I know we’re not supposed to be materialistic, but I’m afraid I am. As much as I love my animals, there are a few things I no longer own that I would like to get back to feel more like the old me.
As I had to sell everything (long story; I’ve written a book about what happened in case you need to catch up*), I only possess very few things from Before I Left London and My Old Lovely Life…
- One brown Prada handbag, a gift from Miuccia Prada herself, circa 1999.
- My 2003 glittery-heel wedding shoes from Bottega Veneta.
- My French desk from Abigail Ahern (it’s in storage as it’s too big).
- One Eames office chair, from Selfridges in 2006; I would have sold it but Gracie chewed the lever that makes it go up or down, so currently am permanently ‘up’.
- My wedding ring and my ‘friendship’ ring from my husband: a sign we were on a slippery slope.
- One lamp from Abigail Ahern.
- A painting I bought in a gallery in Islington; Gracie has chewed the frame.
- The battered colander given to me by my mum when I left home – and a well-worn jam spoon, which I’ve always puzzled over as I don’t eat condiments.
And that’s it. I am fine without the Mercedes sports car (see Gracie, above: an accident waiting to happen), and the Helmut Lang and McQueen suits, the Bottega Veneta gown cut on the bias, my Louboutins, my gorgeous antique chest of drawers from Nicole Farhi Home. My piano. My Eero Saarinen Tulip table; someone drove from Germany to pick that up from me. My huge pink velvet Chesterfield sofas, bought from The Conran Shop for £8,000. Sold on Ebay for £400 (they were a teeny bit chewed, see above). My Heal’s four-poster.
There are just a few things that I want back, to make me feel normal again. Not so bereft.
- An Oyster Perpetual Rolex. I sold mine for a fraction of its cost. I’ve seen a secondhand one I like the look of on My Wardrobe HQ.
- Silver Manolo Blahnik shoes. I bought these to go to the Oscars about 20 years ago, and later saw similar ones on Carrie Bradshaw teamed with rolled-up combats, so in fact she copied me.
- A Land Rover Defender. I had just paid off the hire purchase, then was forced to sell it (see my book) via WeBuyAnyCar.com. When you turn up they find all sorts of things to knock the price down further.
- A nice sofa. Currently I am on a small, synthetic two-seater given to me by an old lady in sheltered housing, as she took pity on me.
- Maharishi combat pants.
- A rich, famous boyfriend.
I’m sick of men emailing to say, ‘I’m not sure I can afford a relationship’ (ie, I want you to pay for everything) and who send me a blank Valentine’s Day card, a one-wick Diptyque candle and say, ‘You never gave me the £85 when I picked up the wreath for your poor dead mum’s FUNERAL!!!’ When I evicted my husband from MY lovely house after he had cheated again, he stopped the direct debit of £300 I had forced him to set up to go towards the enormous amount of food he consumed, when everything else I’d asked him to do (phone British Gas, clean the fish pond, change a lightbulb) took YEARS. So that is the rich bit.
I need someone famous so they are not all chippy when we are out having lunch and women come over to take a selfie, shoving him out of the way. When you are well known, even if you haven’t met the famous person, they come over to ‘mwah mwah’ you anyway (BC**). This happened so many times when I was with the one before last: June Sarpong, Dave Gilmour, Debbie Harry, Louise Redknapp. But rather than bask in the attention, the one before last got all hot and cross.
So, yeah. I’ve decided. I want the Rich Famous Boyfriend back. The other five items I can work on…
*Girl Least Likely To: 30 Years of Fasting, Fashion and Fleet Street