There is nothing more unsettling at this time of year than the “S” word.
I’m not referring to Santa, I’m talking spring/summer.
While everyone is currently uniting in their mutual disgust at Christmas decorations popping up from Polwarth to Portobello, I’ve already been propelled halfway through 2014.
Last week, a lovely e-mail invited me to London for a preview of summer 2014.
This is not some clairvoyant convention forecasting the future, it is a sneak peek at the clothes we’ll be wearing next year.
The tail end of 2013 has crept up on us pretty rapidly. It only feels like last week when I couldn’t walk through Waverley without wading through a sea of Festival tourists.
And, truth be told, there’s still stuff sitting in a suitcase from last summer’s excursion patiently awaiting an unpacking. Granted this might have more to do with me being a rotten domestic goddess than anything else.
But the prospect of poring over next season’s clobber has left me feeling like I’m chasing my tail. For a person who is perpetually late it is somewhat mind melting.
So the next time you walk past a premature Christmas tree, pause, take a moment to look at its baubles and be thankful it’s not a bikini.