Dressing Table

When I moved into my flat the removals men broke one of the side mirrors on my lovely antique dressing table. It turned into a big, annoying dispute which hung over me like a lingering pong for a few weeks afterwards. In the end we found out the cost to replace the mirror (something like £200) and I had that amount taken off the price of moving (which was something like £500 - yes, I was shocked, too).

As you can see, I still haven't had the mirror replaced. The dressing table looks so out of place in my bedroom with it's modern laminate flooring, slab doors, other hideous white furniture and a badly fitted storage heater; it's like a splendid shining emerald that's been plonked in a bog. So I thought I might as well wait until I move somewhere else otherwise it might just break again during transit.

My habit for dumping things on surfaces is obvious, here. That massive bag of epsom salts has been there for months but I fear if I leave it in the bathroom it will turn into one humongous rock. I've tried to put up some of George's old curtains by pinning them to the crap brown ones that were there when I moved in. All half-arsed but the green flowers make a little bit of difference to my mood. And yes, George is just about to thwack me in the head with a sock.