Wednesday, 8 February 2012


It seems that nowaday, women in their thirties are meant to covet vintage floral frocks and big country houses and chickens. And I do, I do, I do. I mean, I have the frocks, I've found the (vastly out of my price range) house and I've named the chickens. Pamela, Linda, Susan, Barbara. You know I want you girls. I'll be there for you and your eggs, gathering them in an attractive basket which I will place onto my large, rustic kitchen table. There I will knead bread, and cut out patchwork squares and....

Honestly. Who am I kidding? Our regular common or garden pets are trouble enough. I don't have the faintest idea about anything to do with animal husbandry. I don't even know what that is. I have started making a patchwork quilt. By started, I mean I have purchased a very nice collection of fabric, which lives under the stairs. I'm truly rubbish at making bread.

I can however, wear a print with more panache than most, so the dream can live on a little longer. Where do you stand on donkeys?

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