A press release from M&S this morning set me off on another rant.

Why is it that decent nightwear (as at left) is so bloody hard to find?

I don't mean the skimpy stuff - the strappy, silky, short variety of nightwear. That's pretty nearly ubiquitous and you can usually find what you want. What I mean is the warm, snuggly, comfortable nightwear that I - and surely not I alone - need in winter.

Checklist

What do I want in my nightwear? Well, first of all, this is what I don't want.

* I don't want velour or polyester - the very idea makes me shudder.

* I don't want Winnie the Pooh or teddy bears or other such bollocks appliqued all over myself. 

* I don't want babyish, inoffensive colours as if I was a two-year-old. 

* I don't want static cling or anything that rides up.

* and I don't want to look like a little old lady.

What I do want is:

* Strong, interesting colours like I'd wear in my daywear. 

* Warmth. 

* Some semblance of style. 

* Natural fabrics. 

* Something that doesn't cling, ride up or create static. 

* Something that I wouldn't mind the postman seeing me in. 

* High neck, long sleeves, long legs. 

* A bit of interest - a nice print, a nice trim, some interesting detailing. 

The high street desert

If you want something stylish, M&S clearly isn't the place to go. Shades of white, cream and baby-pink, and frumpy, awful styles that make everyone look like a hospital patient. Look at this nightie - enough to make you give up the will to live. Go click on the 'Classic' range and see what I mean - you'll need your own sickbag. 

Searching the whole of the M&S nightwear collection, I could only find two items that I'd be caught dead in - this navy PJ and a matching nightie from the Adored collection. Even so, the design is not well thought out.

Let me explain further for a moment. We live in a draughty old pile in the arse end of nowhere, and our bedroom is pretty cold in winter, mainly for cost reasons. The heating won't click on until the temperature drops to about 12 degrees.

I also sleep with my arms outside the covers (not really by choice - they just end up that way). That means I get cold around the head, neck and shoulders, and when I get up, I want warmth round my ankles. Under my 20 togs of duvet, I'm plenty warm enough, thanks.

Uggs take care of the slipper problem, and my total inability to find a warm AND stylish dressing gown sent me screaming to the sewing machine many years ago (I wear a black tooled velvet gown lined in wool and silk).

But this year, I fear I will end up making my own nightwear too - I just can't find anything I like that I can also afford. 

Nighties are something I gave up on centuries ago. The short ones aren't warm enough, the long ones ride up and leave me feeling like I've slept on rocks. Even on so-called warm nighties, made from wincyette or flannel or thick cotton jersey, the neck area is always left exposed. What is the point, exactly, in making the garment warm where it's under the blankies, and cold where you most need cover? 

For many years, I've tended to wear men's or boy's pyjamas in brushed cotton or flannelette. That way you can leave off the bottoms if you so please, and leave the collar open or flip it up  to stay warm. 

But even M&S - that bastion of men's nightwear - isn't what it once was. Its entire men's range this winter is in shades of depressing grey and navy. There's a recession outside, thankyou - I don't want one in the bedroom as well. Far better is this jazzy pair from Derek Rose, whose men's PJs I've worn for 20 years. The only downside is the price - these are nearly 90 quid.

As with many things, the Americans do it all so much better, if you can find a site that will deliver to Yurrup. There is the place to look if you don't want nightwear that is anodyne, but you will generally have to shell out 60-120 dollars plus carriage. 

Idlewild is a rare exception in being a UK site. This store sells sells some of the prettiest, practical nightwear I've found online, including these toile de jouy Bedhead PJs (£75) and the gorgeous PJs at the top left of this article, which I think are the prettiest thing I've ever seen (too short and too thin, but I might base my design on these, as I like the contrasting cuffs and trim).

Comfygirl is also very good, and sells a wide range of Bedhead PJs, including these dotty ones.  Sleepyheads  (sorry, their pix won't download) makes its own range of flannel PJs and stocks a wide range of other makes including Frankie and Johnny's bamboo flannel PJs, which are said to feel like cashmere and silk, and Fresh n Funky (cotton poplin rather than flannel, but fab designs). Think huge paisleys in brown on jade, dots, spots, florals and cherries. 

Personally I find thick jersey or flannelette the best kind of nightwear in winter, but failing that, silk is a good, if expensive option. These yellow pjs from Winter Silks are approaching perfect in terms of design (I forget the price - about 64-70 dollars, I think). Note the high neck, which is still pretty, an interesting colour, proper long legs and sleeves, but with a bit of trimming. Someone has actually THOUGHT about this design. Unfortunately, these are still too thin for me. What I DO wear from Winter Silks is their lightweight silk jersey thermals, which also have the advantage of not allowing draughts up the legs and sleeves.

