Fit For A Queen, Natch

I should tell you that the company that presently appears to be employing me solely to sit on the net all day chatting to friends is largely populated by ex-public schoolboys. And girls from Essex. What never ceases to surprise me is how sheep-like each group are in relation to their peers where is comes to appearance. All of the girls seem to consider wearing a hot pink blouse with a black skirt to be utterly acceptable. Have they not been paying attention to Trinny and Susannah; bold colours with black just make you look cheap. Well, cheaper. The guys on the other hand all have floppy hair, and take no chances with the choice of suit/shirt/tie. It's massive pinstripes (rolls eyes), with blue or white shirts and navy ties.

Hence today I am soliciting a large number of stares. No, dear reader, I haven't turned up in my hot pink blouse. It's in the cleaners. Instead I'm wearing a lemon yellow shirt, which I've teamed with... wait for it... a lime green tie. Yes, I know what you're thinking, but honestly it does seem to work, even if it was an accident. No really, it does. Stop that sniggering! Even "The Gay Who Is Terribly Good With Colours... etc" was stopped dead in his tracks this morning and had to begrudgingly say "Hmmm, ok, I'm getting it" before flouncing off looking perturbed. He's not used to the competition in the style stakes and rushed off to buy something floral to match with his striped shirt. Probably. He will of course turn up tomorrow wearing a hat at a jaunty angle and a ra-ra skirt, but I intend not to be outdone. There's an enormous mad woman down my road with an outrageous nipple-flashing Laura Ashley dress which I'm sure she'd lend me for the price of the walnut off my whip. Lord knows she tries to talk to me every morning when I walk past (for she's always careering about outside like an untethered inflatable art installation), and the look in her eye always suggests she's ready to drop the dress at the mearest hint of eye contact.