I’m living out a fantasy right now as I type, but not the one involving Johnny Depp dressed as Jack Sparrow, that’s another post for another day.

Stairs to my apartment

Picture this, I’m sitting with my really long legs (work with me people) curled under me on the sofa, wearing an oversized ‘boyfriend’ jumper (it’s just an expression, don’t panic anyone), writing my latest post on a Macbook Air in the cutest little Paris apartment in the 19th Arrondissement – overlooking the balcony of the B*tch Killers of Rue de Meaux – but we don’t think too much about that while living the dream, and anyway, they’ve seen me naked now, so I think that makes us friends.

In my mind, I’m a successful writer, this is MY place, the jumper belongs to my extremely hot, funny, giant-brained boyfriend who I have kicked out for a couple of hours, to give me my space to write while I’m inspired, in a Marlene Dietrich kind of, “I vant to be alone” way.  There is a glass of ice–cold champagne to hand, every successful creative needs to drink while working and really it should be a robust red, but I drank way too much of that last night and well honestly, I can live with a 98% accurate fantasy.

I think it suits me rather well this life, except the legs, they’d just look stupid and I wouldn’t be able to keep them under control, and I’d be staggering around like a boyfriend jumper-wearing Bambi.

SO to live that life is so far away??  All I need really now is the boyfriend thus boyfriend jumper, but I could just go to Zara Man and get a size large…. a publisher and approximately 200,000 euros for the place and the Macbook and the wine, and the fantasy becomes reality. Remember, nothing is impossible.

(Let’s have this conversation again in twelve months!)