Anya Hindmarch Maud clutch bag.
Mum packed me off to London last week with firm instructions:
'While you're there buy your Christmas present from me"
I took this jolly little request, bagged it and drowned it in a whirlpool of anxiety. What with mum being over 90, I got it into my head that this might be the last Christmas present she would ever buy me, so of course that got my weep on, and then the subsequent forensic judging of every would - be present left my head reeling.
I settled on the Anya Hindmarch clutch in navy seen above. I picked my monogram style and font size, husband and I went for a coffee and wrote out three messages each for me to choose from for the secret message which is inscribed in gold inside - his were all non - starters, control freak picked out her own witty, fabulously inspiring 'secret message'.
( I promise you I will never talk about myself in the third person, ever ever again. )
I went back to the shop, filled out the form and suddenly came over a bit fey and whispy when the assistant asked me to pay,
"Er, no um, have to leave it, sorry, back later"
It was so expensive yet seemed so tiny in my hand, although I don't doubt that I would have it for the rest of my life.
Still, that over anxious worm in the forest green hand knitted jumper had the steering wheel to my brain firmly in his tail so off we went...
pic by Michael Roberts.
I hoofed to Church St in search of a pair of timeless Manolo Blahnik's.
Oh but hold on, my fancy Dan shoes rarely tiptoe out of their art deco holding pen as it is but then again I do find them the comfiest shoes to wear.
I tried on Maxmara's Rialto coat - £1000 smackeroos but a short classic coat with a hood would be most welcome in my wardrobe but the black had sold out and I could feel my camel hair one rolling its lip and hacking its throat for an envious spit in the direction of the parvenu.
Next up, Smysthon, perhaps they could print/emboss something for me, the idea of their keeping the original copper plates in their archives felt terribly soothing, but what to choose; writing paper, social cards? The word nutcase on my forehead? I felt the scatty worm do a sharp handbrake turn in my brain and fled empty handed onto Sloane Street.
I then went to Symons street where sits in glorious technicolour, the happiest shop in the world, Kate Spade's London outpost. I tried on 'Glam Pad', I loved it but the price is ludicrous here and is satsuma orange a forever colour? Could I one day whizz along a pavement in my OAP motorised scooter wearing this?
The jury is still out.
Returning home empty handed with a headache the size of Pluto, I was delighted to receive a gift from the universe - otherwise known as Paul from The Magical Christmas Wreath Company. This is their Ember Glow candle, a heady sensual mix of amber resin, clove and rich labdanum. It is redolent of 18th century London; vellum bound books, clove laced nosegays, gentleman's drinking emporiums
and I now anoint it a Dickensianesque elixir for fallen, anxious women.
Thank you for the remedy Paul.
Do you get stressed at the slightest things or is it just me?