MY summer wardrobe currently consists of the following items – One pair of red sunglasses purchased from a Scarborough pound store during a shock heatwave last year.

n Three-year-old brown strappy sandals that make me look like a scrawny Roman centurion.

n Black shorts that make me look like a 12-year-old boy.

n A glamourous orange and pink string bikini with bells which I bought six years ago and I am still too afraid to wear.

n A rather limp, floppy black hat which transforms me, almost magically, into one half of Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men.

I guess I could get depressed about this state of affairs, and my obvious lack of style. I could pine over my lack of seasonal attire and set off on a shopping session around every boutique in Manchester.

But no. This is Kendal. We get hot weather for around two months of the year. The underworld may freeze over before I fork out for Topshop daisy dukes and a designer kaftan. There’s a recession on, you know.

Looking around the town last weekend was reassuring. I saw most residents shared my defiance of – and disregard for – summer fashion.

The montage of seventies, eighties and nineties retro stuff on display was brilliant.

Lots of people turned out in loose-fitting print trousers, several sizes too big or too small and a whole array of bright clothing that had clearly been purchased circa 1985.

I saw a pair of middle aged women in orange dungarees, and the variety of hats was amazing.

Many men chose to opt out of unnecessary summertime purchases altogether and go shirtless. Good for them.

There were a few kids in that awkward teenage stage, where summertime is distressing unless you’ve got the right shade of yellow chiffon skirt. However, the majority of people embraced summer without obsessing with fashion.

Embrace your dodgy Jamaican-themed halter neck top and your 18-year-old C&A shorts. Hoorah for summer.