OK OK – confess now, who did it? Who dobbed me up to the Damart lot as a potential customer? I know it’s been cold – we had a virtually unprecedented –12 deg here last night and this arrival was very timely from that point of view so hats off to the Damart direct marketing team on that count at least.

But really – at 48 am I really ready for Damart long-johns and a vest? I rather think not, I’m still trying to get over not being 18 any more. I’m more thinking (a girl can dream can’t she?) along the lines of Wonderbras, corsets and lace, I’m certainly not ready for this stuff.

So, in which case who told them about me? There is no mistake, it came addressed to me, not MM (Mad Maureen) so someone thinks I’m a suitable candidate. Did I accidentally complain of arthritis in front of someone? Did they scan pbase looking for people referring to themselves as “ancient” or “doddery” or “a mad old bird” or some such? Did someone notice that streak of grey along my hairline? Did someone spot me in M&S buying my Bridget Jones pants?

Still, as it’s here, let’s get the specs on and have a quick butchers at what’s inside…..

……..hmmmm OK, so it’s not all vests and pantaloons, there’s more to it than that…..

……..and in fairness, there is no evident Crimplene……..

…..as the book says “You think you know Damart, think again!”…….

……..OK, OK, I submit, pass me the phone, now what’s that number again?

(Only kidding – you’d have to give me a pretty big bribe to buy anything from there – it’d just be too embarrassing having it delivered!)