So that award I was nominated for? It's not long until I get to put in to reality the, "sincere smile, genuine hand clap", thing I've been working on for the last few weeks. Obviously I've had to tone it down from me tipping over a table whilst screaming, "WHAT THE FUCK?", but I think I've got it all sewn up.
What I do not, however, have sewn up is the shoes that I am going to wear. I purchased a beautiful pair of crushed blue velvet ankle boots from Topshop only to be told by my mother they don't really go whilst my sister says she likes them. Fashion quandry. So I decided to scrap the shoes (i.e. not return them just yet as I love them but know that really I don't need another pair of shoes but they might just got at some point) and go back to the drawing board.
I saw the above in Vogue. They're from Reiss which is so far removed from my fashion radar it's basically one of those crazy US helicopters they used to catch Osama. They were online for £150 which is a mammoth amount of money but this is a code red here. Obviously they were sold out in my size so I tracked down the last four pairs in my size in London. Two were at Westfield and two at the flagship store by Selfridges. Seeing as MonsieurB is working on Carnaby Street at the moment (impromptu visits to show how much I love him and NOT to go to AP woooo) I sent him an email with an exciting list of things to buy me (it was the 20% off event and I had a work quiz to go to that I couldn't bail on. Plus I got to say the words, "Sexual chocolate. They play so fine don't you agree?").
Conditions were perfect. He couldn't fuck it up. I left my name with the shoes. He just had to go and get them. At 1832 I had a missed call from him. At 1838 I returned said missed call and this was the call
Him: Well I hope you really wanted those fucking shoes
Him: They were two hundred cocking pounds and they're non returnable
Me: What? Are they faulty? Why did you pay MORE for faulty shoes?
Him: No. They're the right size, they're new, they're just non returnable.
Me: That can't be right. Statute dictates you can return them. Look I've got to go I'm at a quiz.
And then I had a fucking melt down. I'm not sure if I even like them that much. I only bought them as I assumed I could return them. And my mum said they'd go with my dress. I'm not sure if you've noticed but I'm kind of still having a meltdown.
Ebay it is then.
I also found this lovely bracelet whilst having a melt down. It's the co-ordinates of a town called Love in Barbados. So much lovelier than tacky shit with love written all over it. And pretty too.
And I want this Charlotte Taylor top because it has lobsters all over it. And then I could wear it to work and make loosely linked jokes about having crabs.