Tuesday, 23 April 2013


My man prefers stockings. And I prefer my man when he prefers me. So I prefer stockings. Call me old fashioned.

Today is Tuesday and I am currently limping across Ealing Common with one stocking threatening to fall down. The ‘hold-up’ part is not really…holding…

I try to look as untrolloplike as possible whilst hoiking up the offending hosiery by partly concealing myself from the commuter traffic behind a sycamore tree. Some dogs run past me. Oh yes, and the fair is in town. On the common. Next to me. So now I look like a gypsy trollop with hosiery trouble first thing in the morning behind a tree on the common. Super classy.

No one cares. No one is papping me from their Skoda and posting my wardrobe malfunction on facebook. Not even the bored looking suit clucking at his dogs takes notice. My ego finds this a slight sting - I like suits to notice. I’m just being honest. Nonetheless, the rest of me is grateful to be in the midst of this great city where no-one notices and no-one cares, so I hoik away and jog to the tube, grabbing Time Out to read after I have brazenly applied my makeup in front of the other Piccadilly line commuters. Did I mention that I kind of enjoy an audience?