It’s cold! It’s icy and it’s getting a bit boring now so here is a very funny story I came across which made me laugh anyway! Hope you enjoy it too!

We’re an hour into the stationary tail-back. The M40 snakes back through South Oxfordshire; an inert mass of cars filled with would-be shoppers. You know it’s bad when people start getting out of their cars, sitting on the hard shoulder with make-shift picnics and swapping numbers with the family in the Touran next to them. We haven’t done badly so far; forty-seven rounds of ‘three little monkeys jumping on the bed’, a box of raisins each and a bottle of water which has been rolling around the footwell for the last six months. I knew I’d left it there for a reason. The children are in surprisingly good spirits considering lunch is due any moment and we should by now have been at John Lewis enjoying an egg sandwich each.

Despite representations from the back seat, I pause the kids’ nursery rhyme CD to listen to the traffic update. I snap off the radio in disbelief and sit in stunned silence for a second or two. The entire motorway will be closed for another three hours, and we’re in it for the duration. Three hours! Three hours with three toddlers who need food, sleep, lashings of Calpol and a good few hours running around hitting each other, before they will consider it a satisfactory afternoon. I can facilitate none of those things. Not even the nap – damn Gina Ford and her black-out blinds. Why couldn’t I have been one of those mothers who let their children fall asleep anywhere? God I need the loo.

I think wildly of my options; surely they’ll give me priority, like the AA? I could use the hard shoulder, squeeze unobstrusively past the terrible accident at the front, and be on my way. Or maybe they’ll helicopter us out; you know, if it gets really bad and E does that air-raid-siren scream thing she does. Why didn’t I go to the loo before we left? I got in the car over an hour ago already needing a wee – you have no idea how much my bladder hurts now.

I look at the change bag lying innocently on the passenger seat beside me, the edge of a nappy poking out of the top. I couldn’t. Could I? Of course I couldn’t. I’m going to have to. I’ve given birth to twins. Twice. My pelvic floor struggles to make it up the stairs without minor leakage, it’s never going to manage three hours holding back several litres of morning tea. Decisively I pull out the nappy and open it. Hmm, this is going to be a logistical challenge. I’m wearing skinny jeans, I’m in the driver’s seat of a people-carrier and I’m cheek-by-jowl with hundreds of near-stationary vehicles all occupied by bored people looking around for entertainment. Well boy am I about to give it to them.

I loosen my seatbelt and surreptitiously unzip my jeans. I start to feed the nappy down the front of my knickers, whilst simultaneously clenching my pelvic floor to prevent myself weeing on my hand, and giving darting glances in every direction like a paranoid robin. No-one seems to be looking, but I can see a pick-up truck in my rear-view mirror which will have a birds-eye view if it gets any closer…

Once I’ve stuffed as much Pampers as possible down my pants I start to work a hand down the back of my trousers in an attempt to pull the nappy through to cover the critcial area. Oh my God I can’t believe I’m doing this; I’m actually sweating. Just as I grasp the edge of the nappy and start to pull it backwards, the queue of traffic starts to move. Oh holy fuck…. My right hand wedged down my jeans, I put the car into gear and move off one-handed. In the rearview mirror I see the white pick-up move into the lane next to me, which is going at a marginally faster snails-pace than my own. Oh shit shit shit…

My foot hovering over the brake pedal, I grasp the back of the nappy and yank it several times, giving a little jump in my seat each time I do so. The pick-up draws alongside me and the queue grinds to a halt again. I just manage to evacuate my hand from my bottom before the two guys in the truck glance over and smile. Are they smiling because they’re being friendly, or because they think I’m touching myself? For fun? In a traffic jam? Oh God please get me out of this. I really need to go… Oh God I’m just going to have to do it…

You know, it’s a funny thing, trying to pee in a place you’re not supposed to. No matter how desperate you are, there’s a piece of your brain frantically shouting, “what the hell are you doing – you can’t wee there!” I wriggle on my now-padded knickers, desperately trying to relax my muscles enough to relieve my aching bladder, but not wanting to at the same time. I’m trying to calculate the capacity of a nappy, based on the three or four hours of baby-wee it holds. Can it take an adult wee? What if it bursts? Oh God I really need to go…

