Saying all this, we live in a pretty loose interpretation of a Love Nest, since we're both chronically untidy and spend a lot of the time arguing about who does the washing up, but that's what makes the nights in watching Spirited Away with a double-strength Capirinha even more satisfying. Little One isn't little in any sense of the word, being 5 inches taller and 3 months older than me, but it's a fitting description for the girl who wants nothing more than to live inside the DVD box of High School Musical.
This oddly-feathered nest is where I'll be writing from for about the next two months, before I move to The Basement, a room with a triple wardrobe and not a lotta sunlight. The former, obviously, mitigates the latter. Pale is in though, right? I've had my factor 50 at the ready for about the last month, and only got a chance to crack it out yesterday, missed a bit, and now I've got a red line down my back (short arms, clearly). The Basement will hopefully offer me ample opportunity to cultivate a pallor second only to the lovely Dita, while at the same time offering me the opportunity to let my too-many clothes breathe, suffocated as they are in this room by lack of space.
Watching the Sex and the City film the other day, though, made me glad of my restricted wardrobe room. Now don't get me wrong, I love my clothes, and I love acquiring new ones, but I think if I had that wardrobe he builds her on Fifth Avenue, I'd feel a pressure to shop to fill it, a kind of "must fill all gaps" mentality which would cause havoc with my bank balance, and I'd probably end up with 'space filler' clothes, which will never be loved or worn enough to justify the outlay. Economically, a smaller wardrobe is a lifesaver, as the thought runs first to "oh that's GORGEOUS!" but then there's the inevitable "where's it gonna fit?!" which has saved me from at least two net-filled dresses of late, though this doesn't stop me wanting to dress like the bastard child of Marilyn Manson and Margot Fonteyn. It's all in the volume balanced with the amount of skin on show. I have an extremely detailed Theory of Balance when it comes to clothes, which would put Gok, Trinny, Susannah and that terrifying blonde woman with the scalpel out of a whole lot of work (as I remind the housemates every time Gok gets it horribly wrong).
So there's the first touchy-feely post down. Who, what, when, where and why haven't exactly been addressed but I have touchy-felt upon fashion, which is my number one love, and by way of parting shot, here's my I HEART for the day: the beautiful Jack Penate, one of the only boys who can look good in a baseball cap. Amen.
