All colours of the rainbow

It was a glorious day in May, the birds were singing and the sunlight cast dappled light through the trees onto the narrow lanes.

I reached a little park close to the church and sat under a tree on the river’s edge. It was very romantic (if you closed your ears to the din from the treacherous road behind).

Looking across the road I spied such a pretty top, made from feathers and flowers, in the window of a shop.

I wanted that top, so not really paying that much attention to anything else other than this floaty, feathery number I opened the door and sauntered in, money burning a hole in my pocket.

I asked the lady behind the counter if I could buy top from the window and she smiled and began to disrobe the mannequin, which on closer inspection looked quite pale and eerie.

In fact, on even closer scrutiny I saw two more mannequins either side of this one... clothed in eye-popping rubber garments.

Shocked, I sucked my breath in. This was not the sort of shop a delicate flower like me should be in, so I took just a little look.

The first room was chock-full of fancy dress items. Think tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor. In neoprene.

The second room (the lady was still taking my top off the mannequin and I had time to kill) boasted a host of amazing shoes and boots for women with really big feet.

The shop was sort of like a labyrinth, with one room leading to another, each one slightly more risqué than the last.

In the third room shelves were lined with items in bags and boxes that I really couldn’t figure out what they were intended for and I was already too puce to have a really good gawp.

Finally, my very tame peacock-feathered top was on the desk and I went up to pay.

On the desk there was a ring binder file and I idly flipped over the top, only to find scores of A4 photographs of what looked like local people modelling a variety of gimpy garments.

The thing was, the pictures weren’t softly focused, glossy or dimly lit, nor were professional models used.

The pictures looked like vaguely familiar people, posing under strip lights in front of a Polaroid-toting amateur.

I stopped before I found a neighbour or two.

“This is a very lovely top,” said the lady.

“It will suit you. Come back soon.”

Speechless, I fled.

The news that Jennifer’s in Ringwood is shortly to be sold brought the episode back to me. I still have that top – well, as the lady herself said, it is lovely.

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