Sometimes, the explosion of Easter chocolate in the shops, makes me quite giddy with excitement. Every year my dad would buy me the "Something Special" egg for "Someone Special" I can't tell you how important that egg would make me feel, it was huge and expensive, and sat on top of the piano for 6 weeks, I would spend Lent boring my eyes into its shiny purple shell, it no longer exists and sadly neither does my Dad - life is beautiful but it's also an agonising lesson about becoming acquainted with loss.
Sometimes, when I eye graze through Net a Porter's weekly 'what's new' list, I get the sneaky suspicion that some of you are leading quite the interesting lives.
(a bit tacky? yes but I love it!)
Sometimes, I wonder what a bag named after me would look like.
Whoever just said 'old' stay behind after class, it's a thrashing with my brown leather fork tongued tawse for you.
(my old Latin/Greek teacher draped his over his shoulder and under his black gown for every lesson, oh yes, I remember it well.)
I still think that Dior's Lady Dior bag, named after Princess Diana is a travesty against quilted leather.
toxic slum. B.Y.O.B.
PS. Put that twitchy forefinger down, I know it's not called Uganda anymore.