Over the past couple of hours I've been gathering ideas and information for a poem more directly about what's happening here today. When I first cast an eye on the racks of clothes yesterday, one strange piece caught my eye, looking like a tan-coloured bedsheet. Once stepped into by Kate, it becomes something wholly different. And when the wind machine throws the ruffles and straps around, it really comes to life. It's a piece from the latest collection by young Scottish designer Christopher Kane. I'm hoping to use it as the centrepiece in a poem.