Last week one of the most embarrassing things happened to me. I was crossing London Bridge, in rush hour, to meet some friends from work. Essentially, as I was crossing the bridge some colossal river wind blew my dress up. But not just like a cheeky Monroe moment, it flew right up from all sides with such ferocity I literally couldn’t get it down for the best part of a minute. I’m standing there on London Bridge, wearing a thong, and I cannot for love nor money get my fucking dress down. Cars are beeping, I can hear men in suits joking and laughing even from the other side of the street. In the end, I actually kneel down in the street, thinking, if I can sit on the dress then at least I can control the back. But no, now I’m just kneeling on the pavement with my dress still flapping around my head, so I crawl towards the wall of the bridge and press my arse against it so I can try to control the front.
I cannot describe the scene. People had shamelessly stopped walking in order to gawp, and the people in standstill traffic in both directions, including those on buses, had no shame in staring at me trying to get myself together. In the end, with my bare arse pressed against the bridge, I managed to get the front a bit more under control, and I grabbed a passing woman by the arm WITH TEARS IN MY EYES and said, shaking “please help me I’m so embarrassed I could die”. So she held my dress down and I got a (tiny, cropped) jacket out of my bag, and she helped me tie it around my waist like you do with school jumpers, which only marginally helped; I still had to trot the last 50metres holding my dress down with my hands the best I could.So yeah, whoops. Sorry London.