an oversized gut/butt/chest etc. You then get to browse the store after its normal closing hours.

Ordinarily I would have been very excited about this. I am clueless in the fashion department and need all the help I can get (although recently I have made some headway on the skin regime front given that my 36 years are making themselves quite prominently visible on my face. The saying shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted springs to mind...) However, right about now fashion isn't high on my list of priorities.

For a start, I have no money. Every last penny I have (which isn't many) is dedicated to the sailing fund. My clothing requirements have also changed. Last weekend, while in the Isle of Wight, instead of buying a maxi dress and strappy sandals in preparation for summer, I bought £60 worth of thermal underwear. As you do.

Normally I'd love nothing more than a couple of hours to browse clothes without small childen pulling things off hangers and opening dressing room doors to reveal my flab to passersby. But last night shopping had lost its gloss. There is absolutely no point looking when you can't buy. All it does is depress you. It makes you realise how utterly 'off trend' your existing wardrobe is and what's worse, how little you actually care.

When I got to the shoe department (most women's idea of heaven, my personal hell) I actually laughed out loud at some of the ludricous heels they expect people to walk in. Sure you'll look great while you're standing still holding onto something, but not so fab the minute you try to walk unaided.

So after a cursory look around, my friend and I left, without a single purchase. At least now I know that I can expect to see lots of lime green and orange this year and that for my colouring I should attempt to wear it. That you should never wear mid-calve length anything, that Oasis makes good jeans and Coast does good shrugs. Patterns are in. Fine. As are harem pants. Not fine.

Best of all though, one of the biggest trends for 2009 is the nautical look. So I reckon I'm going to be bang up to date with real nautical authenticity. Hooray! I am fashionable after all.

Empty bins and face painting. So quite a good day really

Today was a good day for many reasons. Firstly, the absolutely rubbish recycling company that the not-very-intelligent West Berkshire council selected to pick up our recycling stuff (as part of their new, improved going green initiative), finally managed to pluck their heads out of their butts and collected our stuff. Hoo-bloody-rah! We haven't had it collected since the end of May. Four calls to the council later and finally, our recycling bins are empty again. Just as well as my efforts to be green were going seriously off the rails. However, I can now dutifully wash out the sticky peanut butter jar again. Lucky me.

I also had a remarkably successful day at work. There are some days when the term 'fannying about' springs to mind when you work at home on your own with just the snack cupboard for company. But today was not one of those. I powered through a mountain of stuff, had a number of press clamouring for a client story with very little effort on my part, got asked by a REALLY, REALLY, REALLY BIG company if I'd like to be considered in their search for a new PR agency (yes please but also oh shit) and feel as though I am finally starting to feel as though I might be able to make some money to pay to Sainsburys soon.

What's more, today I tried my hand at face painting. I'm not particularly good with my hands. Which is why I leave doing the edging of walls when painting to my husband, the cutting of our children's hair to my husband, the sewing of name badges on clothes to my husband and indeed the making of our wedding programmes many moons ago, to my husband. Yet, in the privacy of my home with no-one to laugh at me, I painted my children's faces. One was spiderman. One was a tiger. Admittedly, spiderman looked like he had been mauled by the tiger, but my customers were happy. And now I feel virtuous and in need of a shiny good mother badge.

My children ate their vegetables and actually chose fresh fruit for their pudding. They managed to bath without soaking the entire bathroom. And by the sounds of it, have actually gone to sleep without asking for a drink, another soft toy, a bowl of cereal, a song, a book or to do a poo.

I should celebrate this glorious day with a bottle of champagne. Except that I do have to work tomorrow and I'm not supposed to drink during the week (although ever since husband has been away, I've been slightly less strict on this particular rule). And I need to iron. My ironing pile is a teetering, wobbling mess that will collapse into chaos any second now. And ironing and alcohol are not brilliant bed fellows. Not unless scorch marks are in fashion. But perhaps a glass won't hurt...