When going to see someone say I do, don't ...

It's been the summer of weddings, not mine but others. I'm at that age when everyone is getting married. They're climbing the career ladder, got the right car, got a mortgage, tick, tick, tick and now they're ready to say I do, just in time before they look back with regret at their wedding pictures. I on the other hand got married more than seven years ago, when I had not a wrinkle to my name or a stretch mark. As a guest, I now get to sit back and enjoy the festivities, whilst relishing in the thought that I'm not paying.

After careful planning, accessorising, and far too much matching, I'm always amazed at how many get it wrong time and time again.

Religious or not, if you're attending the ceremony early afternoon don't mistake church lighting with that of a nightclub. God doesn't want to see you in all your glory, some things should remain between you and your maker. If you must flaunt it, wear a tailored coat to the ceremony. It's much more dignified. And remember if people are gawking at you, it's not in awe, it's in horror.

Staggering in six inch heels up the altar is never a good look. So if you can't make it to the car then be in no doubt, you will be mocked. Birds nests' too are hard to pull off. If you think it's too much, well it probably is. Remove promptly, less is definitely more. Styling yourself on the likes of the TOWIES or wags, never has or will, earn you many admirers. Think of all the great heroines who've done all the hard work for you: Audrey Hepburn, Katherine Hepburn, Jackie O, Grace Kelly to name a few - oldies but goodies. Would they have ever slapped themselves in Fake Bake? I think not. Decide on a look, 20s, 30s, 40s, and my favourite the 50s but most definitely not the 80s. Don't forget who was running the country then, and she was hardly known for her fashion, she was far too busy crippling the country.

One must never wear leggings to a wedding or in fact, outdoors. Leggings have made a comeback but unless you're pregnant or under the age of five, there really is no excuse. Big or small these are the most unflattering, cheap and pitiful garment you can attach to your body.

Looking like you've been licked with a paint brush from the top of your head to the tips of your toes is quite simply wrong. You're in danger of looking like the Queen Mum, showing you lack imagination as well as style. Like make-up, feature the eyes or the lips, never both. This rule should apply for accessories too. And yes, we all make mistakes but there's no need to go on repeating an eyesore.

Do not buy a complete outfit from an over eager sales assistant who is lying when she tells you that 'you look great'. Not only is she lying, she's earning commission by feeding you these fibs. After watching in horror as some unsuspecting customers succumbed to the sales patter, I took a sales assistant on as her next victim was my mother. Have you seen the matching bag and scarf which compliments those shoes, madam? I interupted and added my sentiments, much to the disgust of the assistant.

I could go on. It's mostly common sense though. When going to see someone say I do, you should say I won't distract from the happy couple by committing these sins, instead I'll let the bridal party shine in all their glory or not.

Money doesn't only corrupt, far worse than that, it produces some god almighty results

Where was I before I was rudely interupted by having to work for the last day or two, oh yes, I was off to investigate. My school years at one of the city's leading educational establishments gives me quite a bit of insight into bad taste.

The upper class in this city like to speak through their nostrils, it's a West End thing, hard to describe and quite put on. I like to think of it as a fluctuating drawl. Looking down their noses takes on a whole new meaning when they're speaking down their noses too. Don't get me wrong I often like to pick up the kids for not pronouncing their T's, and they in turn like to pick me up for slipping up on mine. And having lived in Inverness, where they speak with a lilt in their voice, I'm well aware of my own dulcet Glaswegian tones.

Again I'm procrastinating. Whilst looking for inspiration for this blog, and sticking with the theme that women with too much disposable income to squander often get it wrong, my twitter followers, friend or foe, provided me with all the ammunition I needed.

Take one successful entrepreneur for example; not content with millions in the bank, she's embarked on her own PR campaign. Mirror, mirror on the wall who's the fairest of them all? And at that level of exposure you'd like to think the neediness for admiration wouldn't be wanted, let alone sought after. Money doesn't only corrupt, far worse than that, it produces some god almighty results. Leopard print is making a renaissance in these parts. Yes, leopard print. Head to toe leopard print ensembles, and I can't think of any woman of any age who would look good in this? Limit the print to one item only is my advice, if you must.

Blondes too, and I'm partial to a little bleaching so I can say this, but there comes an age in everywoman's life when you should tone it down. Being wolf whistled when you're a granny may give you a confidence boost, however it could cause a pile up when your admirer realises he's just tooted his mother. I'm not sure when the right time is to dispense with the California Bleached Blonde look or rather Glasgow's national colour, but there is a time. Perhaps it's when your skin has turned maghonomy and you're not the spring chicken you once were.

Not so magical after all

There's nothing magical about the price tag, £14.95 for a two year old and a four year old, neither of whom would have minded if I'd just let them play in the muddy puddles in Rouken Glen. And what gets me in these child factories is that once you succumb and paid the hefty price - peak season prices I might add, there's not a single attendant on the death defying slides. It's a place where anything goes and that goes for the parents too. I suppose you're asking the question I've been asking myself, why bother? Thinking this would tire my two over zealous boys out, in the hope they'd sleep later and leave mummy mummy mummy to remember the days when I had a first name. We set out for an hour or two of so called fun. Not so much fun for the parents getting stuck up slides and squeezing themselves into claustrophobic quarters not meant for anyone more than two foot. My little sponges did learn a thing or two, mostly from children worse than mine. What gets me is this is not the first time I've experienced this and to think I'd come back for more. I deserve every bit of agony for this alone, and agony it was. Where's the animals mummy? Heading to the bank I'm sure, the sarcasm lost on my son. They're over there. Two snakes, four little half cooked monkeys and a lizard, that's the whole extent on the magical animal collection.

But what they did learn is to climb, rough it out, and the world is a place full of bullies, many of whom inhabit play places. What they've certainly not learnt is any discipline, football tricks or where their talents lie. And don't get me started on the parents. Well they're mostly well fed and could do with a trip to the park instead of letting their sprogs run wild. Oh now that I've started on the parents, it wouldn't be fair to stop there. It happens at the swing park also and ever parent, hostile or otherwise, will have shared this experience. Lionesses minding the queues at the slides or patrolling the number of pushes one child has over another in the swing park. Park politics or sometimes park wars as one princess skips another princess in the queue. Only to be told by a loud and brashy parent: "It's ok darling the little girl just doesn't know any better. "The gloves are off but instead of speaking like a normal person to the adult concerned some parents would rather use the medium of their children to unleash their fury.

At first glance the play places seem like the perfect place- a haven, not the cash cow they really are. But the sweating, the need for air or rain, anywhere but this little manufactured box. The constant search for your children who remain largely out of sight is enough to make you go running for the Valium. If you do need to recover your child the only way is up through the maze. One of the cruelest play places I've seen is one in Inverness which has a day nursery within the building. I presume to allow the children metal stimulation and gawk at the others whilst they run loose. Having toured many of these establishments the only relaxing time I've ever had is when they are completely empty and it's like a large playroom for your kids only, otherwise they are places filled with temptations, danger, and a whole host of frightened parents. If you don't believe me try one on a Saturday afternoon and see the full extent of the horrors for yourself. Now getting back to the parents. Some are normal and look bewildered to be thrown into this world, others know it's a dog eat dog world and are using this to test their offsprings' restraint. It's a real eye opener and a cultural experience. My son was particularly intrigued at the family decked in football strips complete with complimentary tattoos. What a sheltered life he's had so far though I'm still thinking of an explaination for him.

From now on I'll be finding open places or dark alleys over magical marketing any day.