Zut Alors...

Dear Parisian Flea Market,

Sometimes, I have the kind of day off that makes it almost impossible to return to work. I am glad you are closed tomorrow, for if you were open? I would find myself awol and shortly thereafter, unemployed. You are not like other flea markets, largely because I could happily/easily spend my rent in an afternoon and only the French could ever be so casual as to allow 80's Chanel to lie on the floor, casually draped across some vintage YSL like a pair of lovers on a spring afternoon. I wanted to join them, I wouldn't normally be so brazen, but in this instance, a threesome felt right.

I will go to work in the morning, but know this, I will return, with more time to spend perusing your wares, oh and some hangers, for the love of Coco...

Yours sincerely,

S.O.S...

Dear Wardrobe,

Drastic times, call for drastic measures. I've assessed the situation, and yes, it would appear we have nothing to wear. Or rather, nothing I want to wear, such are the nature of seasons and the endless cycles of winter/early spring wear. The last 6 months of wearing variations on a theme mean that now, my sweet wardrobe, you and I are barely on speaking terms. There is nothing for it, to London we must go. Try to be brave, little one. We will cull upon our return, by culling; I mean picking everything up off the bedroom floor I have just spent the last half an hour having a tantrum over. I even declared some of my favourite pieces useless and threatened them with wire coat hangers, dreadful, shameful, behaviour, I know. I can hear Joan Crawford in the background somewhere. She says I'm making her nervous, she's telling me I'm making her miss Bette.

Hopefully the God's of wanting stuff other people no longer want, (yes they exist, on a beautiful mountain next door to Olympus if you must know, they do a lovely line in second hand toga's and custom headbands) will smile favourably upon us and we can go back to being friends. In the meantime, I am bringing the bare minimum with me on my mini break in the hope that necessity, truly is the mother of invention...

Yours sincerely,

It's Raining, It's Pouring...

Dear Friend,

Thank you for taking my crumpled up picture of a matchstick girl, holding what looked like an anorexic mushroom, and turning it into something pretty...

Yours sincerely,

A Is For Apple...

Dear Pen,

I miss you lately. I seem to hang out with my keyboard more and more and my right hand has begun to wonder what it felt like to hold you. I am going to make a concerted effort with you from now on. I mean, I jot things down in notebooks all the time, but I honestly can't remember the last time I wrote a letter. And I mean wrote. I love electronic communication, don't get me wrong, but the thrill of my inbox doesn't even begin to come close to the thrill of an envelope on my doormat. I wonder if other people miss it too? My scrawl is not nearly what it used to be and I'm contemplating an inkwell and a wig just to get back into character.

I remember the days when I used to receive mail, (just call me nana), that wasn't from ebay or my bank. The utter delight that goes with boiling the kettle whilst reading a letter quickly, only to sit down with a cup of tea and the same letter and savour it moments later, one really doesn't need a biscuit with a cuppa, all one really needs is some lovely correspondence, there simply is no sweeter treat.

So Dear Pen, we leave on our travels again in a little over a week, we're gone for a month. A girl and her pen can write a lot of postcards in a month. We'll be like Thelma And Louise, without the killing, and stealing of vehicles, obviously. Well, maybe we'll kill a little grammar. I do believe it might be time for a pen pal...

Yours sincerely,

Bisous...

Dear Man I Passed On The Bridge This Morning,

With your bright blue eyes and smattering of freckles, I wonder has there ever been a single day in your whole life, when a random person walking past you, didn't want to kiss you...?

Yours sincerely,

Goodbye Uncle...

Dear Uncle,

I hadn't spoken to you in a long time, life sometimes gets us so busy we forget about what's really important, shameful I know. I got the call today to say that you had died. It makes me sad; I think of all my Father's siblings, you and I were the most alike. Everyone called you odd, with your dark sense of humor and your interest in the arts, apparently when everyone else was out tending cattle; you were known to read books.... I remember the summer after your Father, my Grandad, had passed away. We spent a lot of time hanging out together. My Mother had died two years previously and I think you were one of two people who actually talked to me about that and didn't think because I was little; I didn't have feelings that would need dealing with. You spoke to me like I was a grown up, you made fun of me and you made me laugh and I thought, after years of hearing you were odd from various family members, that you weren't odd, you were rather brilliant. The kind of man who made a 13-year-old cry with laughter with his sarcasm and wit. People are loath to use sarcasm on children, you didn't have a problem with it and I loved you for it.

I asked about the funeral and was informed by my family that there wouldn't be one, you had donated your body to medical science, even in death you're pretty punk rock and your last wish is one that made me smile. I will miss you...

Yours sincerely,

Excuse Me...

Dear People Who Spit On The Street,

I am not a violent girl, really ask anyone, but I would like to punch you in the face until your mouth stops working. Just sayin'...

Yours sincerely,