P.P.S.D.*

I'm officially a sufferer!

Six days after the official opening of the Oxford St Primark and the ensuing riots, I decided things would have settled down a bit in there, so yesterday I made my first pilgrimage.

Boy was I wrong! Big time! It's still Easter Holidays innit? The shop which is huge, was packed to the gills with perhaps the widest cross-section of humanity I have ever witnessed. Gangs of feral children clutching their huge baskets full of 50p necklaces and nasty looking socks, very chic looking fashionistas clutching their Fendi Spy bags close to their bodies as some kind of armour, groups of pilgrims from all over the UK come to pay homage to the great God of bargains, and most tragic of all a gaggle of bemused boyfriends who looked totally shell-shocked at the whole thing.

As an addict myself I can totally understand what drove everyone (apart from the poor boyfriends) to enter Marble Arch's very own Valhalla, the adrenaline rush was amazing! I had this huge grin on my face the whole time I was in there. It was better than a fat, juicy line of coke! Mind you it has been a while since I had one of those so could be my memory playing tricks on me there.

There were some amazing items to be had, the £20 maxi dress I saw several girls trying on there and then in the shop. I was tempted to pick one up myself but realised that should I actually wear it anywhere there was bound to be a gazillion other women in the same thing.

There was an aged leather jacket in light brown for £45 that almost had me, as did the electric blue oversized parka for £15. In the end I resisted them all in favour of a cute little printed cotton top for £6. The queue to pay was huge but even that didn't phase me as it would in any other shop. You know, there's an urban myth that the casinos in Las Vegas pump oxygen into the rooms to keep people alert so that they continue gambling? Well I think Primark are doing the same damn thing! It really does embody everything I hate about shopping, crowds, unable to find your size cos there's no system at all, long queues, urgh! In Primark tho, none of it matters...this is Disneyland for the fashion addict.

Clutching my little brown paper bag and exiting into the bright sunshine, I notice that crash barriers have been erected outside the entrances and really hulky security guards are in place restricting entry. Wow it feels like I was just in the most exclusive club in the world...and I got in on the guest list!

Having sorted out the bank's cock-up with my finances on Tuesday, my wallet was yearning for more exposure, so I dashed off to Uniqlo and bought just about the most unsuitable thing a 46 year old woman can buy - a pair of skinny jeans!!!!!!!

I'm a long way off a size 0 and a long way past 21, both pre-requisites for wearing the aforementioned item, but I was so overwhelmed when I looked at myself in the changing room mirrors that I just had to have em. Not quite the bargain basement price of Primark, they did have a fiver off, so I handed over the cash, reminiscing about the last time I wore jeans this figure hugging. It was 1977 and I was 16 and in those days we called em drainpipes. You couldn't even buy them at that point, but a bit of nifty work with the sewing maching and a pair of flares were quickly adapted. I used to wear em with my red jelly sandals and a shirt of my dad's that I'd dyed shocking pink ... hmmmmm it was the early days of punk and there weren't any shops in Preston that sold anything remotely resembling Seditionaries' stuff. That's my excuse anyway.

Could be that I've just always had dodgy fashion sense tho eh? Oh well at least the little top looks ok. I think I'll wear it for my gig at the Comedy Cafe tonight...just don't tell anyone it came from P*****k ok?

* Post-Primark Stress Disorder