Now feminism is just completely IN, in every regard, I find myself being emailed quite often by various commissioning editors (HI GUYS LOVE YOU LOVE YOU MWAH) being asked: “Looking for women who are endlessly whistled at or groped on the tube, propositioned while jogging etc.”

And I was like, what do you mean ETCETERA? None of those things has ever happened to me, ever.

Very occasionally I am whistled at by a builder or by someone in a van and, to be completely honest with you, I am relieved. I don’t want to make light of sexism and sexual assault and stuff but genuinely I feel relief,  like, as in, phew I do actually exist as a woman and not just as a flesh puppet wandering about doing my shopping.

There was a totally hilarious piece in the Daily Mail the other day, written by a woman called Julia Stephenson, who someone is trying to turn into the new Samantha Brick, saying that she’s too pretty to be faithful.

And I looked at her and I thought, is she really that prettier than me? Is my ridiculous high self-esteem and body dysmorphia, (in my head I look like Giselle), so rampant that I am genuinely imagining myself to be many degrees more attractive than I actually am?

If not, why has no-one, not a single soul, propositioned me in the 7 years that I have been married?

It’s because I’ve been constantly pregnant or with small children, I tell myself. It’s because I’ve got a standoffish air, I am scary, my face in repose says BACK THE FUCK OFF OR I WILL SKIN YOU – even though I am only ever thinking about wallpaper.

If hassled I will give you a look like an eagle peering through plantation shutters. Useful in many circumstances! But not very winning to men.

But I suspect the truth is less that I am unapproachably cool and tough and more that my pouchy hamster face, freckles and ruddy cheeks remind men of that kid off the cover of MAD. And luckily my husband was more of a Beano fan.

Anyway fuck them! Who cares. Who needs men. Not me. Well I only need one man and we all know who that is:


I have my heart set on a Chanel neckerchief, to be tied jauntily around the neck, hair, wrist or bag this Spring. I have decided that an actual Chanel bag is unnecessary and possibly even dangerously foolish.

At roughly £300, a silk Chanel handkerchief is properly sploshingly bonkersley expensive for what it is, but in the grand scheme of things, not that expensive.

I rather love the colours on this one:

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or this one:

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There are also lots available on Vestiaire for less pukey amounts (you have to sign up to look on the website – but here are my favourites).

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