The rag trade

Or it may as well be. Today Daughter of Mine and I have been sorting out her room in preparation for her birthday sleepover next week.

32 garments, taken from her wardrobe alone, are now on a rail to be sorted into groups to take to the charity shop, textiles bank or photograph for a certain auction site (in the case of a few barely-worn pieces).

We had a lot of fun, she from trying on favourite clothes labelled 8-9 years (she is 12 next week!), hoping they would still fit, but knowing there was no hope - and me, from remembering how lovely she looked in those favourite items. She even parted with pair of fuschia leggings she has owned from the age of 6! Once full length, over the last six years they have masterminded as cropped leggings, then pedal pushers, then shorts. Trying them on today, they are now at the 'hot pant' length and, despite them still just fitting on the waist, she decided that today was the day she said goodbye to them.

I even managed to get an item into my own wardrobe - a lightweight denim-look shirt dress bought in haste last October when unseasonal weather while watching the Bognor Birdman Rally enticed Children of Mine into the sea without suitable preparation.

I left them on the beach with Husband of Mine and dashed round the shops in search of cheap and cheerful clothing to get them home in. The dress was in the sale for £5 and covered Daughter of Mine nicely.

But she's decided she doesn't really like it... good! Now it's mine!