STOP the presses:
Perseus fresh from a sojourn in Ibiza visited moi to try a pair of stretch cotton chinos…
Now I’m not saying he is high maintenance, but he was soooo tired after a rigorous session in the gym, that he flopped into the leather chair in the basement and beckoned me to pull the trousers off, as he was too tired to struggle with them.
After all, and I quote, “I’m exhausted after doing hundreds of one arm, leg curls!” I think I have to have a word with his trainer…
Let’s get back to matter in hand!
Monsieur Louboutin said recently that he is vaguely horrified… Quelle horreur!
Like all great designers, his existential struggle with his customers really mirrors my own.
Not that you are all tottering around in red soled, high heeled shoes… I said not all of you!
His boeuf, is that he can’t always control how his collection is worn, and by whom. Tell me about it!
Whereas, I do try my best, but sometimes, it’s in one ear and out the other.
Much of the time those red soles are seen gracing the feet of a certain type of professional person, of which the greatest concentration of pairs found in any one location is apparently in Chelsea Cloisters, also known as seven floors of… or so I am reliably informed.
How was Christian to know that his collection would be thrown to the lions of hooker chic?
Not that all of them are off the hook.
I am unaware of any of my clients who would wear my collection in such a fashion, yet I would not be surprised by the peccadillos of those whose needs I humbly attend to.
Perhaps I am Androcles in this story, after all he was a tailor.
Talking about being thrown to the lions.
Our poor Ambassador to the US, Sir Kim has had his red carpet pulled out from underneath him.
The whole thing ‘Smells of Teen Spirit’. Unfortunately, I couldn’t twist that into an anagram of treason.
In this modern age, while our youth is struggling with the dilemma and burdens of social media exposure, the rest of us are coming to terms with the fact, that each time we touch a key there is someone looking over our shoulder, no matter who we are, or where we are.
On a personal level, I have taken to closing my eyes and striking wildly at the keys. It is in the vain hope that like a chimpanzee writing the entire works of Shakespeare, what I produce; may at some time, mean something to someone, somewhere.
At least I can then say I didn’t know what I was writing.
Then you have ‘The D’, who is up all night telling us all to go forth and divide, he just can’t help himself. I can only imagine he wanders off to the loo in the middle of the night, in his red silken pjs, hair askew, his phone in those tiny little hands, leaving Melania like sleeping beauty, awaiting the return of her Prince.
He sits upon his throne, and picks up a copy of National Geographic, the ‘Red Mist’ descends, thumbs aflame.
Women adorn each page, an agender he has never fully understood.
Are we now all, weather obsessed, and with weather apps? Gone are the days of pine cones, holding up a wet finger, or even looking up at the sky. Our phones and watches now buzz with weather updates, a point zero one drop in temperature, severe weather warnings, relative humidity, a tree falling in the forest, a sensor to tell us that the fridge light is on when the door is closed!
Many years ago, Michael Fish was castigated for missing a hurricane.
But fear ye not, we have modern technology, do not be alarmed… It has not rained recently…
They were swarms of flying ants.
Pah!
No, true; the ants apparently, look the same as rain clouds to certain types of weather radar. I can only assume that locusts resemble, snow. A plague on both your houses!
Just for when you are being a little Absinthe minded!
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