Head BAM

Hooray! Our first contribution to the Chemo Chic Project.

BAM Bamboo Beanie - review by Sue Mercer

Since losing my hair I have tried a lot of different headwear. At first I wore 
scarves and practiced with tying different styles but I always had the nagging 
fear that the scarf would come undone and I would be unawarely walking 
around with a half-exposed bald head - not a good look. After a while I learned 
to be bald and proud and had no difficulty in walking around with a bare head  
- especially in the summer when the warmth of the sun felt particularly 
sensuous and healing. However there remained a fear of being 'caught out' 
unsuccessfully trying to conceal something deemed socially unacceptable. I 
likened it to a time in Bangladesh when I had gone out wearing a very 
modest, long pashmina, wrapped around me like a skirt, only to catch it on a 
wing mirror and end up standing in the crowded street desperately trying to 
conceal my legs amidst assorted children, cattle, amputee bands and 
rickshaw drivers whilst my teenage son accused me of turning it into a circus. 
However, I digress ... 


I tried a couple of beanie hats that were ok, in that they stayed on my head, 
but I always thought that they made me look vaguely like a channel swimmer 
and I am someone who can swim without getting her hair wet anyway. 
Ordinary hats were not suitable at all; my head had strangely shrunk since 
losing my hair, so the hats tended to fall down over my eyes. 


Now the BAM is cool! It's more generous than a regular beanie. It looks stylish 
and I can dress it up with a fancy pin. I would actually go so far as to say it is 
elegant - certainly not a word I would use to describe a regular beanie. Mine is 
a lovely grey colour and well made. It is double layered and stretchy. I can pull 
it down over my eyebrows if they are looking particularly werewolfy (no-one 
ever told me that when your eyebrows grow back they can grow a little curly 
and in my case with white stripes) and it still looks good. It's generous enough 
to be able to turn up the brim or pull up at a jaunty angle that I like to think 
looks very 1930s movie star. 


The hat is made in Turkey of 68% bamboo, 28% cotton and a bit of stretchy 
elastane. Bamboo is a natural fibre that does not damage the environment 
and most importantly does not add any toxic chemicals to my delicate head. It 
is very soft and warm and does not make my head feel stifled. 


Mine is a lovely grey colour. I am very pleased with my BAM beanie and will 
be keeping it to wear even when my hair comes back. 

Sue Mercer was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia in December 2010.  She underwent three rounds of chemotherapy and then went on a 3 week healing retreat at Hippocrates Health Institute, Florida before having a bone marrow transplant on July 1st 2011.  She is now recovering well.

Editor's note: The BAM Bamboo Beanie is now on sale at only £7.50

Top Chemo Glamour Tips

At first, you may feel that you want to decline every social invitation. And that is perfectly fine. You are ill and you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.

Cancer really knocked my confidence. I shied away from groups of people, particularly people that I didn’t know. At first I was nervous to go out. Would my turban slip off in the middle of dinner? Would people snigger at my wig? Would I suddenly throw up all over the floor? Would I find myself feeling exhausted and be unable to get home easily?

These are real considerations. Little by little I learned how to pace myself and handle daily challenges. My confidence grew. One day I realised that I was ready to go to a party. But I needed the right outfit, one that would be comfortable yet glamorous, an outfit that would say “here is a self-posessed, stylish woman,” not “Hey! Look at that poor cancer victim”

Here are some tips:

If you’ve had surgery your body image has probably suffered. Forget about the Dolce & Gabana corset dress. Choose something loose and drapey that uses beading or sequins to catch the eye. Think palazzo pants with a silk shirt or a beaded jersey dress. Chikara creates stylish asymmetric clothing that go a long way to disguising uneven boobs.  A long silk kaftan will cut a dash a black-tie event.

Chemotherapy can cause sore feet. Patent leather, jewelled or satin pumps are every bit as glamorous as six-inch stilettos.

A silk or velvet turban is an absolute showstopper. Glam it up with a glittering brooch.

Keep the spotlight on your face and neck by wearing dramatic lipstick and chandelier earrings.

And remember: if you feel ill or tired or overwhelmed you can simply leave. Nobody will think you’re being rude.

More Great Chrissie Pressies

There’s nothing snugglier than a cashmere hat from Brora. 

A Bold Beanies cotton beanie is great for wearing under a thicker hat on cold winter nights.

Layer the beanie with a super warm sheepskin hood by Fuudluxe.

