Ever since I can remember, I’ve been freakishly strong. When I was a little girl I could hold my own in the roughest of rough-housing with the boys, whilst wearing a pink tutu. Added to my mutant strength is my unfortunate lack of coordination. I was once in a cramped public toilet in Victoria Station when I misjudged the space available, turned around to flush the loo and walloped the lock of the door with my elbow. The cubicle door crashed open the to the curious glances of the other women queuing to use the facilities. I sheepishly tiptoed out, washed my hands and made a as dignified an exit as I could manage. By the time I’d made it up the stairs and onto the station concourse I’d brushed off the embarrassment and ambled about my business with clumsy impunity.

This dress from Negarin rather emphasises my strong shoulders and muscular arms, but the flouncy, feminine skirt saves me from looking like a beefy shot-put thrower. I had second thoughts about this look, perhaps it’s too red carpet for a more ordinary night out, but I’ve since decided to wear it at the first opportunity – even if that means wearing it down the pub.

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