I want it to be spring now. I’m fed up with November, I’ve had enough. There’s only so far you can go with spooky-witchy-autumn loveliness before you have to admit that it’s just fucking cold and you wish it was over. I want to buy new pumps, croissants and flowers and take them home in the front basket of my Amsterdam bike. I want to go to the ballet and when I leave, only put on a tiny cardigan, because it’s WARM. I want to listen to First Aid Kit and watch The Virgin Suicides, or maybe Bright Star. I want to go to bed wearing nothing but white boxer shorts, without freezing my tits off. I want to lay in the grass. I want to read Parisian novels from the 1920’s, without actually sobbing in abject misery because Giverny won’t be in bloom for another six months. I want to open my windows without fear. I want to wear sunglasses during the day, not just in nightclubs. I want to see a ladybird! Where did all the ladybirds go?? COME BACK!!!!!
My flowered bed linen is from Ikea; the striped top I’m wearing is from H&M (Again. I just love Swedish junk, apparently) and the knickers are Topshop. I got the heart print shoe-laces from a goth shop in Camden that I can’t remember the name of, but has THE BIGGEST collection of shoe-laces I’ve ever seen. Yeah.