Well, that's torn it...

I have to apologise for the lack of blogging lately - especially to Anna who has been asking where I've been.

I'd love to say that I've been so busy planning my wedding to George Clooney / Ewan McGregor / anyone who'll have me that I haven't had a chance to update, but that would be a blatant lie; so I can only say sorry and blame my lengthy commute for stealing my time in the evenings when I should be writing.

On the plus side - apart from complete essentials - my shopping has been non-existent. Well, apart from the 'work trouser emergency' caused by over-enthusiastic leaping into the car at the end of the day and my lovely linen deciding that the strain was too much for its delicate weave.

Buttock exposure is all very well if you're Lady Gaga but in my line of work, it might be slightly frowned upon during a morning meeting, even if you are wearing rather lovely lingerie.

I had no choice but to replace my torn trews; however, instead of my usual hoovering up of Hobbs, Jaeger or Whistles for that perfect pair of black trousers, I headed for H & M.

The pair I picked up there may have had a zero less on the price tag but you know what? They're still black, they're still linen, they're still perfect for work and my rump isn't being revealed, so I'd say that was money well spent.

Transport Trauma

Transport is a touchy subject with me...

In an ideal world I see myself stepping out of a plush vehicle in my car-to-bar heels and tottering a few feet to my destination (or better still, being carried by Ewan McGregor).

In reality, we own a battered VW Golf that earned its latest dent courtesy of one of the poles that hold up the pet awning at the House of Bruar and a little reckless reversing on Kevin’s part.

But working in the City Centre means huge daily parking charges, which is why the car rarely ventures into the office with me and why I ditched our second car and invested in a scooter at the start of my year of not shopping.

There is nothing like free parking to turn you into a smug commuter, but when your little scooter hasn’t turned a wheel since last September and appears to have fallen into some kind of scooter coma, there is nothing for it but to take public transport.

I’m a big fan of the train, but the station is a little too far for me to walk to right now, so I’ve opted for the bus, which practically delivers me door to door.

I’m not a big fan of the bus.

Yes, it enables me to wear my car-to-bar heels, but in Glasgow where inclement weather means permanently steamed up windows, I am constantly panicking that I’ve gone past my destination and will end up at the other side of the country, walking miles in shoes that were only ever destined to travel a few feet.

Also, it’s incredibly expensive! I’ve worked out that it’s costing me nearly £100 a month to take the bus in and out of work, whereas the same amount of journeys on the scooter costs around £40. Needless to say, the mechanic has been called and the scooter will be getting kick-started back to life at the earliest opportunity.

My recovering lung might be a little alarmed about returning to two wheeled travel but my wallet is breathing a big sigh of relief!