Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect by Sarah Catherine Knights

into Milsom Street and we stand up to walk down the aisle.  A fleeting memory of David on that bus, all those years ago, flits into my mind.
    I must stop going back.  Forward .
    We walk down the street, past all the expensive shops which I would love to go in, but where the shop assistants are all impossibly young and glamorous and regard you with utter disdain. I usually come out feeling ancient and anyway, their clothes are out of my rather meagre bracket – so we ignore them and go on down the main street to the more ‘normal’ chain stores.  Lisa and I part company at the Roman Baths and arrange to meet in Marks and Spencer in an hour.
    As I walk on my own, I go past large groups of French kids shouting and running around; past stalls full of colourful scarves, pictures of Bath and jewellery; past a man holding a board saying Sale, This Way, with a large arrow; past a man dressed like a statue, standing so still, I momentarily wonder if he’s real or not – and I look at everything with an objective eye and wonder if I would like to be so anonymous.  Where I live now, I recognise people and people know me, either through school or the tennis club or just fellow dog walkers.  At least I feel as if I belong somewhere.  Here, I would be invisible – is that what I want?  I should weigh up the pros and cons, before I make any big decisions.  I mustn’t rush into anything.
    When I go shopping, I tend to wander around in a stupor, with what I’m sure is a glazed look on my face.  I touch random pieces of clothing, as if I’m going to be able to get inspiration, by merely touching the fabric.  I have to be in a certain mood to even like things, never mind try them on. 
    This day, I have a sinking feeling that I’m not in the mood and that I’m not going to like anything; the shops are full of autumn things, even though it’s the summer holidays.  I go into Dorothy Perkins, TK Max, BHS and River Island and walk around, fuming – does no one cater for the older woman any more?  I don’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb, but I also don’t want to look like my mother.  Where do people of my age shop, these days? 
    A lot of the fashions are so difficult to understand – there are tops on hangers that I have to study – are they long tops or are they short dresses?  I don’t want to ask, for fear of looking out of touch … and stupid.
    Then there is the trouser issue – am I too old to wear jeans?  I sometimes look at other older women wearing jeans and think they look frankly ridiculous, but somehow manage to forget I’m probably their age and wearing jeans, myself.  Are black jeans more acceptable? (The denim is less … denim).  The shape of trousers is another huge issue – low waist, high waist, boot leg, slim leg, jeggings, treggings – the list is endless and they don’t all look the same in different shops, either.  You need to spend a week in just one shop, to find the right pair.
    Cardigans – that’s another problem – they’re either too long, or too short.  Too long, and they look as if you’ve gone out in your dressing gown by mistake; too short, and they leave your rather large bottom exposed to the elements.  Why doesn’t anyone actually ask us what we want? 
    I do what I always do, go to Marks and Spencer.  I feel ‘safe’ there; it’s part of our culture and I always feel as if I have more chance of finding something there, than anywhere else.  I wander through the ladies clothing. 
    What is it with all the different brands within M and S these days?  Per Una, Autograph, Indigo – I just don’t get it.  I think the powers that be, think it helps, but it just confuses me and makes things worse.
    I look at my watch – I’ve already wasted half an hour, so I try to get to grips, shake off this negativity and grab some likely things off the shelves.  I go into a fitting room with armfuls of stuff, strip off and look aghast at myself, from every