...take photos of yourself in the lift.
Summer's over before it began, it's raining, and I've experienced the last ever episode of Desperate Housewives (nothing has upset me more since they ended Will & Grace). I'm not sure what I'm living for at the moment. Well, I guess there are the London Collections: Men at the weekend. And my first wet shave at Pankhurst. And birthday drinks with the cousins on Saturday. And starting new calculations on iron self-interstitials. And my new blog. Hmm, maybe I should be feeling more upbeat! No need to dress this drearily then...
P.S. The cleaning lady hired by our building management company to remind us not to leave doormats outside our entrances and to sweep the walkways at all hours of the day and night now totally thinks I'm a psycho. She caught me with my tripod in the lift, a copy of The World According to Garp jammed into the automatic door to stop it from closing.
Wearing: coat by Neil Barrett, sheer shirt by Odeur, trousers by Topman and umbrella by James Smith & Sons. Wearing my hair differently too. I call this: The Führer.
xxx
Duck
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