I’ve got an idea; I won’t have a whole wee, I’ll just let out enough to take the pain away and stop me sweating. Then I’ll hold the rest in till we get off the motorway and I can find a loo. It’ll work. I feel better about it already and I smile gleefully back at the pick-up pair. The passenger smiles back and drops me a slow, sexy wink. Oh sweet Jesus, he’s flirting with me. He really wouldn’t be doing that if he knew what was in my pants. I snap my head back to face front and give in to my poor bursting bladder. Just a teeny bit… I reap the consequences of my Kegel-laziness as the entire contents of my bladder begin to empty into the nappy. I attempt to stem the flow with pathetically weak muscles, but it’s like trying to stop Niagra with a sieve. On and on it comes. I feel the seat frantically, expecting disaster to strike at any moment, but it seems to be holding. I think I’ve risen a couple of inches off the seat, but it’s okay – it’s going to be okay.

And so the last vestiges of my dignity disappear.

At a girls night supper last week we got into a hilarious conversation about the unintentional fashion errors we have made of late.  One of the girls went to a friend’s 40th wearing a beautiful turquoise halter neck, open backed sheer silk dress, feeling like the proverbial million dollars.  She sauntered in there, mingling amidst about 100 others, knowing her husband and a few other were having trouble keeping their eyes off her only to discover it wasn’t the dress that had them gawking, more the fact that her hold-it-all-in-apple-catcher-buy-a-size-smaller-knickers were showing some 4 inches above the opening at the back of her dress!!!! Not so sexy after all I think.

It reminded me of a time a friend grabbed a can of Femme Fresh in haste on the way out to a do, had a quick squirt up her dress and under her arms only to discover under the lights later she was covered in glitter and sparkling from head to foot like a 70’s disco ball.  Oh what a joy to find your daughters glitter party hair spray in your dressing table basket!!! Thank goodness no one could see up her dress, although good to know that she was dressed for a party under the ball gown too!!

For everyone, the fashion faux pas’ are a lifelong hazard.  I’ve known the girl who comes out of the ladies with her dress tucked oh so neatly into her pants, the one with loo paper trailing from an L K Bennett kitten heel and the one where the neon flashing lighting came on the dance floor and revealed her dress to be completely transparent, which meant everyone knew she was wearing either no knickers or the big comfy grey ones!!! My personal favourite and no name will be mentioned to preserve the secrets of my nearest and dearest, goes to a bout of over enthusiasm on a dance floor at a  ball and not realising that my friends “dance partner” right there on the floor at her feet were her own “chicken fillets”.  Oh, how we laughed – what else is there to do?!

There are thousands of us working Mums all looking at 7 weeks of our children at home and wondering what on earth are we going to do! Easter and Christmas are somehow manageable with a bit of help from family, a bit of paid for help and maybe a club or two but the summer holidays are a different ball game!

I have two gorgeous children aged 5 and 8. Never have I seen two more excited children at the prospect of breaking up this Friday. For me – the white knuckle ride is about to begin – I am now entering into one of my busiest periods of the year – my summer sale on the basically black site, the new autumn winter stock arriving, all the new seasons photography to be done in time for September and if that lot isn’t enough, the buying of my Spring Summer 2010 collection THIS August. It really is completely bonkers! Don’t get me wrong – I love what I do and I wouldnt change it for the world but the plate spinning really starts when the holidays do!

As the summer holidays approach, I can feel the panic rising! I see the children getting more and more excited at the prospect of not going to school and then I feel the pressure of how can I make their holidays everything they are expecting them to be. I have decide that the only way to approach this is by taking one week at a time. Of course, it will all get sorted – it always does! What else can one do? I went to a childrens party at the weekend and nearly all the working Mum’s there were in the same boat as me. It is quite a juggling act! Funnily enough, one Mum who was not working and has two younger children than the rest of us pointed out that she is looking at 7 weeks, with no nursery or time AWAY from her two children! I guess that is the other side of the coin! Whilst us working Mums are frantically juggling child care and trying desperately to squeeze in quality time with our children, others at home are going completely nuts and cant get away from their kids!

