I went a little bit bonkers this month.
Wait, what, who even uses the word bonkers anymore? I imagine it to be slightly old people who live in a six bed house in the country and love nothing more than a jolly good chat about what a great guy Nigel Farage is over a pot of Earl Grey and some homemade flapjack. I hate flapjack, just FYI.
Anyway, bonkers because there was litz loads I wanted when I was doing my monthly scan of all the high street fashion websites and their new-in sections.
There are so many bags. All the bags. The lime green or yellow-y sort of tassel one from River Island is actually a bag that me and a pal spotted whilst boarding the plane to Egypt the other week. We were mentally wanking over it, I’ll be honest. Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word wanking there, maybe that’s a tad aggressive, but you get the idea – it was everything we wanted from a new bag and we salivated over it a bit and discussed whether we should ask the bag owner where it was from, but we didn’t.
And then, a week later, I spied it in the window of the Ipswich branch of RI and furiously text her to be like I KNOW WHERE THE BAG IS FROM. Now I’m trying to weigh up whether, despite buying three new bags over the past month, I can warrant splashing out on another? Can I? Can I? CAN I?
Also, there is so much tropical print out there at the moment it’s making me a little bit giddy. It just *feels* like shimmery, tanned skin and red lipstick and coral nails and cool, fruity cocktails and turquoise seas and white beaches and Clean Bandit and aviators and happiness. Know what I mean?
As you all know, I’m off again on my travels at the end of the week, and it’s seriously taken a lot of staring at my overdraft and credit card statements online to stop me being all FUCK IT, I’LL BUY EVERYTHING AND LOOK BEAUTIFUL AND AMAZING AND CHIC AND COOL AND LALALALA.
So err, yeah. Bought nothing yet. Nope. Although my dad has bought me a Tesco sleeping bag, so there’s that.