Tuesday, 3 May 2016
I am worried about the moddles in the Brora catalogue which I received yesterday. For people wearing cosy, delightful Scottish cashmere they look really pained:
These are the kind of facial expressions I adopt when cornered by mad people or waiting for the dentist but trying to conceal my true emotions. I can only surmise they are worried about overheating. CHEER UP, CHAPS. You can always take the jumper off and wear it tied around your neck like a posh French teenager!
(It has been pointed out to me that mardy models are a universal phenomenon and of course this is true, but it seems at odds with Brora's jolly, cosy, Boden-esque branding. Also, they look as if they are trying to smile but some deep personal sadness is preventing them)
I continue to live for Belgian fashion personality and generally fabulous human being Didier Vervaeren's Instagram feed. DV has an extremely strong personal brand/look and a way with a long hashtag. In his most recent picture he is apparently barbecuing a pig in a field in Berlin, which activity is in no way detracting from his inherent fabulousness. I commend him to you in the strongest of terms. He was once on my tram and asked me the way somewhere and I was totally starstruck.
I think Audible was hiding my audiobook from me due to being in Belgium. If you want it, it's here. I didn't read it. This was not due to them telling me I couldn't due to clicking my tongue like an enervated dolphin, but due to time constraints. Linking to this has showed me the incredibly lovely Amazon reviews some of you have left, for which the most abject, grovelling, weepy thanks. THANK YOU.
I am now in possession of a fourteen year old. Preparing his birthday has been considerably easier than giving birth to him, particularly since he now wants me neither to make him an adorably wonky homemade cake or even a nice homemade meal, deduce what you wish about my domestic talents from this. I have a Phénix - blackcurrant and pistachio moussey thing - from the posh bakery and have ordered burritos. If you have any advice about parenting fourteen year olds, I am all ears (I initially typed "all years", which is how I feel today), given I continue to feel as if I am perpetually failing in every respect. I mean, he's lovely, but we watched "Unbearable Billionaires Fight Each Other In Hideously Unbecoming Ways" yesterday (I don't know what its real name is, but it was on Channel 4 and featured that woman who painted her Kensington mansion stripy to piss her neighbour off) and L was entirely in favour of the hideously disruptive, loud and blingy many-storied basement developments. Maybe he'll store me in one when I get old.
Due to a combination of confusion and greed I accidentally ate my lunch at 10:30 am today and then tried to power through (ha, "power") until dinner. This was a hideous error of judgment which has led to several hours of me muttering "I hate everyone" with quiet venom, and culminated in me punching a bush on my walk home from Dutch class. Do not eat your lunch at 10:30 kids, lunchtime exists for a reason and that reason is to PREVENT MURDER, horticultural or otherwise.
You know how a while ago I offered to send you a hilarious article about Bear Grylls style survival from The Times if you did not have a sub and wanted to read it? I extend the same offer if you would like to read an insane, amusing, kind of terrible article about that man who decided to become a goat. Just email me if this is up your strasse.
30% Passage of time amazement
30% Hang-spair (my patented portfolio emotion)
25% Anti-murder leftover beetroot ravioli (still no)
25% Gin temptation
You? What would be your patented portfolio emotion?