Yesterday found me sat, maxi-dressed in the sunshine with a pot of rasberry sorbet and lovely elle magasine in leiu of vogue, which i left at that boys house (silly me), with a big spoon at all times between my mouth and said pot. Bloody marvellous set up I think you'll agree. Until I choked on my sorbet, having seen a picture of this girl I used to know when I lived in Canterbury, in a style profile article in my magasine. Who was decidedly un-nice when I knew her. The article was about what stylish people wear to work...which also means she has a good, elle-approved job. There she was, in her erdem shorts, looking primped and glossy, and bloody good, actually. How irritating. I had a really really big spoon full of sorbet, congratulated her inside my head and turned the page. Good for her, but I hope she's nicer now. I? I am getting my Vogue back at the earliest opportunity. There's never anyone I know in there. 
These are the shorts. I think you see what I mean.
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