Fred Butler (courtesy of Maia Adams, Adorn Blog) So, it's heading our way really quickly. London Fashion Week. The very best Fashion Week of them all in my humble opinion. Alive, buzzing, risk-taking, reverberating, fresh and all with an audacious wink of its eye. Fred Butler (courtesy of Maia Adams, Adorn Blog)Yet for all of the excitement it is accompanied by a shameful wrenching of the very guts of me...What to wear. Nay, how to walk into a forum full of exceedingly young, terribly beautiful girls, all dressed to kill, all dazzling. When I feel I am just an older, curvier, mostly invisible woman. Yet, when I am there, after all of the agonising, I walk into the courtyard at Somerset House and my anguish is gone in a microsecon..

My Mum is fond of telling the story of when I was a little girl. The one where all the other girls loved pretty dolls and I only ever wanted toy cars. And to climb trees. And to have terribly big adventures. I still love cars (and now get to drive them- too fast probably) and I still lust after owning the highest of high tree house. One where I can pull the rope ladder up after me and leave the world behind (until I get hungry anyway). And I'm wondering if this is where it all started, my love for things tough. The Parka rather than the Princess Coat. The Biker Boots as opposed to the Mary Janes. The Little Lacey Dress, yes, but worn with my Doc Martens. For me there's nothing more appealing than a bit of girliness worn with big toug..