If your friend is having chemo she may be finding shoes and even slippers rather painful to wear. A pair of Couverture duvet socks will keep her tootsies warm around the house. 

Cashmere socks from Me & Em are lovely for wearing in bed or on the couch.

No woman can have too many scarves, especially if she’s bald. Me & Em do a dotty cashmere gauze scarf that is ideal for chemo heads. It is long enough to make into a decent turban, non-slippy and super warm. 

Zara have a striking floral print wool scarf that will glam up a simple outfit. 

Or push the boat out and buy her a vintage Hermès scarf, a gift that will become an heirloom.


Books

Anti Cancer – A New Way of Life by Dr David Servan-Schreiber. This is the definitive anti-cancer lifestyle book. Dr Servan-Schreiber presents clear, practical suggestions on what to do and what not to do to maximise one’s chances of remaining cancer-free. His advice is backed up by excellent research. I wish I’d read it twenty years ago - but then again, he only wrote it in 2007.

Your Life in Your Hands by Professor Jane Plant. A thoroughly researched book about the factors that promote breast cancer – and how best to minimise them in our lives.

Breast Cancer - Taking Control by Professor John Boyages, MD, PhD. This is a comprehensive guide to every aspect of breast cancer. It provides information about all the different types of treatments in clear language with loads of illustrations. It's and empowering book that gives all the information we need to make informed choices about our own cancer journey.

Keep it Simple

A couple of days ago I was talking about stylish clothing designed for women who’ve had a mastectomy. There’s Chikara and, um... that’s it.

Like I said, some of us have a lumpectomy, some a quadrantectomy, some a mastectomy. Some of us have reconstructive surgery some do not. Some of us become fatter. Some of us waste away to x-rays.

During and after cancer treatments one’s body becomes a strange new land. I experienced baldness, sickness, weight gain, weight loss, weakness, fatigue, ulcers and dry skin. One of my breasts got bigger – and then it got smaller. I still feel uncomfortable in bras.

As a consequence I lost confidence in every aspect of myself. My mental and emotional underpinnings developed large cracks. My spiritual beliefs were shaken. My self-image was devastated. Before BC I was slim, sexy, fit and full of it. I had a wardrobe stuffed with figure hugging dresses by Vivienne Westwood, Diane von Furstenberg and Yves St Laurent in which I would shimmy about on the slightest provocation. I still do. Have them, that is - but I no longer wear them. Those gorgeous garments just hang off my skinny frame like damp dishrags.

In an effort to fatten up I have started eating Spiru-Tein a ‘high protein energy supplement’ made from rice protein, pea protein and soya. Let’s hope it helps. Other women I have spoken to bemoan the extra pounds they have piled on as a result of taking Tamoxifen.

Whichever way you cut it, breast cancer catapults one into a time of sartorial turmoil. What I want now in is a pared down wardrobe of simple, flattering - but not revealing - clothes that I can wear every day and dress up or down with belts and jewellery.

If you’re dreaming along the same lines, here’s a tip: Studio Nicholson are showing a preview of their Spring/Summer 2011 collection this Thursday - and taking orders at wholesale prices!

The Studio Nicholson look is understated. Androgynous chic. Designer Nick Wakeman has put together a range of garments that are easy to wear with confidence, no matter what one’s body happens to be doing today.

Studio Nicholson Spring/Summer Preview is at Guesthouse West, 163-165 Westbourne Grove, Notting Hill, W11 2RS on Thursday 21^st October from 5p.m. until 9p.m.

Storm in a B Cup

Sometimes when writing this blog I fret that I am not covering all the issues from every angle. Breast cancer is a diverse disease. The type, grade and stage of your tumour will dictate the treatments and choices available to you. I have realised that I can only write Chemo Chic from my own perspective. What I love is raising discussions. If you have anything at all to say about any of the things that I write about I encourage you to use the comments sections to get stuck in.

You will recall that when I was diagnosed I was given a choice. I chose not to have a mastectomy. Instead I opted for a wide local excision or quadrantectomy with latissimus dorsi flap reconstruction. I had to weigh it up. A mastectomy would have meant losing my breast completely. Having no breast means there is no chance of the tumour returning in that breast. The quadrantectomy meant that I got to keep most of my breast and not have a silicone implant in my body. But now I will have to be monitored forevermore.

As it has turned out I’ve developed an ongoing seroma in my back as a result of the LD flap reconstruction. It is unusual and could not have been foreseen. As far as I understand, any surgery may give rise to complications. I feel content with my decision.

