Junction emerges on left

 A lady wearing a road-sign.

Motorways, I find, often contain entertaining traffic advice, the sort that makes you drive into the forecourt of Ikea seventy-six times.  Clearly this is Asos' little homage to a proud British tradition - one of exposing as much flesh as possible to an Arctic January wind outside Walkabout, the fabric providing amusing directions to various avenues of dissipation.


Thank the Lord that little piece of fabric covers a collar-bone.  Otherwise the wearer would look a bit, you know, loose.

Asos, £40.

Not so much a fail as a desperate plea

What all the staff at Topshop are wearing.


£46 - or free if you decide to run, utterly distrait, from the building.

Off the Rictus Scale

So handy to have the seismograph chart from the Poulton earthquake on a dress, don't you think?  A reminder, if any were needed, of how the earth moved for you after all that fracking.  Or didn't, in this case.  And certainly there is no prospect of any tectonic activity if you go out wearing this.

Topshop, £32.

If you see this whizzing over a rooftop, I'm sure the Gazette will appreciate a call

Why, you could paste two of these together, insert sherbet, and have your very own Flying Saucer!  Although it'll be enormous and made of wool, which is a good deal less appetising.

And it's not very appetising right now, is it, unless you're a very, very old lady playing bowls?

£22, River Island, in a rather brusque attempt to elbow Damart aside.

What you wear if you live on an estate. Not that kind of estate.

Comes complete with five or six pungent spaniels and a number of unpleasant political opinions.

Just 95 of your English pounds at Oasis.  How terribly non-U to mention money.

This amount of acrylic will definitely need the Remington Fuzz-Away ®

It's fancy dress week over at Asos - why not come dressed as a harpy?  Swoop low enough in this and you can sweep all the vol-au-vents off the buffet.



Asos, £102, a distinctly unmythical and unromantic price for this amount of knitted glarg.  At least it fastens right up to the neck.

Holy chintz!

Once upon a time skirts like this were usually to be found on the more conservative rails of Marks and Spencer.  They were generally favoured by vicars' wives, who wore them with a toning sweatshirt, the collar of their pink Airtex shirt jauntily folded over the neck.  The comparative youthfulness of the sweatshirt gave them automatic seniority running the youth club, while the skirt reassured the verger that Mrs Vicar was perfectly capable of turning out a good scone, thank you very much.

Quite why there has been some sort of Christian revival at Miss Selfridge is an investigation beyond the purview of this blog.  You can be quite sure I won't be putting £32 in the collection plate, though.

PS  Many vicars' wives saw sense at last (or saw Grease) and ran off, leather-clad, with burly truckers, while the vicar, freed from the shackles of marriage, took up cottaging in earnest.