My gawd. (As Mum would say.)

I'd forgotten quite how many of my disreputable old clothes had bee co-opted by the hashtag Forgive Us cast as morsels of costume.

It's like watching my teenage (and sad to say, much more recent) years rear up and offer me a catwalk show.

What a pinnacle and beacon of good taste I am.

Though my good taste endures.

I went to meet Siobhan for a coffee wearing the sweatshirt jackety thing I'd optistically bought for Johnny, forgetting how broad boys can be. It did not fit him so I'd quickly packed it away into my wardrobe. Wearing it that day, happily nostalgic, Siobhan said: "hmmm, it doesn't really suit you very well, that, does it? You'd be better to unzip it like (she demonstrated) this."

That's me told.