“What if I look like mutton dressed as sheep?” I ask the lissom sales girl. It’s a  legitimate question: I’m trying on a frock in attention-seeking scarlet. Actually, it’s more a shade of watermelon. I’m worried I’ll look like one in it.

She looks at me blankly and continues preening herself in the mirror next to mine. She’s been stalking round the shop on her leg-stilts like some exotic wading bird, a riot of colour in flowing jungle-print. I crane my neck because she is wearing this summer’s four-inch platforms and I’m straight from the beach in my purple thongs, circa 2010.