FASHION POLICE INVADE BOURNEMOUTH BEDROOMS

No matter how clean & tidy I leave our home, with Missy Midriff I never know what to expect upon my return. Take yesterday. I waltzed in from work to a total bombsite. Black rubbish bags everywhere, clothes strewn in piles in the hallway. "What's going on?" I enquired of the skinny, sweaty waif who is my daughter.

"I am tidying my room. Can't you see that?"

It wasn't immediately obvious, no. "With a little extra effort, perhaps you could accomplish that without messing up the rest of the flat … or is that too radical a suggestion?"

"Well sorreeeey, I didn't realise you needed the hallway for a sudden delegation of Hawaiian hypnotherapists. I didn't think you'd mind me putting my rubbish outside my room until I could get rid of it. Anyway you were at work."

"Yes, but I'm back now and, however unreasonably, I'd like to be able to get through the door without sinking into a swamp of puffed up black bags. PVC isn't my thing - well not this week. Anyway, when exactly were you planning to get rid of it?"

"I've phoned Cancer Research and they can collect it next Tuesday."

That's more than a week away. "What's in these bags?"

"Just some old clothes." She said, a little too quickly.

I opened one bag & pulled out a designer jacket. "But I only bought you this last month."

"Like I said, they're old clothes. That jacket is soooooooo last season!"

"What do you mean last season? I keep my clothes for years."

"Oh don't YOU start giving me fashion advice. You could do with a visit from the fashion police yourself."

A visit from whom? Missy Midriff IS the fashion police. At 14 years old, she knows what can be worn with what and which colours may never be seen together. The restrictions are endless.

"You must never wear more than two textures together." She tells me.

"Terrific. By your reckoning I can't wear a bra, knickers and tights together - let alone a skirt and blouse! At least there are some clothes still IN my wardrobe."

Missy Midriff's cupboard is bare. "I've cleared out the old to make way for the new".

"Fine, but who do you think is going to pay for the new? Coz it sure as hell ain't ME".

"I dunno what your problem is. You should be happy. You have the day off tomorrow, & I have to work."

My first day off since Christmas, about to be spent clearing up Missy's mess.

Bless her belly-button, she pitied me & used the one sure way to cheer me up … Food.

"Since I'm working now", she said "I'll treat you to lunch tomorrow. You can meet me at work at one."

Yes! That's what I like to hear! Missy with the money!

We sat in the window of the restaurant. "How can he wear stripes and spots?" I wouldn't be seen DEAD in that! Why is it only people with no sense of balance that wear high heels?" Missy was in her element. It gave her such an appetite, too. The passers by played up a treat. I'd have paid megaBecs for such entertainment. "Did you hear that?" Missy shrieked, "They're SINGING!" Singing on a Monday morning is absurd. By lunchtime it is beyond the bounds of sanity. We could fill the wards of the local loony bin with this lot.

"That kid on the skateboard is going to crash! Watch out Mr Policeman. Whoops! & that old lady." Dominoes down Old Christchurch Road, and I don't mean a Pizza place.

When the bill arrived Missy Midriff's memory faded fast. She looked at me expectantly. I hadn't the heart to remind her that this was her treat. "Are you going to pay half?" I suggested.

She cleared her throat. "Ahem. Sorry?" A convenient moment to lose all comprehension of the English language.

I kept it simple the second time. "Pay your share."

After some cajoling, she agreed to a 50/50 split. £10 came out of my purse and some coins sprung forth from hers. Well it was a start, & I was looking forward to an afternoon all to myself. . I sauntered home slowly. The rubbish bags were still there. I heaved them into the boot of my car and drove to the Charity shop. I was still unloading when my mobile phone rang. "Hello Mum? You've got to help me. I feel so ill."

"Aw, poor baby, what's the matter?"

"I've got such a headache. You're right, I AM allergic to milk." (She did eat two bowls of ice-cream at lunchtime). "It's a major migraine, Mum. Would you come in here and take over reception so I can go home and rest?"

Some day off!!! Cursing Missy Midriff, I rushed home and changed into a smart, crisp suit with matching telephone voice. I should have eaten the ice cream - I might have ended up with a migraine but at least I could have spent the afternoon in bed!

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