bestowal

We all know the scene. Audrey Hepburn, dressed to the nines, walks along New York’s Fifth Avenue. Nibbling on a croissant, she stops to admire the window display at Tiffany’s. It is shortly after first light. The streets are empty.

In a modern rendition of this scene, the woman is dressed to the nil. (Or curiously null?) We see neither her face nor that she is savouring her favourite crackers because her face is buried in the pages of a tantalising book. This modern-day retelling should not be mistaken for cerebral porn.

What this poorly rendered rendition of Breakfast at Tiffany’s should be taken for is my way of saying thanks to Puss for sending me a love package. The Carr’s biscuits are safely hidden from dogs & husband. And Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber is exactly what I’ve been in the mood to read.

It’s wonderful to feel cared for. I shall smile brightly today, feeling very special indeed.

Thank you thank you thank you. xo

*I know what you’re all thinking: the impudence of some people to compare themselves to Audrey Hepburn. I’ll have you know I secretly liken myself more to David Niven. But that’s another post.