A Confession...

I have a confession to make.

I don't wear pink. I may have written a book about all things rosy and walking into my room may be like stumbling into the castle of the sugarplum fairies, but you'd be much more likely to find me wearing red than pink. So much so, in fact, that I was recently approached by a fellow fashion journalist when out for drinks in a scarlet dress and heels. She wanted to interview me about women who wore red.

Other than red there is a flash of teal, but also a depressing swathe of black and grey.

I know. What is wrong with the world. But it gets worse. It's not just that there isn't much pink in there... Aside from the hot pink dress I wore to my book launch and some tights and shoes in my drawers, there is NOTHING pink in my wardrobe.

Clothes are powerful tools. Use them well and you can tell the world in an instant the kind of person you are, or even more than that - the person you want to be. I love my clothes, but looking through my wardrobe certainly wouldn't give you the whole picture of who I am. For one thing I am far more cheerful than all those LBDs would suggest.

Something needs to change. So as of Monday I shall be commencing my Pink Week. Challenge: to dress in pink for an entire week. And a pair of knickers doesn't count, this is head to toe pink. Part 2 of the challenge is to do this on a student budget - so today I headed to Portobello Road to buy the ingredients for my new wardrobe, all for under £50. (So, unfortunately, no pink Louis Vuitton.)

It's time to cheer up the gloomy commuters and embrace who I am.

London and LCF... you better be ready.

Libby