And that’s my point. With the advice of our consultants and the experience of others we reach a decision that we can personally live with. Some women have to have a mastectomy because of the size of their tumour. Some women choose a mastectomy, or even a double mastectomy because they just want to totally minimise the chance of the tumour recurring. Some women are advised against immediate reconstruction. Some choose never to have reconstructive surgery. We’re all different.

In recent months I have noticed that my right breast is now much smaller than the left (reconstructed) one. I broach the subject with Mr Hadjiminas. “Can’t you do anything to match this breast up with the other one?” Just in case you were wondering, I’m suggesting that maybe he could make the small breast bigger, not the other way around.

“What? No! It’s because you’ve lost so much weight. Eat more.” 


I already eat for England yet the kilos just fall away.

I can’t help feeling self-conscious about my odd breasts but under clothes it doesn’t really show. The same cannot be said for women who have had a mastectomy without reconstruction. For those women a substantially new wardrobe may be required.

From time to time I have looked at lingerie and clothing ranges designed specifically for those experiencing what is kindly termed ‘breast asymmetry’. With a few notable exceptions I think I can safely say that most of it falls into the category of “you wouldn’t wear it if you weren’t experiencing breast asymmetry”.

But today I discovered an American clothing line called Chikara. Don’t ask me what Chikara means. Designed specifically with ‘breast asymmetry’ in mind, the Chikara range uses clever ruffles, knots and layering to disguise the unevenness of one’s boobs. The clothes are stylish: simple and sculptural. I think any woman would love to wear them.

p.s. Here's some pretty good mastectomy swimwear...

Nicola Jane 50’s retro swimsuit

Nicola Jane bandeau bikini

Nicola Jane psychedelic one-piece

Woman Zone halter-neck bikini

Woman Zone cut-away one piece

Woman Zone panelled swimsuit

And one last thing...

Knitted breasts and other mad stuff on Etsy

The Accidental Shopper

To date, I have never entered Primark on Oxford Street. As I stroll past its gargantuan shop-front I am inexplicably sucked through the doors. Swept along in a torrent of tramping bodies I find myself funelled onto the escalator and spat out in the shoe department. The first thing that strikes me is the smell. We shoppers are immersed in an acrid chemical swirl of vapours emitted by thousands of pairs of synthetic and plastic shoes. The second thing that strikes me is the thousands of pairs of synthetic and plastic shoes, piled up indiscriminately on rack after rack glittering and winking at me. In a trance, I advance. My head drops and I commence the methodical treasure hunt.

Some incalculable time later I am at the end of a ginormous queue that snakes towards the distant bank of tills. Inching forward my mind begins to clear. Do I actually need a pair of acid yellow fake Birkenstocks? I detest Birkenstocks, even the real ones. And the sage grey studded pumps? They’re pure polypropylene. Surely they will make my feet sweat and stink throughout the summer months ahead? What about this lime green belt for only £1? Do I really believe that it might have been produced by a jolly well-fed labourer earning a fair wage?

I’ve got to get out of here.

I dump my cache on top of the three-pairs-for-£5 socks display and throw myself into the cascade of bodies heading onto the down escalator. “They always put something great just inside the front door,” I counsel myself, “don’t look.” Just at that moment my head swivels to the right. There I behold a slim jacket fashioned from a cloud of elegant, silver-grey lace. £13! Only a fool would pass it by.

A Bikini Frenzy

I must have a new bikini for my trip to Byron Bay. Yes, I know it will be covered up at all times by the body obliteraing rashie but it’s a confidence booster for me just to have it on. At least I can satisfy myself with the secret knowledge that there is a potentially desirable, if scarred, body lurking beneath the lycra. And you never know, maybe some gorgeous male person will invite me for a spot of night swimming.

I drive to the dreaded Westfield, Bondi Junction. This ghastly conglomeration of mediocrity long ago obliterated the local charm, not to mention the street layout, at the same time sucking the life-blood from all the small businesses in the adjoining neighbourhoods. Stepping out of the lift from the subterranean car park into the sanitized, muzak-wafting concourse I reflect that this must be what it is like to know the gentle oblivion of a frontal lobotomy. It’s Prozac purchasing for all.