There is a balance there somewhere – its just a question of trying to find it!

When I launched basically black last year, I knew the school holidays would be tough but so far I have managed to strike a balance and make sure the children dont suffer. I guess I put more into what I do when I know the children are sorted out so that when I have them, I know I can relax and enjoy quality time with them.

I find talking to friends who are also working is a great help. It usually helps me to come up with ideas for the children that I may not have thought about or make me realise that what I am doing is ok and just the same juggling act they are all doing! The joys of being female hey! I dont hear many Dads fretting about the summer holidays! I wonder why??

1.  Think about all the shops you would love to visit to see what’s on offer in their sales.

2.  Remember back to the last time you went sale shopping and how stressful it was.

3.  Remember trawling through hundreds of crowding clothes rails desperately searching for your size and the let down of never finding it!

4.  Remember the hot, untidy, disorganised changing rooms and how sweaty they made you feel!

5.  Remember finding the most fantastic bargain which made your heart leap but realising, after a futile search, they don’t have your size!

6.  Remember the disgruntled sales staff who are loathing every minute of this godforsaken sale!

7.  Remember how you make a mental note every time you actually go sale shopping, never to do it again!

8.  So why go………………………?

9.  STAY AT HOME! Get yourself your most favourite, most relaxing alcholic drink……. sit down………. and switching on your computer.

10.  NOW start sale shopping!

NO SWEATING

NO CROWDS

NO DISGRUNTLED SALES STAFF

NO SMELLY CHANGING ROOMS

NO HASSEL

SHOP ONLINE! – undoubtably the most relaxed approach to sale shopping without going out your front door (or leaving your desk).

Did you see last week’s episode of Trinny and Susannah Undress the Nation? The dynamic duo had it in for black clothes this time, saying British women wear far too  much black, and that it’s time we stopped. Claiming that they were going to disprove the ‘myth’ that black is slimming and flattering, they took a woman who loves wearing black, and dressed her first in the most shapeless, baggy, sacklike black clothes they could find, and then in a neat little red dress that fitted her perfectly. Surprise, surprise, the red outfit was judged more flattering, but come on ladies, isn’t that cheating just a little bit? I’d totally agree that the black outfit they chose did nothing for their model, but the same thing in red or blue or yellow would have been just as bad, if not worse. If you really think black isn’t slimming or flattering, why not compare two identical outfits in red and black?

What made me laugh even more is that both Trinny and Susannah are often either photographed in the press or appear in their own shows wearing black themselves!
There is absolutely no denying that black is one of the most versatile, chic and flattering colours a woman can wear and that is precisely why we all do! It would have made a lot more sense if Trinny and Susannah had talked more about how to wear black clothes and how to team them up with colours and accessories that will create fabulous outfits.

Whether it’s a classic little black dress or the perfect pair of black trousers, I don’t know a single woman who wouldn’t put something black on the list of clothes that make her feel confident, stylish and yes, slimmer as well. So sorry, Trinny and Susannah, but I don’t think you’re going to banish black any time soon!

Audrey Hepburn’s dress…

One of the black Givenchy dresses made for Hepburn for the film, ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ was sold to an anonymous bidder for a whooping £467,200, far exceeding the £70,000 originally expected.

Yes. Audrey. Hepburn. Givenchy. Dress. £467,200.

That’s for one dress, not two. No freebies thrown in. Not even a copy of the film. Not even a little vial sample of Givenchy perfume.

Marilyn’s ‘Happy Birthday’ dress…

The cost fetched for Hepburn’s dress somewhat pales into the background when compared to how much was paid for the dress Marilyn Monroe wore when she sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to the then U.S. President, J.F Kennedy, at Madison Square Gardens in 1962.

