Uniformly Black

Today I went to Norwich to shop for my new Snape togs ready for my debut on Sunday. I bought a black cashmere polo neck sweater and some soft-soled shoes to go with my gorgeous new black trousers. We're meant to be invisible and silent once the concerts start, in case we need to attend to an emergency or something. I look like a black panther. All I need now is a lovely new face and I'll be laughing. John Lewis as usual came up with the above goods, but I think their lingerie department has gone downhill of late. I decided to visit M & S for some new bras. What a palaver! I've never seen so much choice. As usual I headed straight for nursing bras, closely followed by sports bras when I realised my mistake. And then I drifted around the aisles in a bewildered state. There were, just off the top of my head, Minimisers - guaranteed to make you look a whole cup size smaller; Plunge bras, Padded, Underwired, Padded and Underwired, Post-Surgery, Soft Shape, Balcony, Smoothing, Strapless, Full Cup - I could go on but I've forgotten the rest. What to choose?

I grabbed a handful and took them to the fitting room. On a whim I asked if there was anyone who could measure me, and despite an appointment system a fitter was free. Your lucky day, said the nice lady with the viciously dyed black hair - not a great look for the older woman. In with me came Eleanor, hiding in a sort of outer cubicle as I stripped off to my bra at her direction, and then emerging to wrap a tape measure around me. M & S clearly have a no-touch no-look policy when it comes to breasts. Not like Rigby & Peller who can barely keep their hands off your mammaries. Nothing I had selected pleased Eleanor. She returned with an armful for me to try. Calmly she adjusted each one, but still she was not satisfied. I have an odd dip between my boobs apparently which makes fitting tricky. Finally, triumph! Yes, she said, I'll be happy to let you buy those.

I took them to the pay desk, and there was my black-haired friend on the till. "How did you get on Mrs Laing?" she asked. I told her I was thrilled and amazed at Eleanor's advice, that I thought I was a 36B but am really a 34C. She said most women who came to be fitted wore the wrong sized bras. "We see all sorts of horrors," she confided, laughing. "It's a real eye opener." I'll bet. And I'm sure I added to their store of anecdotes this afternoon.