DUNGAREES ON REPEAT

While they're often considered the uniform of oil-splattered mechanics and sticky-fingered school children, dungarees have been a part of my wardrobe since I was rocking OshKosh B'gosh aged three months.

Aged 11, it was impossible to get me out of a black and white checked pair of dungaree-shorts, which were known by our family as naughty shorts (the grubby school boy type again, as opposed to hot pants). Various other versions - short, long, denim and non - have been added to my wardrobe through my teenage years and twenties, with Parisian vintage shops proving a particularly happy hunting ground.

The latest recruit is the full-legged, denim classic scooped up off a sale rail in Whistles. I didn't think they'd get much airtime until spring with sneaks and T-shirts. But a sign of a good buy is when you want to wear your new find straight away and, sure enough, I had them on with a ribbed wool polo neck and utilitarian boots to take on February the very next day.