Let’s face it – It’s Friday night, and I’m here in my studio studiously analyzing trends for Winter 2010 (which sounds, and is, a lot like reading magazines and surfing the net), about to drag my dull arse into bed so I can get up early enough to worship at the temple of Joel (my yoga teacher and centre of all things lustful – what else would get me out of bed on a Saturday morning?) But that’s a whole other story.
But in another, more social chapter of my life, I would be just a few hours short of striking a pose as girl below. Except instead of slumping delicately onto the corner of my bed, I would be passed out, pre-central heating, in front of my fan heater – just for a touch of danger. And there would be every chance it was one of the nights when I couldn’t wrench my boots off my post-dancing swollen feet, so would sleep in them. Ah, the single girl’s lament…Why does this, and jammed zips, only seem to happen in-between boyfriends??
