Wandering along a smart west London street after lunch, I happened upon a little tack shop.
I have a strict policy of never passing by equestrian suppliers, as you know. I am quite hopelessly addicted to the smell of saddle leather. The sight of shiny new bridles hanging in a row makes me swoon the way some women get excited over a rack of La Perla underwear sets. Give me a velvet skullcap cover over a silk camisole any day of the week.
This was a particularly swish-looking tack shop and as soon as I was inside I was emitting ‘Aaaah!…Oooooh!’ noises. There were Beagle caps and polo hats, hunting coats, tweeds and long black shiny boots. ‘Oh! Oooooo!’
Maybe I was a bit high on leather fumes, but as the woman who ran the place appeared from the back of the shop I could have sworn I had seen her in an episode of The League of Gentleman.
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