dames and wigs
Thank you, Leah! I'd also rather write my books than pink books, though I did watch a glorious 1979 interview with Barbara Cartland last night. She was dressed in full diamente fig (or were the shiners real? Cripes!) and was being interviewed by a man who looked as though he was wearing the worst wig in the world. I was fascinated by both him and the Dame, whose self-confidence and eyelash batting was enviable. Her books are less pink than dreamy silver. She definitely had a gift, though I did not, for one second (ok, just for a second), wish it were mine - except for the book sales of course. Dreamy silver turns to gold ...
If only we did learn from history, Camille. Perhaps this downturn will teach us something although I doubt it. It will be interesting, though, to see whether the 'I want it and I want it now' generation will learn a little patience and find something attractively novel in the old thrill of looking forward to things. They may find it something of a relief!
Apropos of nothing at all, I've suddenly decided to return to sheets and blankets, using the duvet as a kind of eiderdown (remember them?) Believe it or not, the change has proven quite a weapon in the fight against my chronic insomnia. Is it the weight? Is it the comforting presence of wool, harking back to a childhood in which duvets were treated with the gravest suspicion? (Whatever next? Showers? Horror!)