Oh bugger, it is that time of year again. Time to give in and get out the thermals.

I normally bung these on at the beginning of October and wear them religiously till about April, but this year we had a bit of an Indian summer (just as well, since we didn't get a real one) and that makes your guard drop a little. 

No longer, though. We are now into frosty mornings and daytime temperatures of 7-10 degrees, and that's officially thermal time. 

There are girlies, who shall remain nameless, who move here to rural France and simply wilt like hot-house flowers the minute winter arrives. They move from a centrally-heated flat in a city to an isolated stone pile, six times the size and with no heating, and then wonder why they're shivering.

Few of them own so much as a decent jumper or woolly tights, because they're used to living in temperatures of 22 degrees even in the office, so these interiors of 16-19 degrees, or even lower, throw them into a complete tailspin. You have two choices here - either return home complaining about how horrible France is (chosen by about two thirds of Brits), or toughen up and buy some thermals.

Thermals are not, any longer, the dingy waffle-knits your gran wore. They now come in all manner of colours and styles, including purple, red, pink, polka dot and leopard print. The most useful items are longjohns (far warmer than any tights you'll ever own) and a long camisole, which you can wear under virtually anything. After that, I go for long-sleeved crew- or v-neck tees for maximum flexibility - if I wear short sleeves, I always feel that my arms are cold.

A surprising number of women in the US wear knee-length thermal knickers, and this is mainly in summer because their offices are air-conditioned to the hilt. Madness, really, and I wonder how many companies can keep up that kind of energy bill in the current climate, or continue to require daft, trouser-eschewing dress codes of their female staff. 

But I digress...

Thermal tops are long, and the reason they're long is that it's important to keep your kidneys warm in cold weather. The body has a massive blood supply running through here, which is probably why it's considered the centre of the body in Chinese medicine. Some modern brands of thermal have an extra-thick section at the small of your back, sometimes in microfibre, to protect your kidneys. That way, the rest of the garment isn't bulky and you get the warmth where it's most needed. Good thermals should also have close-knit cuffs at leg, arm or wrist, to prevent nasty draughts from drifting up your limbs. 

As to fabric, my recommendations these days are silk, silk and more silk. I've tried every kind of fabric going, including thermolactyl, cotton, trevira and all the proprietary brand-name fabrics produced by different manufacturers, and I always come back to silk, which is warm, slippy, lightweight and truly pleasant to wear.

Silk blended with wool is useful if you're a chilly person - a 70/30 blend has masses of warmth and stretch and is as light as a feather. My silk thermals come in various different weights, and I also have silk/merino blends. The lightest-weight ones also double as pyjamas.

When you wear your thermals, take care to layer them. After knickers and bra, put on your longjohns and then tuck your top into them. Then add your trousers or skirt, and on top, a sweater or tee. Your outer clothes look perfectly normal, but you've effectively draught-proofed yourself.

I've bought thermals from all over the world, including direct from China, via Damart, and from Marks and Spencer in the UK, but my favourite company is Winter Silks. This has a massive range and an easy-to-understand 'snowflake' system so you can work out your needs.  I'll be reviewing them later, but for now, log on to www.wintersilks.com and have a look - you may be pleasantly surprised at what you find.

It looks like nothing can stop the British woman's love of fashion.

As the economic downturn continues, fashion sales - to the surprise of many - are apparently rising. 

Economists think it's because people can't afford larger items, such as a washing machine or a fridge, so instead, we girls are treating ourselves to something to wear instead. Twenty quid on a top is going to go a lot further than £200 towards a washing machine, after all.

It's interesting in general to see what's selling and what isn't in this time of economic crisis. The head of Waitrose, for instance, yesterday said that the company's 'Better than going out' range of high-end ready meals is selling in shedloads. Presumably the people who would once eat out on a Friday night are now eating in instead, but pushing the boat out ever so slightly. Hard on the restaurateurs, of course, among whom we number some of our friends.

Another area that is selling well, according to Thornton's, is chocolates. Well, who wouldn't want some choccies when they're feeling blue?  And again, a few quid in Thornton's will go a lot further to cheering you up than spending it on a holiday - or even in Starbucks, where a latte costs half the national debt. 

I notice too, from telly advertising, that kitchens are for sale at 40 per cent discounts. I think that might be tempting for a lot of people who now find themselves in negative equity and decide, instead of moving, to do up their existing place instead. Let's not forget that the last DIY boom came because of exactly the same problem back in the 1990s - when you're stuck in a house you don't like much, you may as well change it to suit you.

