Yesterday, I visited a friend in hospital. The guy at reception told me I'd have to put on an apron, gloves, and a mask before I entered my friend's room.
I shook the plastic apron out from its box. Wellington Hospital didn't obviously have a stylist. "But I'm so used to Dior." I pouted. "And Versace."
The guy said he would be my own personal stylist. He helped me slip on the gloves, do up the apron and adjust the mask.
Everything was white. Oh, well, I would just have to carry the colour off. After all, we were in summer, and they say white is always right.
My ill friend is a true fashionista. I was wearing the one designer dress I possess, a newly-bought Trelise Cooper that I'd found at a charity shop. I knew my friend would love to see it.
But obviously, because of the hospital's dress rules, my friend could hardly make out what I was wearing.
So, I did a naughty thing. I strip-teased out of the Wellington Hospital white ensemble. And paraded up and down the private room in my Trelise Cooper outfit, keeping well away from my friend so as I wouldn't breathe any bad germs upon her. As required, my friend oohed and aahed happily.
My mask and apron were back on and the gloves draped daintily up my wrists when I re-emerged to reception.
"Your friend didn't mind the hospital outfit?" the guy asked me. There was a twinkle in his eyes. "Even though it wasn't the latest up-to-the-minute style?"
"Oh, my friend didn't mind one bit," I said, merrily. I peeled off Wellington Hospital's pretence at fashion and threw it all in the nearest bin.
Truly, the hopsital must obtain the services of a new designer. Someone who's not afraid of colour. Or sequins.\
When J and I arrived at the beach today, it was very low tide. And, this time, we managed to walk all the way out to the buoy, without being submerged or having to do any swimming. We lifted up the buoy triumphantly and waved it above the water. One more challenge down.