Why I need to master online shopping

Shopping. A necessary evil unless you want to starve or walk around stark naked and something most normal women will attack with enthusiasm and relish. I, on the other hand, would rather eat my own eyeball than go shopping.

My difficulties locating my Joy of Shopping may have something to do with my advancing years as I find myself too baffled by the amount of choice lately. More often than not I am to be found uttering Victor Meldrew-esque exclamations on finding , for example, that electric toothbrushes not only clean teeth these days but will also put the kettle on, wash the dishes and make a passable lemon meringue.

I'm exaggerating of course but whilst I can just about handle my mobile phone taking photos, I just don't believe it that my sunglasses need to double up as a radio or I could possibly need a bag to put inside my handbag to make it easier to move the contents of my handbag to one of my other handbags. And who in the name of Satan's hairy armpit decided it was a good idea to put flashing lights inside kids shoes? As if I wasn't bombarded enough by the aisles and aisles of variations of small squares of soft paper that will just be wiped on an orifice and chucked away, why must I be subjected to the pleading requests of my advertising-seduced offspring?

But surely I should enjoy a good rummage round the clothes shops when I need something gorgeous for a special occasion? Wrong. I am happy to adhere to the adage of 'buy less, pay more' in order to restrict my wardrobe to quality pieces and minimise the amount of time I actually have to subject myself to the muzak of the high street but last week I desperately needed a 'smart casual' top to wear at a reunion with people I once worked with during my student days, some of whom I haven't seen for twenty years. Clearly the occasion required something suitably fashionable to fit in with the young and trendy crowd at the London bar we were meeting in, grown up enough to show I'm not languishing in the past but not so mumsy so they realise I haven't been out on the town in six years.

I've never been too confident in my ability to choose good clothes, in fact my eleven year old is already far superior in that regard and has perfected that subtle head shake coupled with a badly concealed smirk to indicate that I'm way off bat whenever I get it wrong. Sadly she was at school during my latest trip so I had to make do with Plan B which is to watch what everyone else is picking up and follow suit. Of course this can have damaging psychological repercussions when you watch the twenty-somethings notice a mumsy forty-something clutching an identical sparkly boob tube on their way to the changing room and perform a hasty body swerve to put theirs back on the rack and hurry out of the shop.

One thing I do know to avoid is horizontal stripes, of which there seems to be a lot in the Spring collections springing up at the moment. Whilst I am not averse to the Breton look, easy on the onions and beret, I would require significantly smaller tits to pull it off. Or at least I would need to find my personal holy grail of a bra that lifts and supports each of my mummy-boobs as individuals and doesn't try to squash them together so I look as though I only have the one. In my day the ads were all about 'lift and separate'. Nowadays finding a bra which doesn't contain a couple of silicone chicken fillets to produce the perfect 'plunge' is like finding a Per Una blouse without a gaudy plastic necklace attached.

After wondering aloud what the hell has been happening to Gap while I've been abroad, I am pleased to report I found the very thing in Monsoon, always a rare treat for me since normally I exit disappointed having either balked at the prices or been unable to accommodate my bosoms in a single item in the range.

As for making it through my evening out without spilling anything on myself, well that's another story.