Love and Fallout by Kathryn Simmonds

and invitations to open local branches of Asda.
    Dom is in the armchair paging through the TV guide. He’s wearing a new pair of chunky Goth boots with crepe soles and silver toe caps which he brought home proudly from Camden Market, much to Pete’s horror and Pippa’s hilarity. He leans over and palms some snacks.
    â€˜Not having any?’ asks Pete, waving a bowl of Wotsits at Pippa, who shakes her head. ‘You’re getting too skinny.’
    â€˜Do you think I’m skinny?’ she says, bright-eyed.
    She’s definitely thinner – I noticed it the minute she walked in the door but I’ve learned not to mention her weight.
    The credits to the previous programme roll and Pete slides up the volume ‘…This week Make me Over visits a woman from Cambridgeshire who’s sartorially stranded at Greenham Common.’ Pippa squeals. Dom lays down the TV guide. I take a huge gulp of my Sauvignon Blanc and the saxophone-heavy theme tune kicks in as Jude narrates: ‘Forty-eight-year-old Tessa Perry left her fashion sense in a field at Greenham Common and, according to her best friend Maggie, she hasn’t worn a dress since The Iron Lady was in power…’
    â€˜That’s not true!’ I exclaim as Maggie’s face appears smiling on screen.
    â€˜Shhh!’ says Pippa.
    â€˜But while the country rid itself of cruise missiles, Tessa never quite managed to rid herself of those Cold War fashion trends.’ Cue an old photo of me in knitwear. ‘…so it’s our job to stand up for a woman’s right to look sexy. We’re saying No to the drab (image of me in a checked shirt getting off my bike), ‘ No to the shapeless’ (me, unglamorous while putting out the rubbish), ‘And Yes to a little Jude magic. Tessa Perry, it’s time to MAKE YOU OVER!’
    â€˜There you are!’ declares Pete.
    And there indeed I am, smiling widely as the voiceover mentions our campaign. It’s not a flattering shot, my hair is blowing around my face and my arms are outstretched as I stand before the five acres of grassland which is Heston Fields.
    â€˜Oh, Mum,’ says Pippa, half sympathy, half dismay, ‘why are you wearing those ?’ She means my orange trousers: linen, handy multi-pockets, drawstring waist.
    â€˜It’s not about my trousers.’
    But I can see from the shot that it very definitely is about my trousers.
    The footage in the field is spliced together with a few images of me at work, one in which I’m giving a presentation to a local business about the economic benefits of sustainable practice, while apparently wearing an unsuitable jacket. In succession, these clips give a quick sketch of what Jude refers to as my lifestyle. Then it’s on to the make-over. There’s a view of me and Bobby the make-up artist at the kitchen table. He takes my hand as if he’s going to hold it, but instead the camera examines my stubby nails. ‘No more builders’ fingers for you,’ he says. I look tense. He recommends using formaldehyde-free nail polish, which is more environmentally friendly. Next he’s mixing a face-pack made from honey, yoghurt and avocado: another close up and there I am in all my glory, a swamp creature, nodding with feigned interest as he tells me the avocado is rich in natural proteins and vitamin B6. Pippa and Dom roar. I can barely bring myself to look.
    The programme is rushing by in a frenzy of skin pimpling vignettes, the camera swinging from one cringe-inducing sequence to the next. We’ve reached the scene in the bedroom where Jude has bullied me into stripping down to my underwear.
    â€˜And where exactly did these,’ she hesitates before saying it, ‘ pants , come from?’ The knickers are not my best pair, but I hadn’t thought they were anything to be ashamed of. They are averagely cut, plain and white.
    The pink-faced woman on screen says,