On the mantel shelf of the cave there’s an invitation to my middle daughter’s wedding in August. This happy event is causing anxiety on several counts, not least finding something to wear. I hate shopping. Algorithms send me dozens of hideous armour-plated mother-of-the-bride outfits daily but I want to know what Kate Moss would wear if she were shorter, ten years older, half a stone heavier, had a budget of £450 (including accessories) and didn’t look like Kate Moss.
One of the things I like about this part of France is the lack of voracious consumerism
Last month I finished a portrait painting. The sitter was pleased and came over with the second instalment, €1,000 in cash, which I put in my handbag. After he and his wife left, I argued with myself – lost – got in the car and headed for the department store Printemps in Toulon, an hour’s drive away.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in