The lovely people over at Tanni and Anni read my recent post about fashion and, with wondrous generosity, sent me a pink long sleeved t-shirt. It's delicious. It also leads to amusement. A (slightly drunk) friend read it as "there's no need to stare, I know I'm fat". Actually, I might well wear one that had those words. Nothing like stating your beliefs (well, fears in this case) up front to throw people off balance.
(Someone asked about the poster in this pretty pink picture. Yes, I did meet Bill Clinton. I'd never done anything like it before, and haven't since. Back in 2005, pre-accident, I was sitting in the garden at home one evening when I read about Clinton coming to London to launch his autobiography the next day. He intrigues me: how someone so brilliantly talented has flaws that destroyed his reputation. Annika was in Devizes so I jumped into the car, drove to the station, got the train to London, pitched up at a friend's house for a quick sleep then joined the queue outside Waterstones in Piccadilly at 4.30am. There were three of us. By the time the ex-President arrived at 1.30pm, there were over a thousand. We all got to meet him. Being ambidextrous, he shook my hand with his right as he signed my book with his left. He had an extraordinary, magnetic presence. And the softest hands.)
