PETER JONES

TO GET an appointment at the flagship John Lewis in Oxford Street, I’d have had to wait three weeks, so instead, I went to Peter Jones in Chelsea.

I was met by a gruff and slightly intimidating middleaged woman who clearly hadn’t read my questionnaire properly, as she said: ‘So you’re looking for one outfit . . .’ when I had requested two.

I was offered a cup of tea, which never materialised, and for most of my two-hour appointment, my stylist wasn’t even there. She was either scooting around the shop floor or, for all I know, talking to her colleagues.

At one point, she told me that she didn’t mind if I bought anything or not because she wasn’t getting a commission — I found this unnecessary and totally inappropriate.

However, when she did appear, she brought me plenty of attractive things to try on and converted me to Gerard Darel, a classy — if rather pricey — label I’ll be looking out for in future.

She also persuaded me to try a vermilion Hobbs dress that I thought I’d look dreadful in, but that actually suited me.

When my time was up, I felt as if I was being hustled out.

My shopper had style and quickly sussed what suited me, but her lack of charm left me feeling uncomfortable. 3/5 Hobbs tulip orange dress, £79; Lauren ruched dress, £150