Charity Abseil

If you’re in Exeter today why not pop along to the former Debenhams’ building in Sidwell Street and support Flo who’ll be doing an abseil to raise money for a local young persons’ charity. And as you watch her, being lowered to the ground in her green tabard, pause for a moment and think about her support network. What I mean is, think about me.

The entry fee was £20 and Flo had to raise a minimum of £70 sponsorship money to be able to participate. Step up Doris Brazil Ladies Wear. I paid half of her entry fee and donated the green tabard on the condition that the shop name was emblazoned across her chest. By rights Flo should be at work on what is our busiest day of the week but, ever the martyr, I have agreed to cover for her.

So, if you see what looks like a bundle of turf hanging seventy feet in the air, do shout some appropriate words of encouragement. And if you can think on, mention how nice her hair is looking; she is quite self-conscious about it after a disastrous visit to Hair Today Hair Tomorrow on the High Street.

Avocets on the Exe

Tomorrow, Flo and I will take a break from the madness that is the Doris Brazil Ladies Wear winter sale to take the RSPB Avocet Cruise on the River Exe.

Despite the near-arctic conditions we’re hoping to see some black-tailed godwits, red-breasted mergansers as well as the usual curlews, lapwings and brent geese.  The boat departs from Starcross, near Exeter, and we’ll be out on the water for almost four hours.

Flo and I joke about the Avocet Cruise being our equivalent of Royal Ascot in as much as we always try to outdo each other in the fashion stakes. Now it is January remember, and the Exe is hardly the Nile, but we always make an effort. If I tell you that last year I wore a three quarter length padded coat with a revere collar, princess seams and embroidery all in a pleasing peach Rayon, you’ll know what I mean. The aubergine culottes by Per Una were an unnecessary embellishment which went unnoticed; a skirt would have done. Hindsight is a great thing but, on reflection, I should have worn different shoes. I decided to showcase the new range of shoes that Doris Brazil Ladies Wear will be stocking  from February of this year. Coming from Serbian fashion house Cipele I knew they’d turn heads, but the combination of silver upper and teal laces was all wrong for the look I was trying to achieve. They also rubbed on the heel.

Last year Flo went  retro, opting for an all-in-one jumpsuit – she maintained it was a catsuit but it was nothing of the sort, not unless the cat in question was Bagpuss. I concede that the headband, à la Olivia Newton-John, was a nice touch.

When you work as hard as we do you also need to play hard and we find the Avocet Cruise is the perfect way of letting our hair down.

My weapon of choice – Christmas cards

Because I’ve been so busy I’ve only just got around to sorting out my Christmas cards. 50 assorted cards purchased from WH Smith in Exeter in the January sales. They cost me two pounds which, for the mathematically challenged amongst you, is 4p per card.

One might describe the quality as, varied. The landscape-format cards refuse to stand up under their own pitiful weight but they are perfectly adequate when suspended from a string. The portrait-format cards will blow over if you so much as sigh at the state of the British economy, but they have a little more structural strength. Some of the cards have glitter and these are reserved for my very best friends. I always make a point of picking out the card with the most glitter for my best friend Flo. This year her card shows a traditional, almost Dickensian scene with a coach and horses approaching a quaint-looking inn. Its roof is laden with glittery snow but, judging by the orange glow from the mullioned windows, a warm welcome awaits the weary passengers.

It’s the first thing I do, rummage through the box and count up the glittery cards. If I find five I’m a happy bunny because I have five close friends who I know, season of goodwill or not, will compare ‘notes’.

About 30 of the cards are what I’d call ‘fair to middling’: more snowy scenes, robin red breasts in various avian poses, nothing especially inspiring. Inside, the verses are a perfect companion for the artwork being accordingly joyless and lacklustre. When it comes to the contractual obligation of the trading of Christmas cards these  do just fine.

The last fifteen or so cards in the box are reserved either for those people I dislike or else have irked me over the last twelve months. Courtesy of W.H. Smith revenge usually takes the form of a dripping wax candle or a poodle with bloodshot eyes. It’s as though the card-makers’ creative juices had run dry and they could barely muster the energy to make even the most tenuous link with Christmas. If these cards have verses they tend toward the dismissively abrupt, “Season’s Greetings” and the like. This suits me just fine.

Of course I receive my fair share of cards with crucifix close-ups and tacky baubles but I understand the rules of engagement. What we doing is marking each other’s Christmas cards, so to speak.