AT SOME point during the Easter holidays I’m going to have a day of Prom dress shopping with The Girl.

I have been looking forward to this occasion since she entered the sixth form, while she, I suspect, would rather not bother.

It’s only the fact that she’s bought her ticket and knows everyone else will be suitably swathed in taffeta that will keep her going as we trail from shop to shop.

My daughter failed to inherit the shopping gene and can’t see why anyone would want to waste their time browsing rails of dresses, shoes or jewellery.

Her first prom dress, worn once, two years ago at the Year 11 party, was tailor made by a friend at some considerable expense.

From The Girl’s point of view it was ideal. She simply picked out a colour, chose the design from a book, turned up to be measured, and went back a few weeks later to collect the dress. No shopping, no trying on and no hassle.

When I suggested she might wear it again at this year’s prom, she must have been tempted. But, of course, she can’t possibly be seen by the same people in the same dress.

So this time I plan to buy off-the-peg. We’ll also be looking for a dress that might just get worn at more than one occasion. She doesn’t know it yet but she’s going to be looking at a lot of dresses.

I will report back in due course. In the meantime check out my fashion page on Thursday for more on the subject of proms and prom dresses.

l THE EASTER holiday will also be the peak season in the Stelfox household for the planting of seeds and seedlings.

Since The Man-in-Charge bought me one of those small, portable greenhouses I have become obsessed with vegetable cultivation.

I perform daily watering and temperature checks and usually find myself standing for several minutes at a time simply staring at the seed trays.

It’s as if I expect to actually see the seedlings growing or I’m willing them to sprout, which, in fact, is exactly what I’m doing. But don’t tell anyone.

When I spot some new life springing from the compost, I collar anyone who happens to be around and bore them with the details of how long it took to germinate and what I’m going to do with the fledgling vegetable.

I know I have become old, but I don’t care.

l WHEN I wrote about my disinterest in The Wedding a few weeks back – and said this was not a good time for a public display of immense wealth and privilege – a reader emailed to say he didn’t know whether I was right, “or just miserable”.

Which made me smile because I was thinking exactly the same thing.

With the nuptials just around the corner I’d like to say that I still feel disinterested in the whole affair and have met many kindred spirits.

The Man-in-Charge is opening his surgery for business as usual and says that a number of clients have already booked appointments and congratulated him on his stance.

I have suggested he hosts an alternative to the televised spectacle and treats clients to a tea party in the waiting room, with cake for them and biscuits for the dogs (cats are generally anti-social and will be happier not taking part). He’s taken the idea under consideration.