A hard day at work number crunching suddenly spurns this desire to shop; and once this demon desire takes over shop I must.

I know. It’s time to talk to Frank.

However… I can’t imagine that Frank would understand the tingly feeling just beneath the skin when an Alexander McQueen drapes perfectly across your body…

There’s no cure. Trust me.

Or the butterflies in your tummy when you realise you have the perfect pair of city shorts to make a super-wow ‘workfit’.

Happiness.

Then, of course, you realise that buying lovely things on the business card technically means they belong to Amara’s Closet.

Booooo.

I may have to call Frank after all.