It was another cool party in London on a perfect summer’s evening. Feeling very chic and relaxed, mingling and chatting away to various friends and strangers as the Champagne and cocktails flowed, admiring the amazing views from the balcony and discussing the owners’ fight to keep developers from building ruthlessly by blocking the views from the beautiful art-deco building we were in.
I hadn’t seen Moya (one of the guests who lived in the building) for ages. In classic tradition we talked our way back into the lounge. She began to tell me about a new play she had written, soon to be produced by Radio 4. We sat down, chuckling childishly as the effects of alcohol set in, at one point trying to remember the name of the very kind warder* in Prisoner Cell block H. Suddenly, without warning I heard and felt the zip of my new “looks extremely expensive but was cheap and cheerful” strapless black jumpsuit come apart at a rapid rate! I felt a definite breeze at my left side. I carried on talking in shock for a minute or so. I looked down and knew I had to act fast, my zip had busted in both directions from the waist outwards to my thigh and bustline! - It was one almighty 'Malfunction Junction' - Oh hell no!!
Moya’s alacrity to tell me all about her play and my eagerness to listen was halted in an instant by my muted, panicked cry for help - “Moy-yaa, my zip’s busted and I’m totally exposed LOOK!!!” - She did, and subtlely shrieked “Ohh myyyy!!” The military operation began in silence; I got up, holding my sides and edged to the bathroom with Moya casually shuffling and shielding me. We locked ourselves away from the other partygoers and began fighting with the zip to get it to the bottom, in order to get it back up to the top! Breaking into sweats and cracking up laughing with each try, I would turn to one side and look completely clothed and normal, then turn to the other and my underwear and body was in full display! We were in a penthouse in Westminster but I swear it wasn’t that kind of party! Even without the Champagne high it would have been just as hilarious. Moya was a star, we worked tirelessly as a team, one of us holding the sides, the other trying to zip up desperate to fix the friggin’ thing, but unfortunately we couldn't…
How could I go out and face all those people! Then I remembered I had packed a cashmere cardigan in my bag. Being a Londoner (and stylist) I’ve learnt to be ready for all types of weather (refer to New Age weather blog – Sept 09). Once on, it camouflaged beautifully - Phew!! I partied on carefully into the early hours.
The moral of this story - with a certain type of outfit be prepared for a ‘Malfunction Junction’ because you never know.
*Meg Jackson was the warder’s name.