Some talk of breasts, also of pies.

Yesterday evening I went to Bravissimo in Covent Garden. Which is the place where all the bras and the bikinis for the likes of me live. I bought another bikini, so that now I have two. The new one is exactly the same shape and style as the other one, but with thick and bright yellow, orange, pink and white stripes instead of being turquoise.

It is also constructed of two triangles and some string.

I tried it on last night (a little drunk, but I do find that's the preferred state to be in whilst viewing oneself in an outfit the surface area of which would leave a handkerchief-maker casting around for extra scraps) and silently dedicated my first born child to the woman whose idea Bravissimo was. For women like me, small of back but big of hooter, it's a lifesaver. I remember being fifteen, and my Mum taking me to Rigby and Peller (a very posh corsetiere next to Harrods) where we bought a couple of dinner plate-esque granny bras with straps the size of my arms, and a horrible bikini for £85. Which is a lot of money. Particularly considering that it had little sail boats on it and was too big around my back so it always rode up. Also the bottoms were massive, had elastic around the waist and made me feel about fifty. Expensive, horrible, and very depressing. Those days, however, are thankfully gone, and I no longer have to traipse around forlornly attired in something so nasty that it felt tantamount to having a big sign above my head saying "Fat And Ugly: Please Throw Stones".

I am very excited about my impending holiday, but I feel totally uninspired on the what-to-write-in-my-blog front. Also a couple of people have been a little rude to me today, which has upset me a bit. I hate having to accept blame for things that aren't my fault, and even though I know that it is just easy to take frustration out on me, I feel demeaned and humiliated by it. That's all a bit vague, but I don't really want to be dooced, particularly just before I go on holiday.

My little sister is coming back from Paris today for the weekend, and she's coming over to my flat. We will have fun! Cheap fun! Have fun like paupers! I think that means poking rats with sticks, which I feel I could totally get into.

It's sunny in London today. I am trying to be in a sunny mood but I feel that I am struggling with it slightly. I feel like I want to eat lots of pies, shout at someone and then be hugged lots and told I'm pretty. Which sounds suspiciously like hormones, to me. Which makes it ok, and therefore I am off to shout at the pie shop man, eat all his pies and then plaintively ask him for a hug.