This is never going to get old. Ever. Not when it fuels the dreams of a house near a beach - not a beach house, more of a beach home - with lots of light and a log fireplace (this could only ever be in England, right?). Of old photographs taped up on the walls and walks in the wind and a place to call your own that you can fill with your mess, and your things, and your stuff and have tea and biscuits after it all. I've always loved homes that aren't perfectly neat and tidy, because I'm not perfectly neat and tidy. I think that Margaret Howell is my kind of label, but because it's so hard to find in Australia I'll just have to wait till next year when I can check it out for myself in London. Dreams of a sand-coloured parka and a wardrobe of Joan-worthy separates are more than enough for now.
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