Speaking of vintage, as we were re Mary Queen of Charity Shops, I just came across this site: Retro Chick, selling vintage fashion at very modest prices.

Got to be a little bit careful about that term 'vintage' if you're over 40, of course.

Vintage for me means the 1960s and before. Might just get away with the 70s at a squeak, but the 80s is a definite no-no, at least if you can TELL.

There is something terribly ageing about wearing clothing from the era of your heydey, as if you can't accept the passing years. Jumping backwards from that a decade, or preferably two, makes it cool again. 

My personal favourite era is the 1930s - I don't think clothing has ever been so beautiful again, nor the fabrics as luscious - though I'm also quite partial to the 1920s and 1950s. The 60s, for me, you can mostly keep - it is the era of Crimpelene and nylon, sta-prest and Dacron. I remember sweating like a pig in a sandwich bag in those synthetic fabrics, and little 60s shift dresses don't suit anyone with boobs.

That said, I do have a few silk and wool things from the 60s that are very Jackie O and out of which I get a lot of mileage. And the problem with 1930s and 1950s clothes is that the prices stroll on - you're really into specialist stores here. 

Anyway, give the site a visit, if only to sigh at how you dressed when you were 20. 

Wearing a tankini, high-waist bottoms and a swimskirt is a great chop-and-change option for the beach, but if you can only pack one cossie and you like a bit of cover, you could think about a swimdress. As you can see, a swimdress is a more forgiving alternative to a swimsuit, and if you pick your design right, you can have rather looser coverage than wearing a swimskirt - useful if you've got tummy issues.

Somewhere in my heart I knew these things must still exist (I remember my mother wearing one back in the 60s), but it took me a while to find them.

With a swimdress, you get what you pay for, as with any other costume. Those from Sears (sadly not available in Europe) are at the cheaper end of the market. Sears has numerous designs of swimdresses (I count 24, plus another 10 or so from sister company KMart), offering different features. Some have moulded cups while others have a shelf bra: you can choose ruffles, thick straps, thin straps, tie fronts, halternecks, backless and bandeau. Those that aren't empire-waisted have vertical princess seams and a sewn-in brief. Prices (for the KMart range) start at just under $25. The regular size is US 8, 10, 12 and there's also a plus-size range.

This batik suit (far left) is the type with a separate tank underneath an empire waist overlayer. There's a string tie in the front, the cups are moulded and there is bead trim on the straps. The tank suit underneath has a mesh panel across the midsection for better ventilation, which strikes me as a great idea, given that you're wearing two layers. Sadly, the size range is limited to US sizes 8, 10 and 12. But at $54.60 it's a bargain.

This floral number (middle left) is one of the plus-size models, available in 18W and 20W. It has vertical princess seams and a sewn-in brief rather than two layers and costs the same price - $54.60. My personal fave though is this halter-neck swimdress (left) with contrast bust section (great for women who are small on top but heavier on their lower half) and loose, floaty plain skirt. $47.60.

Best of all at Sears, the firm is linked with My Virtual Model, so you can log on via the Sears site and dress your actual figure in one of these suits to see what it looks like.

If you've got deeper pockets, check out Orvis, which also has a range of swimdresses, with nicer styling and more features than the Sears dresses, averaging about $90 a pop. This floral one (right) has a faux sarong skirt, which is a very feminine option, a built-in softcup bra and adjustable straps. Many of their models have a built-in tummy control panel, including this soft green and brown batik option (middle right). My favourite, though, is this v-neck version, where the thick straps balance the flirty skirt (far right).

Priced in between the two are suits from Spiegel, which offers about 15 designs of swimdress for the mid-70s of dollars, but are currently on sale for about $55. They include moulded cups and power-mesh tummy- and butt-smoothers and some interesting designs, such as this contrast-border black one (far left). Crucially, for British readers, Spiegel will ship to the UK. For more US offerings, check out NexTag.

We Yurrupeans seem to get a bit short-changed generally when it comes to swimdresses, and they are much more expensive. The UK version of Orvis offers the same swimdresses as the US company but for TWICE THE PRICE. The best is this one from Miraclesuit (left), which offers all the usual Miraclesuit goodies, is 32 per cent lycra, so will suck you in, in all the right places, and promises to take 10 pounds off you, but at the moment it's out of stock.

