Alice Goes To Bed Early..

By Alison May 19, 2005 No Comments 2 Min Read


Sweeties, it’s been forever!! 

While I would be more than thrilled to tittle tattle with you on a daily basis, one does have a life and a rather delicious new young man (I found him in Cannes, slumming it with Robert Jr and dear old Jude), of which we shall say no more, suffice to say, he’s keeping me entertained…

But darlings, all of a sudden the boudoir is playing a rather more prominent role in my life than before: were one was to be found canoodling with Ken Barlow, all of a sudden one finds oneself cavorting on the sofa and exhausted on the Yves Delorme

How is a woman of a certain age to keep up?

Arabella (dear, sweet, horsey Arabella…) suggested an hour of seven of Ashtanga yoga, but really darlings, she should keep her horsey trap firmly shut : yoga went out with botox, prairie skirts and Madonna and I have got no interest whatsoever in perspiring like she does…

No, the answer lies in an early night or four: if one can persuade one’s friends that one has something better to do four nights out of seven, then one can take the opportunity to slip between one’s satin sheets a tad earlier than Sadie’s set would probably think fashionable: all the better to greet their catty remarks, bright eyed and Chloe-ed up to the nines the next time one find’s oneself dallying with them in the organic supermarket…

And so to bed it is: I try to retire before nine, so I am not seduced by anything the watershed might have to offer : a bath is of course required, because a lady would never dream of laying city sullied skin onto the sheets she sold her Grandmother for. One would not of course draw one’s one bath, but call on Conchita to spill a little Philosophy into steamy hot water and light the Aqua di Parma, then because one likes a little drama with one’s absolutions, the operatic delights of Georges Bizet  are piped into ones bathroom and one takes to the water while sipping that most common of drinks, a Baileys, purely because one rather enjoys the slow velvet flow of alcohol down ones rather slender neck..

Then into the bedroom it is, to slip into something slinky and after a quick dally with my heroine, Madame Bovary, fall rested into a dream where one does not have to carry the burden that is Arabella and is instead blessed with a gaggle of adoring fans, and a man old enough not to make one feel like a school M’am, nor require almost constant maintanence…   

Till next time Sweeties, (I wouldn’t hold your breath!)



P.S: Like the saucy new look?

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