Thursday, June 19, 2003
Rather than go to the Y to work-out alongside my fellow self-obsessed, mid-life-crisis Marys, I opted for a lie-in this morning. (Steady on, Stranger! Slippery slope and all that!)
So at 7 a.m. I slipped gracefully (but manfully) out from under my duvet (Jasper Conran) and into my bathrobe (Calvin Klein), before taking a soak (long and leisurely) with some essential oils (Body Shop). After which, I wafted (magnificently) over into my kitchen (well-appointed), to make a cup of freshly-ground coffee (Ethiopian Java).
There I sliced a warmed olive ciabatta (Euphorium bakery), onto which I arranged (artfully) cubes of feta cheese (local farmer's market). I then reached for a jar of honey (finest Australian), and drizzled it sparingly onto said feta.
And it was with that final, sparing drizzle onto said feta, my dears, that I realised with a sigh that yes, your Invisible Stranger is really nothing more than a label-crazy, and oh-so-wonderfully shallow, Islington Queen.