I did a rare thing the other day - I went shopping.

Having written recently that I don't go into shops unless I'm actually buying something, and since we were - a rare event - actually in a town, with, y'know, shops, I thought I'd go in and have a look round. 

We were in Les Galeries, in Flers, Orne, which is a sort of small department store, and what I saw there reminded me of how bloody irritating it is to shop as a woman. 

I was browsing the scarf section when I realised the DH had disappeared. I found him in a separate part of the shop, fondling a jacket. It was beautiful. And in fact, as I looked around, I realised lots of the things were beautiful. Aigle and Gant and Levi and Lee Cooper. Trousers in thick moleskin, shirts in merino, coats and jackets replete with pockets and zip-out gilet linings, and beautiful finishing. I could easily have spent a thousand pounds right there.

After pricing up some jeans and trousers for the DH, we headed upstairs in anticipation, to the women's department. 

It was a total disappointment in contrast. Where were the quality items? Knitwear was in acrylic rather than merino. No jeans of any description. Polycotton blouses. Flimsy, fashiony, pointless clothes that you'd wear for five minutes before they fell apart. The only warm and comfortable items - mostly coats - were hopelessly frumpy. 

This sort of thing in women's clothes drives me nuts, and it always has. Ever put on a pair of men's shoes, for instance? Do you know how much COMFORT these people walk about in on a daily basis? No pinching and rubbing, decent soles through which you can't actually feel every grain of sand, waterproof finishes that actually succeed in being waterproof. Warmth, good God. No wonder my mate Charlotte put on DMs at 11 and then wouldn't wear anything else ever again. 

I live in the countryside, and the women here work just as hard as the men, get just as dirty, need - every bit as much as the men - clothes that are warm and waterproof and well made. And stylish - let's not forget. The clothes the DH was looking at were gorgeous, not frumpy and ugly. But manufacturers continue to treat women like they either don't actually DO anything or have given up the fashion ghost and would like to amble around in a duvet and slippers for the rest of their lives.

Why can't I get hide gardening gloves in a size 6? Why don't my wellies come in my size? Really and truly, I don't spend all day sitting on my arse painting my nails and tickling my chihuahua and I don't think many women do. But whenever I want to be really warm and comfortable, I have to wear MEN'S clothes. 

Of course, what this points up is the difference between fashion and design. There are plenty of rubbishy fashion clothes for men too, but they're almost exclusively aimed at youth. By the time a man's 40, he's lost interest, and most of us know we wouldn't have a hope of getting an adult male into even great-looking clothing if it wasn't both well-made and comfortable. This lack of adherence to fashion means men have a greater range of staples to choose from, which lends their wardrobes a firm foundation that many women lack. 

They largely have themselves to thank for it. Men don't change their wardrobes twice a year so's not to be out of date; or buy something new for a party; or get a new scarf to cheer themselves up - if they want to do that, they get a new toy or a book or a DVD. When it comes to clothing, they shop sensibly, incrementally, and they expect a standard that it strikes me women have long-since forgotten about.

Take pockets as an example. Men expect garments to have deep pockets, and lots of them, in the right places, that don't wear out, that close properly (hey, maybe with flaps so the rain doesn't get in). They expect inside pockets too (two - one for a wallet). They expect buttons that don't fall off at the first opportunity, and sturdy zips, with a windflap, and generosity - a decent overlap on a storm front, enough width at the shoulders. Maybe extras like a built-in hood.

What do women do?  "Oooh, isn't it pretty? Isn't it a nice colour? Isn't it trendy?" We deserve all we get.

I'm not suggesting, of course, that quality clothes don't exist for women - but look at the prices. The Aigle jacket my DH was eyeing was just under 200 euros. Try getting such a beautiful and functional coat in women's fashion for under 600. Of course you can get beautifully made items, from (unisex) manufacturers like Pringle and Ballantyne and Jaegar and Scotch House, but you'd better not be planning a holiday any time soon. 

No wonder I'm turning into such a grumpy old woman. The truth is, at 45, I couldn't really care less about fashion - most of it sucks. But I do still want beautiful clothes. And I don't want to stagger about with sore feet, or be freezing cold, or cut in half at the waist in order to get that beauty. Nor do I want to spend half the national debt.