But why, I ask you, should we pay twice the price for the same bloody thing anyway? Log onto Spiegel, or get yourself an American friend instead.

The BBC is running a story today entitled 'The end of cheap clothes is near'.

It was obvious this was going to happen. With a worldwide rise in food prices, not only will everyone from east to west have to curb their clothes-buying to stretch the family budget, land that is currently producing cotton will turn back to food production as the prices for food crops increase.

Every which way, clothing is going to cost more to produce. Even third and second-world workers have seen wage rises over the past few years (gee - I thought they were going to eat straw forever), fertiliser costs are rising, and as transport costs increase because of the oil crisis, clothing will cost more to ship from production site to retail outlet. That means the price increase will be loaded onto individual garments at retail level, so we will be able to buy fewer of them.

Getting on my puritan high horse here, I can't help thinking that a bit of this could be a very good thing. Spending has gotten totally out of control in the UK and - let's face it - most women in the west have a problem of surplus clothing rather than not enough. 'Not having a thing to wear' isn't due to there being nothing in the wardrobe, just to our crappy impulse-buying habits that fill our closets with unmatched crap that dates badly, wears out or doesn't go with anything else.

Many women I know in London buy something new to wear every week. Some buy something almost every day. They pick up a new item at lunchtime like a sandwich, they have a bag for every outfit, they have 40 pairs of shoes. We have become individual Imelda Marcos's.

In contrast, when I was growing up in the far-off days of the 1970s (in a working-class family), you expected to get a new coat maybe once a year. If you could, you stretched it further - my school uniform required a navy wool coat, which I wore every school day for the whole five years I was there, letting down the sleeves as I grew (marginally) taller. If you had older brothers and sisters, you got their hand-me downs as they grew out of them, and if you didn't, friends and neighbours could be relied upon to pass around their kids' barely-worn clothing so that some good would come of it. Most of all, you learned to be handy with a needle if you wanted to look more individual.

Nobody wants to go back to the days of - for instance - wartime rationing, but at times, a little necessity can be the mother of invention. If we all have to be a bit more careful about what we buy and how often, maybe women will relearn those good old habits of looking for quality of design and construction, a good fit and high-end materials. Maybe they'll learn to ring the changes with accessories instead of whole outfits. Maybe they'll learn to mix and match their clothing to wear the same thing in a different way, and end up with a small wardrobe of fully-co-ordinated clothing, every item of which they actually wear.

Well, I for one hope so...

Wall

For deconstructed clothing, one of my favourite small companies is Wall. I would LIVE in these clothes if I had the budget. Sticking usually to a narrow palette of greige, beige and black, Wall clothes are very timeless and flattering, and suitable for all figure types - clean, intellectual clothes for women with a brain. The firm concentrates on high-quality fabrics such as alpaca and pima cotton, and loose, wrapped or body-skimming designs with flattering necklines.

Etsy

  A great home for individual designers is the art site Etsy, which features hand-made items made by independent vendors. A new discovery here is Secret Lentil, made by Helen Carter, who contacted me after my first article on deconstructed clothing. Helen recycles used clothing into new garments, often a long way from the original. Each piece is individual and not repeated, and she specialises in serging, with revealed seams and interesting fabric combinations, often in black, grey and khaki jersey. I particularly like this starfish top.

Designer Lori Sandstedt favours a very bright and patterned palette and has a fetish for wacky aprons, which she feels women should wear more - over dresses, over skirts and over trousers. She too sells via Etsy and has her own website, where visitors can clearly see that many of her satisfied customers are women over 40 who want to look out of the ordinary. This is her Primavera dress - 'Feminine and edgy without being coy or dark'.

Danny Mansmith is a fabric artist and sculptor who also makes clothing. Here, we're moving truly into the art-to-wear category. Mansmith favours structured elements, especially in his accessories, and many of his pieces have a biker-chick feel, but this scarf and cape are among those that suit women with a more subdued taste.

Patterns

The many independent pattern companies that have sprung up over the past 10 years give fashion-conscious women another outlet. You can either sew these yourself or take them to a dressmaker - either way, you'll end up with unique garments that actually fit your body. My favourite indie pattern company is Sewing Workshop - seen here are their Japonesque jacket and Lotus skirt as made up in real life by fiber artist Nancy Shrieber for Threads magazine.

More on art to wear and independent pattern companies another time...