Warmth, light and green tree branches that reach out to caress the heads of political hopefuls as they travel over hill and dale on open-top campaign buses. It came only mean one thing: summer – that glorious Albion summer where people suddenly burst out onto the pavements outside public houses and fathers dash to Argos to locate foot pumps for the inflatable paddling pool.

Yet, the blossom of fashion grows ripe in the heat. For the conscious, the look of now is the look of tomorrow, the look of the past or the look of, maybe, nowhere. For 'nowhere', that unattainable place, denotes the residence of the immaculate. How can we chase that which is so perfect, so precisely a manifestation of the elixir of personality?

We can but try.

Modish
» Chickens
» Setting your hair in rollers
» Caramac vodka
» Men wearing trousers rolled up to the calf
» Plants
» The languid, slightly androgynous, Rivera look . . .
» . . . featuring turbans and things that billow

Drifting
» Cameo brooches
» Liquid eyeliner
» Taking charge of minor situations
» Borges Scrabble
» Variations on pottage

Slipping
» Drainpipes
» Tortured writers, living off Liquorice pin wheels
» Ray Gelato

Ostracised
» Wooden horses
» Anything resembling a tattoo
» White shoes
» Claiming telephones dilute your etheric force field
» Russian Monopoly TM

Defunct
» Nudity
» Cardigans
» Style magazines
» Miniskirts – on men and women
» Having pubic hair digitally added to your torso in all your cinematic fight scenes