Do you know who I blame? Carrie Bradshaw. Yes that's right. Carrie Bradshaw AKA Sarah Jessica-Parker AKA queen of all things reflective and aspiring! I sit there in my morbid student flat, munching on Rainbow Drops, picking them out of my definitely non-existent cleavage as and when they decide to NOT enter my mouth, dreaming, aspiring, begging God for a life like hers! I mean, it's not as if I could go swaggering onto my slightly pretentious University campus of Royal Holloway in a pair of Jimmy Choos, a pheasant attached to my salon perm and Chanel-inspired slightly Madonna meets David Cameron style black suit. Campus security would be called in the fear that an actual Holloway prison jailbird had escaped. This Holloway prison shenanigan I fear will forever haunt me in my future life, it is bad enough now as a favorite joke of my great uncle's to which I have to laugh/play along with, sporting a disgustingly saccharine smile on my face, let alone in 15 years time when potentially I get a fit of alien hand and steal something (god forbid), actually end up in jail and my senile great uncle tells everyone I had a stint there between the age of 18 to 22, CLEARLY prison is where I belong!
Anyhow, it is a conversation starter to say the least and someday I am determined to play on this and turn up to a family rendezvous, buffet et al, in an orange boiler suit and handcuffs with a crazed look on my face. One for the family photo album!
So ultimately, Carrie Bradshaw and her luxe lifestyle and image are a mere vacant dream in the distance, for now. Until then I will continue blogging, even if I do sit here reading to myself what I am writing in a distinctly american accent which sounds all too familiar to hers...I can dream a little?!
