It's not the A bomb that has hit my house. It's me tearing through my wardrobe in a nervous state of frustration and panic. This is of course me, overreacting. I'm merely trying to pack for Paris next week where I'll be attending some shows (what shows, I know not yet...all will be revealed when I arrive at the hotel to find either a nice stack of envelopes or absolute squat...). Shows or no shows, packing for Paris is a nightmare as I currently have the most ridiuclous notion in my head that I have no clothes... This is again complete lunacy. What I probably mean when I wail 'I have no clothes' is 'I have no clothes that are suitable.'
So some augmenting, changes, DIY fixes need to be made this weekend in a mad rush to cram a somewhat decent wardrobe for 6 days in Paris. The augmenting part is not helped by the fact that I'm transfixed by these silver trousers from Topshop that look to be made of chainmail but have been described as 'silver sequin black jeans'. This images occasionally flashes up on the Topshop website and has been in the press for a while, but as yet, I haven't spotted them in-store or online. Daily Topshop checks are pretty sad and I find it a little shameful that I'm hankering for something that probably will be all over the streets.
Nonetheless, the ticking trouser-watch continues until about Monday when I'll have to forget about silver trew time in Paris. Pity as I so wanted my legs to sparkle like the Eiffel Tower when those Rugby World Cup lights are sparkling.... (I'm constantly reminded of that line in the penultimate episode of Sex and the City where Aleksander Petrovsky's daughter Clohé declares those lights as 'eeeedeous, just eeeedeous!'.