I went shopping the other day ( I wanted a couple of plain black t-shirts - baggyish, short sleeved, cotton, ideal for wearing with jeans i.e my summer wardrobe ...and my winter wardrobe ... spring, autumn ... you get the picture). I chose the Wilmslow branch as it was on the way home, jeepers, that was a mistake.

Rich people might not be thinner, but they look thinner don't they (the only exception is Elton John for whom their is no help - not even plastic surgery), anyway rich people wear nice clothes and have nice hair and nice skin and, well, I don't know, they just look better. I caught a reflection of myself in a mirror and immediately wanted to run for the door. The reflections you don't plan for are the ones that mess you up - stand in front of a mirror in a changing room and you pose don't you - you suck it in, tilt your chin up, turn yourself carefully (you don't want to catch yourself unawares in the other mirrors do you? Big fat mistake). Catch a glimpse of yourself in a shop window or car mirror and you briefly wonder who that old, grey, chubby chops is.

I didn't run for the door - I tracked the t-shirts down and after a bit of trial and error made my purchase - two black, short sleeved t-shirts in size 20. Bugger. Apparently baggy-ish t-shirts are not allowed in M&S land- you have to wear them as tight as a bandage or buy them in sizes that require taking scissors to the label.... just in case. I hate tight clothes ( and they hate me right back) - tubby, apple-shaped ladies like myself can't even indulge in the fantasy that we are voluptuous - pear shapes can get away with that, with their overspilling breasts, neat waists and massive booty. Apples are just stout and chubby.

Anyway shopping is marginally less fun than listening to Girls Aloud.