GiGi (well, Griselda Griswald actually, but everybody calls her
GiGi) is a woman with a mission: to help people improve the way
they look, increase their self-esteem, and eventually, make them
happier people. Being a personal shopper is a dark art, with few
tangible rewards. Spread by word of mouth, her clients would never
admit they needed her assistance. Not even if they put them under
torture. Let us be honest, who would admit to being in need of a
style consultant? It is like being an alcoholic: the first step is
to admit you need help, and acknowledge that that pair of leggings,
now that you are in your mid-fifties, do not suit you anymore. When
you have recognized it, you are on the path to recovery, and GiGi's
services will help you, despite her mother nagging that she is not
doing a "real" job. People need advice and often a fresh point of
view helps in rejuvenating a wardrobe that, with time, has become
boring. Would they admit it? Not a chance! So, it is just a matter
of going around and helping people buying clothes and shoes? Not
quite so. Money is tight; GiGi has to work with rich and very
eccentric people, who often do not have any idea about what they
want.She and her business partner Ritchie are in a constant
struggle to keep the business afloat, but as they say in Dragon's
Den, she is very investable. But, with success comes the
difficulties, the Battersea Fashion Center is going to open soon,
just opposite of her office, and they claim they will be fierce
competitors. With the constant struggle to keep her business
afloat, a powerful enemy is lining up ready to make a meal out of
her, knowing very well that GiGi's approach, eventually, will make
her successful. Whilst she invents new ways to make her consultancy
firm successful, she finds who could be the love of her life,
thanks to some of her best friends. The business eventually expands
and they take onboard new partners along the way, making them one
of the most influential fashion consultancy firms in London. But,
with a very demanding job, hours and hours spent working, will she
be able to balance her career and her private life? Will she reach
a point where she loses focus on what is important in life? Do not
worry; mother is there to remind her, with her nagging.Here is a
couple of tasters: --" Those clothes could have been very good for
our beloved Queen in her eighties, but come off it; Mommy was
barely in her thirties!One in particular horrified me: a blue and
yellow sequined dress with humungous pink flowers all over the
place. I poked it with a stick from a distance to ensure it wasn't
alive and ready to kill me. You know, sometimes they haunt you.
Could these really be her clothes, or were they keepsakes from an
old, deceased aunt?"-- -- With a torch in her hand she started
searching in the vast garden until she was satisfied and then said,
"You stay here." It was dark and I could barely see her walking in
the general direction of the shed; a few thumping noises followed
and then she reappeared with a pair of shovels and working gloves.
She tossed a shovel to me. "Start digging the grave; I'll be back
in a minute," she said, giggling like a teenager. I was
flabbergasted; I'd thought she meant she'd bury her clothes in a
figurative way, like at the bottom of the wardrobe. This was beyond
belief! I pondered the situation for a moment and then I kicked the
shovel in the ground; if we were going to make a mess, I'd better
get started.The earth was soft from the previous days of rain and I
could work quickly.I wondered for a moment if someone would see us,
here in the garden, digging like a pair of tomb raiders, and would
call the police. "Ah good, you've started already," she said,
depositing the bags nearby. "Natalie, I'm not digging a six-footer
here!" I complained; that would have taken the whole night. "Not to
worry, sweetheart: just deep enough to let all this stuff rot with
the worms." She started quarrying as well and after an hour we had
to stop, because we were both quite tired but also because every
few minutes we looked at each other and, without a word, we'd burst
out laughing at what we were doing. I made a comment about the
neighbours, and that also made her laugh out loud. "I'm going to
put the kettle on," she said eventually. "Take a break." I sat on
the edge of the grave and let my legs float into the empty space;
it was now almost a metre deep and perhaps it would have sufficed
for the clothes. Natalie came back after a couple of minutes with
the brews and we admired our work in silence. Eventually she was
satisfied with the result and she tossed the lot in.Covering it up
didn't take too long. "I'd pay to see the face of your gardener
when he discovers this." --
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