But Samantha and I had seen a collection great bikinis here a couple of weeks ago. Or at least that is how have reinvented them in my mind’s eye. I make a beeline for Zimmerman, a middle-of the road boutique with a somewhat Max-Mara-ish flavour. After beelining up and down for fifteen minutes, realising that I must be on the wrong floor, or in the wrong tower, or in the wrong universe, I stumble through the doors of the shop. Sure enough, the fabled bikinis are there. And they are more or less how I remember them. Zimmerman have the sense to sell their bikini tops and bottoms as separates so one can mix and match styles, colours and sizes. I work through the rails with a forensic eye. “May I try these on?” I ask the sales girl as I hold about fifteen bikini bits aloft.

Now the process of elimination begins. The bandeau top is too flattening. The simple triangle too boring. Another draped style looks great on the hanger but the volume of fabric just overwhelms my boobs. A softly padded classic halter top is the winner. I discard the string-tie pants and the boy-shorts. A pair of Ursula Andress style hipsters balance the halter top perfectly. “Ok” I say at last to the very helpful sales girl, “I’d like these styles, size two in the bottoms and size one in the top, either in electric blue, watermelon pink, emerald green, pewter grey or midnight blue.” Off she scoots and returns with another armful of brightly coloured Spandex. But amongst all the many combinations, there is not one matching set in the correct sizes. After much hopeful trying on – maybe the size three pants with the size zero bra? – we both have to admit defeat. The sales assistant consults her stock computer. “We have a size two bottoms in our Paddington store,” she offers.

What am I waiting for? Twenty minutes later I march confidently into the Paddington Branch of Zimmerman. “I know exactly what I want,” I announce and describe the style and colour of the bikini that will make my life complete. “My name is Maria,” replies the sales assistant, “may I ask your name?” “It’s Lily,” I reply, slightly thrown off course. “Ok Lily. I’m sure I can help you. I will just go to the stock room.” Maria return shortly looking slightly abashed: “I’m afraid we don’t have the size two, even though the computer says we do.” Undeterred however she continues, “Would you like to try on some of these?” She dumps an armful of assorted bits of cozzies on the counter top. I’m exhausted with trying on so instead we lay them all out on the glass and try to make a matching set. It is soon apparent that my dream bikini does not exist in Zimmerman Paddington. “We can get one shipped in from another part of the country,” Maria says. “No! I need it today,” I reply. “You could try David Jones,” she suggests.

With the single-minded determination of the hardened addict I return to Westfield. Minutes later I am in the swimwear department of David Jones. But they have moved into winter collections. The bikini range is a dirge in black, brown, white and navy. Boring! I want sexy. I want drop dead. I want the bikini that is going to change my life.

I march through Westfield like a robot on speed, scanning and rejecting rail upon rail of swimwear: Seafolly; Cotton-On; Speedo. No. No. No.

At the far end of the mall lies the door to Myer. Now, if you don’t know, David Jones is a practical department store with pretensions of style, possibly John Lewis meets Harvey Nichols. Myer on the other hand is the Aussie equivalent of House of Fraser. By this time my hopes are pretty much dashed. I will try anything. I ride the escalator up. Myer’s swimwear department, it turns out, is an Aladdin’s treasure cave. Beautiful bikinis in jewel colours, leopard prints and sexy styles are piled up with gay abandon. Most of them are marked down to less that half price.

Back at Watson’s Bay Lyla and Lily are agog to see my purchase. I proudly hold up two bikinis. One is a padded halter style in a red-and-white Ikat print. The pants have a sash that ties at the hip. Very good for diverting the eye from any tummy wobbles. The other has a cute balconette bra in dark blue with a vivid print of large pink roses. “Would you like me to do a fashion show for you?’ I ask the girls.

Finery is for the Birds

“Of course you must consider,” ruminates Samantha, “that the clothes in Australia are shit. I mean,” she continues warmly, “you will have to learn to live without Topshop and Vivienne Westwood. You’ll stomp about like the style Queen of the Eastern Suburbs for a while. Then you’ll step down a notch or two. Finally you’ll just sink into being a slob like the rest of us.”

It’s true that I have worn nothing but thongs on my feet ever since I arrived in Sydney. Samantha and I stand silently on her sun-bathed balcony gazing out at a bushy parkland of Eucalypts, Banksia and Casurina trees across the narrow street. As I ponder the sartorial abyss that looms before me, a vibrant red and yellow flash tumbles into a nearby tree. It’s an Eastern Rosella. The bird settles, squawks loudly and jumps up and down with furious abandon shaking the slender branches.

I think I will manage.

Front Row Seats

In Samantha’s house live two lovely girls: Lyla, aged thirteen, and Lily, aged eleven. They are Samantha’s daughters, so of course they are both bright, funny and creative.

