A few weeks ago it occurred to me, as I leaned desperately on the wardrobe doors in an attempt to make them shut, that I probably had enough clothes, and that it might be a good idea not to buy any more for the next twelve months or so.  I’d been justifying the heaps of stuff to myself by pointing out that almost all were either from charity shops or from the fair trade suppliers Traidcraft and People Tree and that accordingly every indulgence was in fact an act of benevolence and global justice.   Unfortunately Myself  replied, with what I considered rather pompous alacrity,  that, however recycled, organic, ethical and inexpensive the garments, such a quantity of cotton still required inordinate amounts of water to be produced and that my T-shirt drawer was, by any rational standards, in danger of being seriously over-resourced.

So I made the Marie Curie wellies (pictured above) my last purchase (for Glastonbury,  ironically, in the Year of No Mud, but no doubt they’ll come in handy next time) and prepared to augment my sustainable sackcloth with nothing but a little ash.   Oddly, however, far from feeling discontented, I’m happier with the stuff I’ve got than ever before.  I seem to have more choice every morning of what to wear, more things that go with other things, often unexpectedly, and less angst about what shape appears in the bedroom mirror.   An odd sense of liberation overcomes me as I glide through M&S on the way to the walnut loaves with no temptation to rifle through the sale rack or see if there’s any BOGOF on the opaque tights.  It’s irrelevant that what I really need to go with that skirt is a purple cardigan – I’ve got three grey, two blue and a brown one, and one of those will simply have to cosy its way into the breach.  As I say, it’s only been a few weeks, and no doubt more insidious challenges will creep in with the autumn leaves, but it’s a reassuring start…