It has come to my attention (via a rather condemnatory anonymous comment) that some people maybe thought that this paragraph in my last post:
Maybe, just maybe, if this was made out of some kind of slithery shiny satin I could picture it as the going out attire of some superannuated showgirl - but poplin? Poplin is the fabric for sensible blouses and bank teller uniforms, not aging sex kittens with too much gold jewellery and too many stories about the one that got away (he had a used car dealership, biggest on the Coast, wouldn't leave his wife in the end).
was about me. It's not - it's my hamfisted attempt to imagine the lady who might have owned that dress. She's a character, just an imaginary character. I obviously didn't write that little passage with enough clarity, so I thought I'd better make it clear now. I'm not an old showgirl, an aging sex kitten (or any other kind of sex kitten for that matter), I don't have too much gold jewellery (I kind of wish I did though), and I never had an affair with a married man, used car dealer or otherwise (obviously that was the controversial bit).
Hope that all makes sense!
PS. We have another day or two until our broadband kicks in for another month, so I am a bit curtailed in my blog reading and commenting until then. So apologies for my absence, but I'll be back soon to see you all.
3 hours ago