I removed a post about being down because, well, it was a bit of a downer, though it was also about feeling better. Anyway, that was the gist of it, I was down and feel better, thanks to the miracles of modern science. (And help from lovely friends and family). One of the things about feeling down is not wanting to do anything, not eat, not sleep, not work, not go out, and most bizarrely for me, not shop.
I know I'm better because my appetite is back with a bang. Food, food, lovely food. Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Biscuits at work. Going out for a beautiful Chinese with Sarah. Beigels with smoked salmon and cream cheese, Bellinis with peach juice at my parents’ house. Welcome back, appetite.
And because of shopping madness this afternoon. I'm wondering if these pills have actually done more than their job description and made me a bit giddy and manic. I've just had a classic 'doh!' moment and came out guilty but giggling after this experience.
Having found a bit more money in my account than I thought there was, having lived off instant noodles and toast for the last month or so, I went to look for some work clothes (more on that later, maybe). Going to get something businesslike and professional looking.
But a new Spanish shop, Custo Barcelona, has opened in the shopping centre. I used to go into the branch when I lived in Barcelona and stroke the clothes but be too poor to buy them.
They are sometimes very bright and over the top, and sometimes exquisite. The shop in Westfield is underoccupied and three charming Spaniards look wistfully at customers passing by on their way to John Lewis. I thought I'd go in and stroke the clothes for old times' sake. Then, they look so pleased to have someone to serve, why not, I think I'll try on some dresses. They are on sale, and I get an armful. The tall male assistant runs around getting me the right sizes.
The dresses are all crazy hectic colours, with clashing prints in luxurious fabrics. They are all utterly magnificent, and I feel great in them. They're not really what you'd wear for work. Fuck it, I'm going to get two of them. Yes. Two.
But when I go to pay and he tells me the price, the blood rushes to my head in shock. I realise that the Spaniards have written the pound sign after the numbers, as you do when you are writing prices in euros. So what I thought was a £68 dress was in fact an £89 dress. But we've had such a nice chat I don't feel like I can call a halt to things now.
So after not shopping for months I have just spent £200 on two dresses. That I didn't mean to. By accident.
Must confess, it was a rush.