Boning gets my vote

It's not all doom and gloom being an ageing crone. Saturday was wonderful. I spent it at Goodwood Revival, celebrating a friend's 50th birthday, and I made an incredible discovery. Boning.

Dressing up for big girls

At the request of the birthday girl, the dress code of the day was vintage, and a few weeks earlier we'd hot-footed it out of Godalming and headed up to Holloway. Not to the women's prison I must quickly add, but to the utterly delightful homage to the 50s that is Vivienne's of Holloway. What a shop! It's chock to the brim with peplum skirts, petticoats and all things glam. We were like kids in a sweetie shop, with our eyes on stalks at all the gaudy glad rags. The assistants are all kitted out in it too, with bee-stung lips, not a hair out of place and every little detail done to a 't'.

Bones of contentment

Rugby tackling each other out of the way to get to the best things first, we quickly hit the rails, grabbing as much as we could, to the amusement of the girls. "You need to get measured first", one of them politely pointed out. "Our sizes aren't the same as the high street."

Just as well we did, because my uber-slim size 10 friend is actually a curvy size 14 in a Vivienne, and I measure up to an absolutely voluptuous size 18! It's worth getting over the shock quickly though, because the dresses are absolutely divine and completely built for curves. The secret? Inbuilt boning!

I love it! I stepped out of the changing room in a red and white polka dot number, and looked into the mirror. Suddenly, in front of my eyes I acquired a waist - something last seen around Christmas 1989 before I got pregnant with my first son. My bust was lifted from its usual place (somewhere around where my waist used to be) to the new and heady heights of my chest - where it stayed, proud and pointing, like a throwback to those Playtex cross your heart bra ads my bothers used to swoon over. My stomach disappeared, and when I looked behind me, so had my derierre! I stood there at the mirror for what seemed like hours, dumbstruck at the transformation. My friend was equally entranced at her reflection. If we'd had the money we'd have bought the whole shop right there and then!

Back to the 50s for me!

So off we went to Goodwood, and while we were there I discovered more and more 50s glamour. Stalls that were jam-packed with little vintage fur jackets, elbow length gloves and pillbox hats. Curvacious silk dresses, and rack after rack of frilly, frou-frou! Lots of people had made a wonderful effort and dressed up for the day, and the glamour of their hair and clothing added a real sense of occasion. Good manners seemed to be 'de rigour' too - everyone we met was polite and charming.

So, at my vintage age of 50 I've decided that the 50's are my thing. Red lippy, lacquer, the lot. I'm embracing boning. And I'm making no bones about it!