Tonight, for a select, private audience of two, the girls have arranged a special event: a fashion show. Lyla and Lily, along with their friend Charlotte, have spent all afternoon preparing.

Samantha and I take our seats. A pink satin runway stretches before us, the length of the living room. A boom-boom beat builds. The first model sashays out wearing a dramatic column of red silk wrapped from shoulder to ankle. Then, a pause, and a lot of whispering coming from backstage. The MC, Lily, makes an appearance. It seems that a vital garment has been misplaced. It seems that the show is on the brink of being cancelled. “No!” cries the audience. More whispers, followed by the sounds of a bedroom being dismembered. The top is unearthed. The show is back on.

What follows is fabulous entertainment. Splendid ensembles are modelled by the three swaggering girls, each one in turn striding forward, dropping her hip to pose for photographs and then turning on her heel.

Here are the highlights: a yellow PVC raincoat with a wide, waist-cinching white belt, worn with a white feather boa; a plum coloured velvet, embroidered top worn with a length of wine-red Shantung, wrapped as a skirt and fashioned into a bustle and train; and a purple ballet tutu worn as a poncho, teamed with a mini-skirt, rainbow over-the-knee socks and ballet pumps.

The Physics of Fashion

The countdown is on... Only six days until I depart for Sydney.

I’ve spent the last two hours folding clothes into four big plastic boxes. And yet my wardrobe is still bulging. Who can explain that?

Oh My God, It’s Nearly Christmas!

I have been consumed with the anticipation of finishing radiotherapy treatment today and then jetting off to the sunshine. I depart from Heathrow on Christmas Eve and arrive in Sydney on Boxing Day. Thus Christmas Day, for me, has been vaporised.

But not for you... I receive an email from Eleanor asking what she might give her breast cancer afflicted friend for Christmas.

Here are my top tips.

If your friend is having or is about to have chemotherapy she will probably lose her hair. A soft cotton or silk sleeping cap is a necessity both for catching falling hairs and for keeping her bald little head warm in the cold winter nights. Similarly, a cotton beanie is great for wearing around the house. If it’s freezing outside, she can don a cashmere hat over the top of the beanie.

Just because your friend has cancer doesn’t mean she can’t be drop-dead glamorous. Get her a velvet turban for topping off dramatic evening looks. If you want to splash out, an Hermès scarf is a gift that will be fabulous for a lifetime and then be handed down to her daughter.

Cancer treatments can be very drying to the skin. Here are three products that she will thank you for: Spiezia organic rose and vanilla face oil; enriched hand cream by Absolute Organics and organic foot softening balm by Saaf. I found myself keeping tubes of lip balm everywhere that I went - in my handbag, in the car and by the bed. Burt’s Bees do a three-pack of their lovely beeswax balms.

Your friend will be spending a lot of time lying on the couch. A pair of cashmere socks or a luxurious cashmere throw will make her feel more like a reclining princess that a languishing invalid. A subscription to Lovefilm is like giving a present every week.

There’s not much that you can do about the fact that everything she eats will taste revolting. But even at my most ill I could always manage to force down a bar of Green & Black’s Mint Chocolate. Alternatively, if your friend is of the 'all sugar is poisonous' camp then Sanchi Furikake Japanese Seasoning and Clearspring Ume Plum Seasoning are a couple of condiments that will lively up her brown rice.

What with feeling sick all the time and the thought of food being enough to turn one's stomach there are few pleasures left in life. Things that smell nice will give her a lift. Either a divine scented candle or a bottle of gorgeous Weleda bath milk is a sensory treat.

Reading trolley loads of cancer memoirs, cancer cures and cancer diets can be overwhelming, not to mention tedious. If your friend is the kind of person who likes to help herself there is one book that I would recommend: Your Life in Your Hands by Professor Jane Plant.

When your friend finally does haul her backside off the sofa, encourage her to go out dancing. To distract from the fact that she is bald a really bright lipstick and a pair of drop-dead chandelier earrings are in order.

If you're feeling super-indulgent, here are the most outstanding anti-cancer gifts that I have received. First, a Champion Juice Extractor (thank you Flossie). With this you friend will have life-giving, energising juice of the highest quality every day to keep her going. Add in a weekly organic fruit and veg box for good measure. And an aeroplane ticket (thank you Mr P), dated for two weeks after the end of her treatment will give her something to look forward to throughout her darkest days.

