I’ve lived on the Isle of Wight for two and a half years. Today, I finally got treated like a regular.

I walked into the charity shop and straight to the back where the linen is kept, because I’d been in the day before so there wasn’t going to be much new in the racks.

A woman who works there – see her all the time, very embarrassing – stopped and said: “I was hoping you’d be in, I’ve got something I think you’ll love.” Part of me cringed at having been perceived and another part cringed at what this stranger could possibly have conceived as ‘my style’. It was just cringes all around, to be honest.

But up the stairs she goes, and then she returns with what I, at first glance, assume is a reproduction 50s-style dress from some awful rockabilly brand like Hell Bunny. God, is that what people think of me?

But as my panic wears off a little, I notice the shittily-done facing at the neck. The metal zip. Huge yardage in the skirt. Is it? Could it be?

Yup, think so. It’s a handmade, late-50s treasure that looks unworn – and I’ve turned a little old lady into a pretty decent personal shopper.