The mole people

I love watching people. Maybe that's why I don't get to go out much but we're an absolutely fascinating species. Here's the latest in my string of observations as I strive to be 'edgy'.

It's summertime and although the temperature sometimes drops into the range of a warm winter's day, there's been a bit more sunshine and blue sky. Enter sunglasses and skirts.

You can almost hear the whisper of the mass donning of sunshades across London as the sun eases out from behind a cloud and everything from Guccis and Prada to Mickey Mouse get whipped out of bags and briskly pushed into place. Yes, Londoners must need those shades after living in gloom for ten months, the sunlight burns I tell you.

Then there's the skirts. I haven't seen all that much denim, I'm assuming tiny denim skirts are for winter and flouncy peasant skirts for spring. It's a melange of frills and dreamy layers walking along High Street, accompanied by Monroe-esque shocks as vagrant gusts of wind tease and torment, much to the amusement of most things male.

But what I don't really get is with the debut of pretty skirts follows the airing of some of the ugliest shoes I've ever seen. Ugg boots don't go with anything and if you're going to get so sweetly dolled up, don't put on a pair of manly hobnailed sandals that an entire cow died to make. Most importantly though, get a pedicure - nine months is pointy boots does nothing for feet.

Okay I'm done being prissy. You see, I'll pretend I know some stuff about people and kooky fashion because I know little about movies, and, as it was kindly pointed out the other day, even less about football.

Otherwise I can feel my ass expand. I've been sitting here all day playing FM. My eyes are going to fall out.