I'm Passed Out In Your Garden...

Dear Kings of Leon,

You should thank the pigeons really. You should praise them for coming to the rescue. I had the misfortune of seeing you a couple of days later and I wish the pigeons had been the homing type. I wish they'd swept in and made things a little more interesting. Your sex is on fire? I beg to differ little ladies.

When did the dirty, skinny, sexy boys, singing about losing their erections (I long for the days of "soft", lyrically speaking...), turn into Bryan Adams? Perhaps the pigeon poo weakened you, for it seems you no longer have the strength to open a bottle of water, thank the lord a technician was on hand to help out. You are two steps away from a full on Mariah Carey.

I don't even like pigeons, but these days, I prefer them to Kings...

Yours sincerely,

Dangle All Day, Dangle All Night...

Dear Carrot,

I am nobody's donkey...

Yours sincerely,

Mountains Out Of Molehills...

Dear Alps,

I cheated on you today. I gave my heart to the Rockies. Two weeks on the North American continent and I gave my love to another, fickle aren't I? I did feel bad for a minute, but then the water looked so clear and a bear didn't eat me and so I fell...

Yours sincerely,

Three Sides To Every Story...

Dear You,

Let's be very clear, I am not the one who got away, I'm the one you pushed away. Just sayin'...

Yours sincerely,

Blink, Blink, Blink...

Dear Digital Picture Frames,

I think you're weird. That is all...

Yours sincerely,

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,