So you know how it is a truth universally regarded that a certain vintage housekeeper has got astonishingly bad taste? Well I thought it was high time I explained myself…

Take the red shoes. What can I say? They are shiny, red patent leather with a grosgrain bow. Absolutely hideously ugly but oh how I adore them. You see somewhere inside of my demure exteriour lives a trollop of the highest order. The kind of trollop who has to be talked out of leopardskin platforms with pink ribbons, or glass heeled stripper shoes, in the name of all that is respectable…

In all other respects, I maybe slightly wack, but I am certainly not given to the outrageous. Except when it comes to shoes. Particuarly silly red ones like these that appeal to my inner slapper, send me swooshing back home when I click my heels, and inspire a whole new decorating scheme for my bedroom, where said shoes currently reside on a shelf facing my bed. All at the same time.

So yey for tacky shoes. They brighten up an all black wardrobe no end. Just talk me out of the fishnet stockings ok?


Next on the list of downright out and out bad taste, comes the green and gold, very horrible, Tate Gallery wallpaper on the landing. I know!! What on earth possessed me. It is soooooooo ugly I shut my eyes when I run down the hall.

Forgive me I was pregnant when I chose it and we all know that hormones are the root of all evil.


And then theres Robert. Sweet, smiley, lovely Robert Taylor grinning away in a corner of my living room in a quite frankly spectacularly, scary fashion. I saw him a junk shop and ladies I couldn’t resist. Yes, I realise he looks half mad. And yes, to all those who have graced my living room and peered bewildered at my latest man, I agree- he does nothing for the decor.

But he makes me feel happy.

And when all is said and done that is what  I suspect bad taste is for. To remind us not to take  ourselves  too seriously.  To allow our inner trollop to applaud her  astonishing lapses in taste, and to let everything that is beautiful bask in the dubious glory of all that is downright ugly.

Housekeepers, I make no apologies. I have bad taste. In everything from cheese, to underwear,  bedside lamps and cheap plonk.  (Glass of Blue Nun anyone?) I can’t help it.
You will however be thrilled to hear that I suspect my taste in men of the living and breathing kind, is on the up…