MOST of the clothes in my wardrobe are older than my children. And I hadn't even met their father when I bought some of the shoes.

I think we can take it as read then that I am not a shopaholic when it comes to fashion. Something that would be blatantly obvious if you saw what I am wearing while I write this (baggy, bobbly sweater circa 1993; black trousers covered in cat hairs that I used to wear for work many moons ago; and a pair of my beloved's old black socks with more holes than the plot of your average Hollywood blockbuster).

It's not that I don't like clothes. I love clothes. I devour fashion magazines, which probably explains my expanding waistline, and I spend endless hours scanning this catalogue and that brochure, drooling in what I can only assume is a very attractive manner over the latest designs.

But I have three major problems when it comes to actually buying clothes. Firstly, I'm not a size 12. In fact, I'm not any size at all really. My bum, boobs and other vital bits and bobs refuse to conform to anything as sensible as a single, uniform size, choosing instead to all go their own wild, wonderful ways.

Secondly, I can't stand clothes shops. I have never found one that I feel comfortable in. I know it is probably my own paranoia, but I always seem to catch a fleeting look of disdain on the assistant's face when I lumber in. The look usually has one of two meanings, either "we haven't got anything you'll be able to get over those hips, luv' or 'don't bother getting your purse out, you can't even afford one of our complimentary cappuccinos'.

Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, I have no money. Okay, so perhaps on one or two days a month I have money in the bank, but it always disappears before you can say 'why on earth did I have two kids who eat more than a larder full of darts players and who grow out of their clothes/ shoes/ cages within nanoseconds?'.

This goes some way to explaining why my cupboard is a bit bare when it comes to clothes. It doesn't explain, however, why I seem to be the only one staring into a wardrobe abyss every morning.

There I was thinking there were loads of us style-bereft sisters marching along together in our out-of-date, badly-fitting clothes, when in fact the rest of you were out their shopping for Britain all the time.

New figures have revealed that women spend an average of £96,720 on clothes in their lifetime which, unless you live to the ripe old age of 311, is a ridiculous amount of money. And just think, if I had been doing my bit, we could have broken that magical £97,000 barrier.

But I haven't been doing my bit, have I? I've been letting the side down by only spending thru'pence ha'penny a month on clothes, while all the women around me have been slogging their guts out spending an average of £124 a month. Shame on me.

Don't give up on me just yet though girls. I can change. I know I can. In fact, I've already begun to turn my fashion life around.

I can proudly report that, just yesterday, I spent a large amount of money on a piece of clothing I didn't really need.

But that was only the beginning. By this time next year I aim to be the Victoria Beckham of Huntington, trotting round to the Spar in my Manolo Blahnik slingbacks and shoving my customary four pints of semi-skimmed and a copy of the Beano into my Louis Vuitton shopping bag.

You never know, I might even buy myself some new socks.

Updated: 10:59 Monday, January 10, 2005