Oh la. Still, all is not lost. I was wearing some of my favourite clothes that day that I (at least) think are beautiful and they didn't have much to do with fashion: a black 1950s cashmere poloneck with a slender fit and a zip up the back neck, so your neck looks as thin as a reed (does anyone even make these any more?); brown moleskin bootcut jeans from Boden; brown leather boots with a 2in heel, and one of my zingy coats - a shocking pink moleskin (again Boden) which livens up an entire outfit. And, of course, a decent hat, leather gloves and leather handbag. The coat is quite new - I got it last Christmas - but some of these things I've had nearly 20 years and they're still going strong. They were never in fashion, and they will never be out. 

Thank God then for Boden and Orvis, where the quality conscious can find a home without having to give up fashion entirely. I just wish there were more like them, that's all.

It was my mother's birthday yesterday - or it would have been if she was alive. She would have been 85.

It was a beautiful day, too, which made me a trifle melancholy. Although my mother and I didn't get on and had only reached an uneasy rapprochement before she died, I was gutted when she developed pancreatic cancer because she was enjoying her life to the full. A member of everything from the Mother's Union to the Salvation Army choir, her days were taken up with meetings, outings and art classes and she enjoyed her life as much as if not more than the next person. She would have enjoyed yesterday.

In trying to remember something good about her, I recalled suddenly her dressmaking skills. They weren't fantastic - neither are mine - but she could run up a skirt or a dress pretty well. It must be from her than I inherit a love of sewing - from all those hours I spent by her old black Singer hand-treadle machine, pulling through the fabric and acting as a third hand. 

We were pretty broke and so when my clothes weren't from jumble sales, they were mostly made by her. I remember in particular a little brown flowered sleeveless dress, and an occasion when, since I had nothing new to wear to the school party, she secretly sewed me a beautiful turquoise dress with a sweetheart neckline and presented it to me the evening before. 

My memory is playing tricks, of course. It was I who made the turquoise dress, in stiff Crimpelene that refused to behave, and which left me so disenchanted with sewing that I never picked up a needle again for 10 years. But she did make me a frock for that party that, sadly, I can't remember, except my happiness at having it.

One other thing I do remember her making me, however, and this with absolute accuracy, was a dressing gown. This was a big issue because we weren't allowed dressing gowns in our house. My miner father thought them the height of slovenliness (probably influenced by the kitchen-sink drama Woman in a Dressing Gown, or more likely by my Irish grandmother who kept her laundry in the bath and sent her kids to the public baths down the road). Once awake in our glacial house where the winter water froze in your bedside glass, you got 'properly' dressed in 'proper' clothes straight away, before Jack Frost nipped your bits off. Slippers were allowed, to save our outdoor shoes, but dressing gowns were something we saw only on television.

But when I was nine or 10, all that changed. I went on a school trip and the list of things to bring specified 'dressing gown'. There was shock. My dad was furious, but my mum took it as a gleeful opportunity to cock a snook at him and make me what can only be described as a housecoat. It was in floor-length navy quilted nylon, like a thin sleeping bag, with a floral trim at neck and hem, a Nehru collar and a long zip down the front. It was enveloping and as warm as toast and because it was insistently called a 'housecoat', I even succeeded in wearing it a few times at home without my father going ballistic. 

I hadn't thought of it till now, but I wonder if this is the reason I luxuriate in dressing gowns now. Even my guests are treated to slipper socks and big fluffy bathrobes with hoods when they stay here, but since I left home, I have had one glamorous gown after another. When went to university, I bought myself a man's lounging robe from the 1930s, in black and copper leaf print with a big black collar. I felt like Noel Coward in it and wore it until it literally fell apart.

When I left my previous partner, a Kenzo bathrobe in deep red velour and towelling was one of the things I treated myself to in celebration.

Some years later, following the dictum that if you're not rich, you'd better be handy, I made my first dressing gown, based on a kimono pattern. It was red paisley Viyella lined with the same fabric in green. Two layers thick, it was fantastically warm and did me for 10 years before I made another, this time cranking the glamour level up a notch with gold-embossed, hammered, multicolour floral rayon velvet, lined with gold satin and interlined with wool challis - my version of a Georgina Von Etzdorf, only better.

Sadly, it is now this gown's turn to fall apart, so I plan to reline it with towelling and call it a bathrobe (the old Kenzo bit the dust some years ago, as it was completely bald), and for the time being I'm wearing an old coat as a dressing gown. To tell the truth, it's probably much more suited for this than it ever was as a coat - it's a huge Jaegar wrap thing in bright saffron wool, trimmed with a black velvet shawl collar and deep cuffs, and lined with black satin (guess who used to earn a high salary?). It always gave me the feeling of venturing out in my housecoat and, at ankle length, was far too long to wear comfortably in the street, but as a dressing gown, it's very Joan Crawford and surprisingly warm, though it might need interlining with polar fleece for winter.

