It's warm outside - warm inside, too - and that bothers me, but it wouldn't bother me if I had a walled garden to sit in late on a September evening. I always wanted one, and at least one other person to sit with me in it, smoking cigarettes and quite possibly wearing a ridiculously extravagant hat, probably a more restrained version of this fabulous Philip Treacy classic. Or this, that would do, too. Stephen Jones. Of course.
One day I'll tell you all what I really want to be like. As if you didn't know.