Guardian Girl

Dearest Olivia took me to Tesco’s to get the food shopping in last night and, upon setting eyes on the four-page list of ingredients I was supposed to buy, helped me reach the executive decision to give cookery a miss this week.

It’s the end of the pay period, I’m not exactly rolling in it and I’d rather buy electricity and phone credit than vine fruits and pudding basins. I apologise to my mum and dad for this because it means I probably won’t be turning up to either of their houses over Christmas bearing seasonal homebakery as I’d hoped.

Today my friend and now colleague Flavie accompanied me on a mini-reconnaissance through Primrose Hill to find a good taxi-hailing street where I could loiter, lumpen in my orthopedic footwear, and pretend to be glamorous despite it being pitifully clear that will be impossible for the next six weeks.

The outfit went down the pan because I couldn’t even bring myself to try on my pencil skirt with flats, let alone wear it to a new job, and then the accessorising fell by the wayside too.

Skirt suit

Law suit

We had to run away quickly because people started throwing coins at me. One of them implored me to please not spend the money on a good meal.

Conclusions:

• In the absence of recipe cookery I was able to buy a trolley-full of exciting fruit, veg, yoghurt and other healthy items I hardly ever get to eat. It’s the equivalent of how a normal person feels buying a load of cakes and pizzas.
• A few things ruining my chances of looking like a Hitchcock heroine this week: flat shoes, special boot, crutches, neon socks on crutches, too-low waistlines on clothes (cinching and flats have a difficult marriage), eighties tailoring, heavy fringe, lighting.