Indulgences

So today on the quest to find the perfect black leather jacket for a man with a 46inch chest I was on Bond Street, playing at being a rich woman shopping for her husband. Being very contained and not balking at the outrageously large prices of said jackets (£1600 anybody? Someone must be buying them). The shops are decidedly empty here - none of the crowds stacking up on sweatshop-produced cheap shit from Primark. No, these are shops with charming sales assistants and security men who open the door for you and wish you a very pleasant evening. They sit you down and parade their wares for you, checking prices and sizes and telling you all about the fabric. 

In Fenwick I tried on brassieres. One of them worth £145. That's more than I've paid for any item of clothing I've ever owned! Nice though. Very good fit. The shop assistant thought so also as she burst through the curtain unannounced and told me that there was good room in the back, cup size was perfect and my tan looked very fresh. I forget what it's like in these kinds of shops - extra helpful! A little bit over zealous! 

And it all shut down well before late night shopping finished on Oxford Street. No need to work for people who can afford such items, perhaps. 

Loud

The cafe is full of shrieking babies. A man across from me raises his eyes to the sky. The mums are getting ready to leave - it takes them 10 minutes of talking baby to each other excitedly about swings to leave while the babies continue at the tops of their lungs. 

When quiet descends the conversation of three people making film proposals fills the space. The pitch is about the moon and reaching up to show longing and desire. Beautiful they think. Cliche I think. Then there is something about a person holding up a cheese and a dolls house and a family that just sounds naff. Advert perhaps. One of them is going to start doing the sound scapy stuff. Doing diaries, around half term, loudly. Pretentious students.  Or perhaps pretentious film people who deliver courses. 

Birthday

It's my birthday today (actual birthday not blog birthday). Not been posting much because my computer has broken and I need a new hard drive. There are posts I need to do - like about my fabulous trips to Ghana and most recently Greece and stories of life and love and tribulations, ceramics and work, London, Athens and Accra. I'm going to be better. Because I'm 43. And I don't want my life to pass me by uncommented upon! 

I wore yellow to work today. They've not seen me in anything other than black before. It was somewhat controversial and deemed worthy of much comment.