At $1,267,500, Marilyn’s dress went into the Guinness Book of World Records as the most expensive garment ever sold.

A Kitty Hoodie…

Is there really anything to say about this that it’s not saying about itself?

I don’t know whether to laugh …or laugh.

It looks strange, cute and scary – like Batman with seee-rious identity issues.

Upon the sight of this hoodie, cats will run, dogs will whimper, and parking attendants shall quickly cross over to the other side of the road.

It’s definitely making a statement. No doubt about that.

Is that yo’ fat wallet or are ya jus’ happy ta see meh…

In 2007, a pair of traditional Austrian ‘Lederhosen’ (knee-length leather trousers) was sold for 85,000 euros to a German living in Dubai.
This pair was apparently made from wild red deer skin and studded with 166 gold-set diamonds.

Three cheers for Wohlmuther, the Austrian designer who created them – if he can charge that much for them and get away with it, then hurrah to the next rich chump that comes along.

Hamburger Baby…

The first step to being at one with a cheeseburger …is to be at one with a cheeseburger.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This baby looks way too cute in this outfit. He also looks a bit stuck where he is, like he’s thinking ‘I’ve gotta do some serious rocking back and forth so I can build up the momentum to get up.’

Too cute.

Diamond-encrusted Jeans…

The most expensive pair of jeans was launched at London Fashion Week back in February for a mere £640,000.

The ladies’ jeans – 27 inches at the waist (so only for skinny rich cows, then?) – is encrusted with 15 diamonds (each worth up to £135,000).

The first pair was bought by an ‘anonymous buyer’.

The diamonds are attached to each back pocket, so the wearer would have to be careful every time she used the ladies’ room. Can you imagine if one of those £135k babies fell in the loo??? Not funny.

(But funny)

Mobile phone belt clips…

Who do you think you are? John Wayne?

Oh….. you do.

Well, ah hate ta break t’ya, son, but chu ain’t ever gone be no cowboy. Not even with 3 mobile phones riding your waist.

And with the ear piece you have on, you look like a wanna-be Neo/wanna-be John Wayne/gotta-be-a-loser on Britain’s Got Talent.

Off. Off. Off. Off.

Disney ties…

It’s been *scientifically-proven that men who wear Disney ties were dropped on their heads as children. So, this particular fashion faux-pas IS NOT THEIR FAULT, PEOPLE. Blame Mother.

I’ve written a song for these special, special people:

When you see a guy in a Disney tie
Retract the ‘tut, tuts’, the rolling of the eyes.
Seek within for the love you can give
Paris. Hilton. Elvis. Quiff
(*kinda, sorta. They make great lovers, too.)

Too much make-up…

I can’t see your face, dah-ling. Where’s it gone? Somewhere over the rainbow, you say.

Ha. Very funny.
NOT.
Thanks to the Hansel & Gretel trail you leave in your wake, I know where you live.

Nice flat.

Football t-shirts…

This is obviously a cry for help. Or an invitation to cry along with him. Or both.

The only time you should ever wear a football t-shirt into work is ….well…never.

Not even then.

(p.s: wearing a footie tee under your work shirt is a big no-no, too. DON’T DO IT. Just don’t. I love you too much to KICK YOUR ASS. But I will. If I have to. For the greater good. Queen and Country.)

White socks…

White socks only suit Michael Jackson.
And look what happened to him.

I think there should be a new generation of technically buffed-up, fashion-conscious white socks that are able to scan what a person’s wearing. If the wearer has office drags on, they’d give off a high-pitched Celine Dion shrill. That should do the trick.

But pray, what if the sock offender is a Celine Dion fan?

Then, that’s two offences. Their punishment: her album played backwards. That’s enough to drive anyone crazy.

High-heels…

If a gorgeous pair of Jimmy Choos makes you feel 10 feet tall, then…erm…that’s because they DO make you feel 10 feet tall.

If your head’s touching the ceiling, like you’re in frikkin Alice in Wonderland, then LOSE THE SHOES, PRONTO.

