epidemic.

I've just finished eating up August Vogue. It tasted like steak and mushroom pie in a smokey-oak pub whilst wearing as many woolen things as possible. Its this sort of time during summer when I am completely content, but occasionally, whilst lying in the garden or on a wander, I let myself think about wearing thick socks, sitting in front of fires and eating a lot of soup.

Winter welcomes the return of classics like trench coats, tailoring and tweed with open cable knitted arms. Summer is a bit of a slut in that respect. She doesn't have long, meaningful relationships with her wardrobe, taking her wool coats to dry cleaners or protecting jumpers from moths. She buys viscose maxi dresses from primark, wears them with a giant brown plastic belt slung round the hips and then throws it away at the end of August. This year, Trend has been affecting Brighton like never before.

This newly developed strain of the Trend virus has been quietly mutating since about last July. It doesn't survive the winter well, but once the temperature creeps up it begins to infect the vulnerable (people who get their legs out at the first hint of March sunshine) and the symptoms start to appear in early July.

The main indication that someone is infected is if they are decked out in full current-New-Look-window-must-haves regardless of whether it looks good or not. Examples this year is a studded and or cuffed gladiator sandal paired with brain scrambling printed tiered maxi dress, wide belt (ergh), cropped denim jacket and some kind of hair accessory.

The cure? Pry copies of Look/More/New/Now/Style from their fingers, and maybe set up some kind of NHS emergency phone line for advice. The lady with the kind voice on the other end of the phone will tell you to drink plenty of fluids and to please stay inside. It's very contagious.