The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2813 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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The train seemed inexorably slow but parking in London is both difficult and expensive, whereas the train is slow and expensive. I yawned, it was only half past seven we were supposed to be there at eight thirty, a quick breakfast and off to the shops. Stella went and got us some coffee and came back with a small pack of custard creams—my favourite cream biscuit, no danger they’ll survive more than a couple of minutes.

“What sort of thing are you looking for?”

“Dunno, the Duchess of Cambridge can get away with stuff from Topshop or Next, but I have to go to some overpriced boutique in case someone else has the same dress.”

“Yeah. But I’ll bet the security service goes round arresting anyone who bought the dress before Kate wears it.”

“Why can’t they do that for me, it’d be cheaper than spending megabucks on something I probably won’t wear twice.”

“You could wear it to the university do as well, that would halve the cost of each wearing.”

“It will probably be over the top for a dinner in the sticks.”

“No it won’t, I’ll use my infallible taste to make sure you get something that is both amazing and ordinary.”

“I think that might be a contradiction somehow, but if we’re buying Gucci I want them to leave the label on it so everyone knows I didn’t buy it from Poundland.”

“Like the badge on your Barbour?”

“Don’t have one now, it fell off, I have a dormouse one I got from the RSPB.”

“That would a good name for a company that made sleepwear.”

“I won’t stop you using it, providing you pay me the royalties,” I joked.

“In acorns, okay.” Damn, Stella was more awake than I was despite the coffee.

We took a taxi to a little place she knows for breakfast. The shops don’t open too early for the upper crust, in case they were up all night partying—the chance would be a fine thing—no it wouldn’t, I’d rather be home in bed in my winceyette jammies.

Breakfast was delicious, we had bacon and eggs with mushrooms, tomatoes and toast. Even the tea I had was good and I drank my share of the pot, making sure I used the loo before we went.

It was breezy with rain in the air but nothing to make you wet, it was just unpleasant. By half past nine we were ringing the bell on the top of the door of the first shop, in Kensington, not on the high street but a little side street. I noticed that nothing had any prices on them and it seemed they only carried designer labels, top of the range variety.

Instead of asking my size they measured me—they don’t do that in British Home Stores—unless you ask. As the tape measure was being draped about my body, Stella was in deep conversation with what appeared to be the owner of the shop. Their voices were hushed but the way they kept looking at me, I could imagine saying, “Poor girl, doesn’t get out much but needs a posh party frock.”

Eventually half a dozen were selected and I was led to a changing cubicle as big as my bathroom. The assistant who’d measured me stayed and helped me change—I was so glad I’d worn a tidy bra and pants which matched and the knickers were the ones which M&S claim don’t have any VPL. Even so the bra had to come off and on with a plunge one which sort of doubled my assets and I’m not exactly short of them since breast feeding, mind you did droop more than they used to—gravity I suppose, bloody Isaac Newton. Still, it showed they were real rather than plastic.

The first dress was a no-no, it was almost like silver foil and I looked something like the turkey will wear on Christmas day. The second was a blue colour but it wasn’t very comfortable and I rejected it. Next was a red dress which fitted rather well but meant I’d either have to graze rather than tuck into my dinner or show everyone that I’d got a belly to match my boobs. “You could always get one of those tummy controller girdle things,” hissed Stella as I walked around holding my breath and my tummy in.

“No way,” I said moments before I was handed one and told to put it on. Why did I comply, it felt like I was wearing a tight rubber band that started just below my breasts and ended above my groin.

“We have one with control briefs as well if modom is interested.”

This was bad enough, if I needed to go for a pee wearing the briefs thing, I’d never get them down in time, let alone back up again. I have a sports bra at home which I only wear when I can’t find the other one. It has a broad elastic band at the bottom and it has a habit of rolling up as you try to get it on or worse get it off. If the fan belt in the car went, I’m sure it would do just as well.

The red was certainly a possible as I had a pashmina at home which would match it quite well. Stella had other ideas and before I could say no, black silk jacket was pulled up my arms and overlapped at the front. I suppose it would keep the frost off my nipples if it got cold. At least it wasn’t a mink stole—that I would have refused.

The red dress was ankle length and the one following it was a shorter LBD with a sort of deep cowl on it. I shook my head and it was removed. I refused to try on a gold lycra thing, saying. “If I wanted to wear lycra I’d use my cycling kit.” The horrified looks I got rewarded my rebellion, Minnie the Minx eat your heart out. I always associated more with her than Desperate Dan, but mum wouldn’t let me buy a red and blue striped sweater and blue beret with a red pom on the top.

The rest of the morning we wandered from boutique to boutique and I was really fed up by lunchtime and said so. A light lunch pacified me somewhat and I agreed to one more shop. We took a cab to it, Stella promising all the way that she’d kept the best until last. Why? I almost felt like dashing into Debenhams and buying the first thing that fit me.

We alighted outside a shop which seemed closed. Stella rang a doorbell three times and eventually, a middle-aged woman answered it. She greeted Stella like a long lost friend and me with a cursory handshake. “Phew, I was relieved to see you’re still in business, Rosemary.”

“Stella, I’m supposed to be semi-retired but I’m busier than ever. What are you looking for?”

Before Stella could respond I interjected, “Might I see what you have?”

Despite Stella nearly having a tantrum when I took the initiative, the dresses were exquisite and I fell in love with one which had a silk underdress over which was a gauze thin silk populated with poppies and bluebells, the latter round the hems of the base and the cuffs.

I refused to look at another, it fit like a glove, the underdress part, the gauzy bit was quite floaty. I also bought a red long coat to wear over it. I’d team it with cream sandals I had and a small bag.

It cost over a thousand pounds but I was happy with my purchase. “You’ve developed your own style haven’t you?” remarked my sister in law as we journeyed home on the train.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it was meant as a compliment.”

“From you, Stella, that is praise indeed.”