There is being a lover of fashion, there is being a follower of fashion and there is being done over, stamped on and brutally murdered by fashion. One such victim is wandering the shopping mall barely wearing an off-the-shoulder, 1980s shade of turquoise top which finishes just below her buttocks. Beneath this top are footless tights which end betwixt ankle and mid-calf. They are black, the gusset part reaching mid-thigh, the remainder reminiscent of a trawler-man’s net. She clumps along in white wedged shoes that add three inches to her height, and are definitely plastic. On her head are plastic, white-framed sunglasses. I wonder if the man operating the remote control toys will be distracted by such a sight and send his helicopter spiralling out of control, to hit the floor with the sound of crumpling plastic and whirring motor. I have never seen him make a sale. Perhaps, just maybe, with Christmas around the corner, his luck will change. The pet shop has re-opened; dog chews are required.