On Monday, I took a substantial step towards adulthood.

On Thursday, a leap.

On Friday, a big springing step.

And by Christmas, I should be there.

I vowed at the start of the autumn, as in fact I did last autumn, that by the end of the year, I would have a wardrobe as opposed to the student buckling clothing rail of shame. (O yes! Don't think I'm pleased with this dishevelled arrangement of mine. I'm just inexorably lazy. Or more accurately, almost insurmountably disinterested.)

As December looked set to rather carelessly roll around again, I thought I should take action. I asked a friend if she could drive me around wardrobe shops on the only Saturday in December that I was free. She could not.

The plan almost collapsed.

But I was bold. I forged on.

On Monday, I sprang from a taxi on my return from a meeting and flung myself into a nearby secondhand shop to which I've developed an inexplicable attachment. Two ugly wardrobes jostled for my attention near the door. (For this particular shop is less a carefully laid out selector's paradise and more a wild quagmire of Things. Old pictures heaped, chairs tangled, dressing tables, mirrors mirrors mirrors stuffed in every available space, some nice desks, a fireplace, a dressing table, eight pink velvet and gold chairs strewn, some waist high wooden soldiers. It's like Home Street. Except they're trying to sell stuff. And they don't have the moth problem.

I prowled through the thin gap between the doorway and the back of the shop, knowing that if I did not purchase today, I would not purchase.

And there. At the back. Tucked behind chairs, pictures and a coat rack. A wardrobe that was not ugly! For this was my main criteria. Better yet, given the spectacular absence in my flat currently, the door boasted quite a long mirror. Huzzah!

I hastened to The Man, terrified it was bought. But no. He issued a tape measure. I measured. I took his phone number. (For purchase purposes.) I departed.

On Tuesday, I did not dare to measure the space for fear of disappointment.

On Wednesday, I steeled myself. I measured. It seemed it might fit.

On Thursday, I phoned.

And this morning, it was hauled up the staircase stairs by two perspiring fellows, one with a long (hair) tail, one in a boilersuit. "This would be a lovely blond colour if you stripped it down" said The Tail, sweating and panting. Clearly not realising that it has exhausted all of my interior design interest getting it there in the first place.

Attentive readers will note that I don't expect to reach fully-fledged adulthood for a few weeks yet. For my wardrobe is not yet in full working order. It lacks - I know it almost beggars belief - a rail. So I must sort this out before I become a real grown person.

But as a glorious sign of what is to come, as I skipped (adult-ly) into work, I collected an email informing me that I'd won a tea towel. And my heart sang.

Welcome to (almost) adulthood.