Tone it down to 2-3 inches max. Any higher, then I suggest you join the circus as a stilt walker.

‘Off the mark’ colours…

My eyes, My eyes. I can’t see, Mama, I can’t see.

Uh, oh – it’s neon blue today. Where’s my sunglasses?

If a hot-pink work shirt or tie makes you look like a frikkin anaemic human firefly, then pur-lease put me out of my misery, pretend you’re a stripper and take it off NOW.

(Another damn trip to the optician’s thanks to you. You’re lucky my healthcare covers it. Grrr.)

Image Credits
(img credit: freeparking)
(img credit: cote)
(img credit: Mel B)
(img credit: BC Mom)
(img credit: Xenia Antunes)
(img credit: Katie Tegtmeyer )
(img credit: Malias)

If you thought finding clothes in the right colour and size was tricky enough, get ready for shopping to become altogether more complicated: within a couple of years, scientists say, we could be choosing clothes not just on what they look like, but for what they can do for us. Companies like Philips, Hewlett Packard and Casio are working on ‘wearable technology’, that can turn our clothes into computers, phones, music systems and more, so instead of toting gadgets around with us, we’ll simply wear them.
Want music while you walk? You’ll be able to buy a jacket with a built-in MP3 player. Like to keep in touch? Computer technology embedded into fabric means you could send emails from your coat, via a drop-down keyboard in the cuff. Special fibres could be used to produce clothes that’ll cool you down or warm you up, as required, while with sat nav built into your skirt, you need never get lost again. For the hypochondriacs among us, there’ll be clothing that constantly monitors your heart rate and blood pressure, while paranoid parents can dress the kids in T-shirts with tracking devices (no word yet on whether they’ll be available in adult sizes for straying spouses).
Scientists at Bristol University have even worked on a jacket that can be set to beam out information about the wearer to other people with the same garments, so if you’re eyeing up someone in a bar, for example, your jacket could tune into his and report back that he’s a model railway enthusiast who lives with his mum and sixteen cats. Which should streamline the dating process quite a bit.
It all sounds thrillingly futuristic and Star Trekky, but couldn’t they just have invented clothes that washed, dried and ironed themselves instead? Now that’s what I’d call technology.

Now we’re big fans of catwalk fashion, but you have to wonder sometimes about the designers creations. For every piece of cutting edge style that is unveiled, there also seems to be a equally revolting fashion disaster that leaves unfortunate witnesses shielding their eyes.

We have collected some of the more unfortunate sights ever to (dis)grace the worlds runways. – What were these people thinking?

Coming soon to a fashion store near you: a mirror that gives fashion advice. Yes, I know it sounds like something out of Harry Potter by way of Star Trek, but apparently this reflective replacement for the bored best friend already exists. Called the Magic Mirror, it works by reading tags in the clothes you try on. Stand in front of it in your potential new outfit, and, like your very own shiny, flat Trinny or Susannah, it’ll suggest the perfect accessories to complement the look, and point out where to find them in the store. Slightly disappointingly, it doesn’t actually speak, only displays its tips on a screen, but then again, do you really want to stand in a changing room filled with robotic voices shrilling ‘What that needs is a nice pair of black heels’?

If you’re not sure the colour’s really you, it’ll tell you what other shades the clothes come in. Got the wrong size? It’ll helpfully summon the right one, without taking ten minutes to finish a conversation about how it was, like, really annoyed when Natasha said that, then rolling its eyes and looking you up and down with the words ‘A 12? Yeah, right’ written all over its face. Which makes it one up on most Saturday girls.

 If you need a bit more feedback, it’s also now possible to send live video footage of yourself in your new outfit, through your changing room mirror and straight to the mobile of your best friend, partner or mum, and then to get their comments displayed on the screen. All very 21^st century, I’m sure, but given the chances of unwittingly zapping a shot of myself in a bikini straight to my boss or my bank, I think I’ll be sticking with a message from the mirror.

Have a look at this other article I found in the Daily Mail and see what other mirror marvels are coming to our stores!