Personal Shopper

Admittedly it was a long time ago, but I did once live in Paris. I was a beer drinker at the time so wonderful French wines did not enter my radar until many years later. However, I do consider that I learnt a little about style and the art of dressing during my years there, and it has served me well over the years. Nowadays I live in what I hopefully describe as 'casual clothing' i.e. tracksuit or jeans, because I don't even have time to grab a cup of tea before I hit the morning traffic in the mad dash to get to primary school. All this driven by a fear of having to ring some loud doorbell and cause my daughter to suffer from a complex unheard of in my day because she has arrived late for junior infants. Once we get there I am usually to be found lumbering to the classroom gawking slack-jawed at the mothers who appear in co-ordinated 'school run' casual, with full make-up and jewellery. However, a bit of earwigging usually reveals that it is the au pair who gets the children from the bed to the car clutching their healthily filled lunchboxes, while mummy takes her time to sip a freshly made smoothie and apply lipstick.

The years since the arrival of the children have gradually eroded my ability to select an outfit for a night out for several reasons. There are of course the inevitable changes that occur to the body. Damn you Madonna, Demi, Elle, Marcia et al for fooling me into thinking that it was possible for older women to have children and still manage to get back to the shape I was in my 20s. Believe me it doesn't happen to exhausted, genuinely desperate housewives who struggle to get their faces cleaned and teeth brushed before dashing to the supermarket to buy a pack of nappies when baby is down to the last one. That's before I get onto the face, and the hair. Who's that? It can't be me. It is - just avoid looking in the mirror. Then there's the losing touch - not only with fashion which falls way down the list, but current events. Mention something major that happened in the last week and I'll greet it with a blank look. Plane crash? Well, I have been playing with the farm set and singing nursery rhymes all day. Blank look turns to horror, mixed with just the smallest amount of pity.

So with a big event looming, a gala dinner for a group of lawyers at Carton House, hosted by the firm where Mr Q spends more time than is reasonable, I bit the bullet and booked an appointment with a personal shopper at a large department store. My expectations were of a perfectly coiffed, perfectly made-up superior type who would select 2 or 3 classic outfits following extensive discussion of my requirements. What I got was a fashionable youngster, who after the briefest question and answer session - the promised analysis of shape and colour preferences didn't materialise - shot off to scour the store for a cocktail dress. There followed an hour of 'it's not me' or 'I would never wear that' or 'I'm not even going to try that on'. We got there in the end.

So would I recommend the experience? Only if you already have an idea of what suits you, and only if you're prepared to treat your personal shopper as the lady who runs around the store grabbing clothes for you to either accept or reject. Aah, the benefit of age and experience.

And what does this have to with wine? Well, I'd place a hefty bet on a fine Bordeaux being served with red meat and I look forward to giving a full report.