I was a little surprised Scott Schuman did not jump out and snap me in the act of standing in the queue, but I considered he must be busy, what with hanging about the old town in Milan, Rome, or Bologna, so is unlikely to be looking out for me in Bletchley.
Well if he's not coming to me, I must go to him!
On the street! (Actually I'm lying. It's the front room. But I have known people to stare when I photograph my own legs on a street corner.)
Anyway, shut up about that. See! Kenneth Cole boots!
Not exactly the 1950s Left Bank Paris look I was pitching at, but a bargain from the car boot sale! Only two English pounds! The woman said the wobbly heel was intentional. She said it makes me walk very Marilyn Monroe. Yes, Tiger, thanks for pointing out that my calves are too fat to squeeze inside them. But the zip ain't bust yet.
Cartoon jacket circa 1984.
Rather ingeniously, I strapped a leather belt round my midriff to hold it all together, because I think the jacket (one pound) is actually size 20. Now, can you imagine the swing I've created on that hemline? It's very Dior New Look 1947! I cut off the shoulder pads. Shark said she was never going out in public with me ever again.
Scarf!
A present to myself from Lamma Island tat shop. Beautiful, soft and warm. Not what you normally expect from acrylic. I told Squirrel she was not to use it as dolly bedding.
Now see what visage of elegance you have missed, Mister Schuman?
And as I have told Squirrel, Shark, and Tiger before, I try to remain in that blissful state where I know, but don't care. I try hard not to allow English tutty-tut-tut to penetrate my thick brass layer, so can more or less wear what I like.
Simply enjoy it, mes enfants! Or console yourselves. In six weeks I could be back to the old jeans and dribble, then find, to my misfortune, Mister Schuman lurking in Bletchley Post Office, waiting to snap for his new and hilarious collection, Mess of the Month.
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