Blonde's Eye View: Fashion's rained off
Angela Clarke gives you washing machine barbie
Walking past illuminated glass fronted penthouses and riverside residences it is comforting to know that, rich or poor, we all dry our clothes on plastic folding airers.
You may drive a Ferrari, but your knickers still drip dry in front of the radiator. With tiny balconies and in our climate, it is the only way to get the washing done.
This week I ventured out in clean and radiator toasty jeans only to be soaked in muddy puddle water from the first passing bus.
I went straight home, dumped my jeans back in the wash basket and watched TV in my pyjamas.
I've had enough of getting wet lately.
If evil bus drivers don't get me, the weather does. You expect cold in December, but not constant rain.
So much for global warming. Wear my fashionable faux fur coat and I risk resembling a bag of drowned kittens fished from the canal.
The people of Cumbria think they have it bad, they should try arriving for a meeting looking like a Barbie that's been put in the washing machine.
Running make up, ruined hair, sopping clothes and wet feet make for a thoroughly miserable blonde.
Canary Wharf's intricate underground tunnel network provides shelter from the elements.
You can stay dry moving between the Tube, the office and Starbucks, but, unless you start kipping under your desk, eventually you have to venture outside.
Then the estate towers form wind tunnels, pelting horizontal rain at pedestrians.
Umbrellas buckle, coats whip back and open, the pavements become a submerged assault course of slippery paving stones.
Water flies off buildings, off trees. I can no longer tell if it is raining or just a mini cyclone whipping the water straight from the dock.
Rain, rain go away, come again another day; when I don't have to go to work, when the DLR is not suspended, and when I'm not wearing my new suede boots.
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