Finally, the best gift you can give is your friendship at a lonely and frightening time in her life. Make a commitment to visit once a week. Whilst you’re there make her a cup of anti-nausea ginger tea, cook her dinner, water the plants and take out the rubbish.

Fitness and The Uncertainty Principle

It’s a cinematic bonanza weekend. Last night Sheldon and I went to see the Coen Brothers’ latest, A Serious Man. It’s beautifully photographed and witty, a study of uncertainty... I think. As always with films that are unresolved at the end I didn’t know whether to throw a brick at the screen or simply “accept the mystery”. A Serious Man stylishly illustrates the fact that just about anything can happen at any time and generally does. That’s certainly been my experience. In my life I have travelled from pavement to penthouse and back several times over. I’ve been paralysed. Then made a full recovery. In a recent six-month period my cousin died, all my work was cancelled and I fell in love. Then one day I was diagnosed with cancer. When these things happen I often go out and buy a lottery ticket on the strength of it. I reckon the odds are about the same.

This morning Ted and I go down to the Electric Cinema to see a preview of Unmade Beds. I recommend this if you want to see a happy-go-lucky feel good film about making one’s own family out of the people that are in one’s life. Afterwards over tea Ted gives me a beauty tip. “Did you know,” he confides, “that hair conditioner and shaving foam are made of the same stuff?” I gape and look amazed. “So when you’re conditioning your hair you can just run your hands over your face and have a shave. It saves money” “Thanks Ted,” say I, “I’ll remember that.” I make a mental note to write a blog on Novel Ways to Economise.

My cousin Ben is back in London following a long stint making a movie in Liverpool. He invites me to lunch at the Westbourne pub with two old friends, Stanley and Inigo. I haven’t seen those two for some time. Stanley has made a healthy pile of money as a property developer whilst Inigo manages one of the hottest-of-the-moment female singing stars. Stanley and Inigo are ahead in the finance stakes but Ben is definitely the winner when it comes to fitness and trimness. I seem to be lagging behind on all counts but I’m a girl so I’m probably not considered to be a contender.

Inevitably, the conversation turns to how much older we all are now than we were twenty years ago. Inigo tells us that his health club is associated with his health insurance company. Every time he goes to the gym and swipes his card, his premium is reduced. “I joined that health club,” says Stanley, “after I didn’t go for two years I cancelled my direct debit. And then they took me to court!” “So,” interprets Ben, “you were sued for not paying for not going to the gym?” Apparently it is a fact that only thirty per-cent of gym memberships are active. Over lunch we decide that it would be a good idea if health clubs instituted a system whereby the more often one goes, the less one pays.

After a slap-up feast of oysters, roast chicken and apple crumble with custard I head to the couch for a little lie-down. Hours later my slumbers are disturbed by the ringing ‘phone. It’s Flossie. “Do you want to go to the Handwritten sample sale? Handwritten turns out to be the new venture from Tanya Sarne, founder of Ghost. “I’m just going there to get a top for twenty quid,” Flossie assures me. We zip up to Kensal Road and manage to barge in just as they are trying to lock the door. The clothes are along the lines of Ghost, crinkly viscose over-dyed in soft colours. But the designs are a lot fresher and funkier. Flossie marches up and down the racks with the air of a Field Marshal. “This will really suit you,” she tells me, holding up a backless dress. “I’m not buying anything,” I state. Flossie folds the dress over her arm. “And this is just what you need for Australia,” she enthuses, displaying a dark grey bias-cut top. “Hmmm,” I reply. “Just try it on!” commands Flossie.

Handwritten clothes are perfect if you are looking for easy, comfortable, feminine gear for lounging around in.* I should know. I just bought a backless dress and a bias-cut top. Flossie approaches the till with two dresses, two jackets and two tops. “That will be £250”, says the cashier. On the way out to the car Flossie hands me one of the dresses, a beautiful soft grey flowy number. “Happy Christmas” she says. “Come back to my place and we’ll have fish pie.” “No, I can’t eat any fish pie, I’ve just eaten a huge lunch,” I protest.

Over fish pie Flossie bemoans her figure and brings up the subject of the gym. “I joined Body Works West. I’ve been once this year,” she confesses. I gave up gyms long ago myself. I realised that they only serve to make one feel like a miserable failure. I do remember warning Flossie that this would happen when she signed up to that overpriced joint. But now is not the time to rub it in. I give her a sympathetic look. “I told you so,” I tell her.

*You can buy Handwritten at Liberty and Fenwick.