Sofa. His Living Room. On the verge of splitting up. 2010. Him: “Ha! Like Rafiki and Simba?” Me: “Who?” Him: “From The Lion King. Rafiki, he lifts Simba, remember?” Me: “Never seen it” Jeez, I’ve never seen him more outraged since the Marks & Spencer chocolate milk debacle (to cut a long, calorie laden …
I have always wanted to go to Marrakech. For as long as I can remember I’ve yearned to meander in the medina and souk it all up. I’ve longed to sit on an embroidered leather pouffe in the cool courtyard of a riad, eating a homemade tagine surrounded by glowing lanterns. Probably wearing a fez. …
It’s divisive, deplored and derided. It’s the stuff of brassy TV barmaids and long haired old letches. Bet Lynch wears it, Peter Stringfellow lounges on it and I just love it. Hardly a day goes by when I’m not leopard printed in some way or another. It could be a bag, it might be my nails or …