I have had great intentions of writing something worthwhile on this blog for days but to no avail. Alas, Saturday night has arrived and here I am with Vogue and several half read novels as my closest compantions, even my cat Darcy has opted for solitude under my bed. I have been feeling rather pensive and in need of a drastic change; I need to get out of this city. I keep getting great urges to escape to the seaside or, well anywhere really other than here. Barcelona in 3 weeks and counting, though I must admit I am sort of beginning to resent this holiday and the saving of money that it calls for, particuarly as I peruse the new A/W lines so out of my reach, made worst by the fact that I allow myself to enter shoe stores without the intention of buying for at least another month or so. Massachism? Hmm. I have been thinking and reflecting on my interiors a lot lately, I look around my room and think that perhaps it is a much greater reflection of my real self than the clothes I am wearing currently. Days at work are spent daydreaming about my future home. Today we drove past the most beautiful and quaint town house that I think I have ever seen. Its bright yellow front door reminds me of the house I lived in as a child. Habitually, I favor florals et vintage styles but lately I have been admiring the work of David Collins, best showcased in the blue bar of the berkeley hotel.
bonne nuit, wuthering heights calls.
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