If it were a shoe, it’d be a Manolo Blahnik. But it’s not. It’s a writing desk that is doing a wonderful job as a bedside table. Ok, so I have to reach a little, but it works. Such extravagance. I know. I know. But when squeezing your size sevens (nines to my American friends) into an MB is nigh on impossible, and the classic Hepburn cast-offs wouldn’t even cover a shoulder, then a girl has to get her glam somehow.
It’s very decorative. It’s very chintzy. It’s embellished to within an inch of its life. It practically shimmers in the sunlight. There’s a tiny piece of new wood inserted in the front right leg, but I can forgive that slight imperfection. It’s a little like the filling I got last week when I noticed a rather sizable chip in my front tooth – I know it’s there but you’d be hard pushed to see it. In a month’s time, I won’t even notice that little, tiny piece of new wood. I won’t. I won’t.
And yes, I know from the comments you’ve made that some of you still aren’t sold on the glitzy floor lamp so I can only guess what you’ll think of this. But please, just for a minute, suspend your distaste and look at them both together. Aren’t they a match made in heaven? And for those of you thinking ‘boudoir above the saloon’ , get thee out of Dawson City!
The devil is in the detail and if you look closely, you’ll see a couple of Ajka crystal votives in a classic amber doubling as bookends. If I had all the money in the world, I’d have an Ajka chandelier hanging from every ceiling. Right now, I have to content myself with champagne flutes and candle holders (both thanks to the gracious MC who has exquisite taste). Unfortunately, it looks as if Ajka is in trouble… is nothing sacred?