But meanwhile my little sewist's mind is working away with ideas, designing the perfect dressing gown in my head. Something 1930s-ish, with a small waist and a big bias skirt, a wrap front with buttons, bishop sleeves and knitted cuffs that don't let the draught in. Deep pockets and a belt, and a wide shawl collar that I can flip and button shut. I have plans for the copper and purple flocked rayon velvet that's hanging around in the sewing room. Or the deep green silk velvet from Liberty, as thick and plush as a pelt. Or the midnight blue rayon velvet sprinkled with glitter stars. Or the sinfully soft yellow, red and tartan pure cashmere, 72 inches wide, that I bought in a bolt from a shop closure and still can't think what to do with. 

What did Chanel say about luxury? That it's a necessity that begins where necessity ends? Mmn. Whatever I finally decide on, I have a feeling that this winter is going to see me very snuggly, thank you... :)

Nine-tenths of a finished appearance is to do with grooming, not with what you're actually wearing. Your hair, nails, teeth and skin are all more important than your clothes, but if you're dressing on a tight budget, you still need to take care of your garments. Sadly, the last 10 or 15 years of cheap clothing has meant many women have forgotten how to mend a tear, change a button or darn a sock, but these might all be lessons we have to re-learn. Here are a few tips on maintenance.

* Treat everything you own as if it cost 10 times the price. No matter how much it actually set you back, treat your clothing with respect.

* Deal with stains immediately - products such as Stain Devils or Vanish are very useful. Don't give stains time to set.

* Iron garments that require it, using starch or silicone spray if need be. It's well worth the time and trouble to pep up a white shirt, for instance.

* Hang up your clothes rather than dropping them on the floor at night. You'd think this one would be obvious, but so many women don't bother.

* Don't pack things tightly into the wardrobe so they get creased - buy extra racks if you need them, or get rid of something instead.

* Keep your footwear in shoe trees, and out of season, store them in boxes.

* Put mothballs in the pockets of coats when you store them.

* Never put clothing away dirty - it's asking for a moth infestation. 

* Tape down your clothes with parcel tape before leaving the house, or keep a clothing brush handy. Fluff can completely ruin an outfit.

* Keep a mending pile and one Sunday per month, fix loose buttons, hanging threads and dragging hems so that all your clothes are in wearable condition. 

* Change when you get home. For instance, don't go straight to the sink or the cooker as soon as you get in. Hang up your workwear on a proper hanger and brush it down - stand a dish of vinegar underneath if you've been in a smoky or smelly atmosphere. Over your house clothes, wear an apron when you're doing dirty work - don't ruin your casual clothes with grease splashes and stains. Pension off your old jeans for gardening and make sure you have one outfit dedicated to filthy work such as hair dyeing or painting the house. 

* If money is tight, avoid clothes that need dry cleaning. It's horrendous for the environment and bad for your pocket too. Underwear, shirts, blouses and knitwear should all be machine washable, along with as many of your skirts, dresses and trousers as possible. Jackets and coats tend to be dry clean only, but try to keep it to once per garment per year. 

* Wash on 30 degrees or zero to save electricity bills. Modern wash powders are designed to work at low temperatures. Even better, use soapnuts.

* Use the economy programme on your washing machine. This tends to take longer, as it works by soaking. Or if you have a top-loader, soak your clothes then put them through the fastest wash cycle. 

* Line-dry rather than tumble-dry. Not only will it cost less, it results in less wear and tear on the garment. 

* Ironing ramps up your electricity bill, so consider buying clothes in fabrics that don't need ironing. I wear mainly jeans, skirts in moleskin or suedette, long-sleeved cotton jersey tees and knitwear, and I barely pick up an iron from one year's end to the next. 

* Change the buttons for better ones. Nothing peps up a garment faster.  I buy good buttons whenever I can find them, usually vintage.

* If you wear skirts long enough to cover the tops of your boots, you can save a lot of money on tights throughout the year as less of them will be visible if snagged. But keep a bottle of clear nail varnish in your desk drawer in case disaster strikes.

* If you buy a suit as two separate pieces, buy two bottoms with it - trousers or skirts. The bottom half always wears out faster than the jacket.