1.

New, cooler wallet. Probably Prada

2.

Fancy overpriced Lamborghini type car for my sister that I think is a total waste of money but that I’d give her anyway because I’m nice and I know she loves dreaming about overpriced cars

3.

Bigger house with a yard to accommodate all the puppies I would get. Like about 50 puppies

4.

Three cat keyboard moon t-shirt for the Husband

The morning of the draw, I was sure I was going to win. I even tweeted about it, and we all know that tweeting things makes them true. When I checked my ticket later on, I found that I had indeed won.

Unfortunately I’m not the squazillionaire I thought I would be. I won $11.85, which after my $5 investment, was a net return of $6.85. Not quite enough for me to retire to Paris tomorrow and shop every day at Colette, but it’s not a bad start. You know, glass half full and all that stuff.

In Barcelona, my talent was tested when the Husband and I wandered by the window of a beautiful shop called Lotusse. Even through the glare of the afternoon sun on the window, I could spot the buttery soft leather that only graces the dearest of shoes, and I knew I shouldn’t go in. It had been a very extravagant day of shopping (and a few moments of concern that my suitcase would be overweight), and I’d just vowed not to buy any more stuff. But then the shoes sang their siren song; I was rendered helpless. Here are the enchanting, wee Spanish brogues:

Lotusse has gorgeous shoes, handmade in Spain, and I wish they had an online store, or even just a website, so I could fall in love with more of their shoes and give them more of my money.

The careful hand stitching and lovely craftsmanship makes me imagine an old Spanish shoemaker with a round belly, bent over a long wooden bench in a little village workshop. Most of the day he perches on a stool, working smooth, perfect leather around lasts. Maybe he has a small team of elves to assist, and he passes the shoes off to them to do all the delicate stitching. At lunchtime, when it’s too hot to work, they retire to the cool kitchen of the main house, where the the shoemaker’s wife has laid out a merienda of crusty bread, a rainbow of olives, mild sheep’s milk cheese, a few links of sausage and a hearty red wine. After lunch, they go for siesta, each finding a solitary spot in in the house, and there they nap until the day cools down and it’s time to resume the shoemaking.

Elves and a round-bellied old Spanish man. Those are definitely the people who made my shoes.

Alas, I can’t claim credit for these very clever photos. They’re the handiwork of my lovely friend Xanthe, who is eternally in my good book for helping me organise my apartment last month and more recently, for showing me that the zoom on my camera is not the same thing as the focus. Go figure.

It’s been a challenge going from adventure mode to sitting-in-a-chair-working-12-hour-days mode and I must admit, I’ve been a grumpy camper. I’ve been the sort of camper whose camping trip has been rained out. The sort of camper who is stuck inside a leaky one-person tent that she can’t stand up in and all her socks are wet and she can’t start a fire so all she’s been eating are cold cans of spaghetti and all she’s been doing is sulking and wondering if she’ll be eaten by a bear soon. Going back to work after holidaying in Europe is like eating cold cans of spaghetti in the rain and then getting eaten by a bear.

There’s one consolation that makes going back to work a little bit better: getting to be creative with my work wardrobe. Of course that creativity has to exist within the confines of a corporate environment where the boring, sometimes ill-fitting pin striped suit is king, but I try to live by the sage advice given to me by a very successful businesswoman: you’re not a man, so there’s no need to dress like one.

Carefully following that advice, I’ve put together a wardrobe full of bright, feminine dresses and silk blouses, skirts in different styles and shapes and colourful bags, belts and shoes that will set me apart from all the other worker bees. I was just starting to run out of creative ways to avoid wearing a suit when this editorial in the Australian Financial Review Magazine came along. It made me hop around the office in excitement because I had found my new inspiration.

Of course he’s checking her out. She’s wearing Prada.

Over the last week the Boyfriend says he often catches me sitting, fists clenched, staring bug-eyed and intensely off into space. He reminds me to relax and I try fruitlessly to stop my mind racing. We’re almost there though, and then in a few days, we’ll be on our way to Madrid, cameras in hand, ready to collect up photos, stories and new clothes to entertain you with.

I asked the call centre guy from our internet provider if it was still the stone age, and if his favourite lunch hour pastime was to go hunting with wooden clubs for sabre-toothed tigers. I asked him if he and his colleagues wear fur loincloths, brush their teeth with twigs and worry about pterodactyls stealing their babies. Danger of pterodactyl-related kidnappings. Now that’s a good reason for an eight day delay to hook up internet service. He didn’t laugh. I guess in the stone age they’re not used to people as hilarious as I am.

Anyway, since I can’t upload photos from a phone, here are some cool links, fashion and otherwise, to keep you going until my technological travails are over.

1.

Alber Elbaz. I heart him. His English is impeccable, but I love the poetic, accidental beauty that happens when someone is speaking English as their second language.

2.

Die Antwoord, all up in the interwebs. The characters from Gummo grow up and become freakish South African electronica rappers. Be disturbed. Be amazed. I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that I think there’s something catchy about these guys’ music.

3.

Why does everyone (like Jane and Rumi) have Miu Miu satin platforms except me? I think Mrs. Prada should send a pair to me. I like the naked people pattern best, although I’m not sure if it exists in shoe form. I’d definitely say nice things about the shoes, and it wouldn’t even be because I got them for free.

4.

Here’s a lovely little article about Mrs. Prada written by Tim Blanks whom I saw in the flesh at the Anna & Boy fashion show at Rosemount Australian Fashion Week. People, I almost died from the excitement. What amazes me about Mrs. Prada is that in her unrelenting quest to find something new, she always turns out collections that are uniquely and recogniseably Prada.

To all the mamas out there, mine included, I hope you had a wonderful Mother’s Day. And without further ado, here is the adorable, improbably thin, pregnant Lily Donaldson celebrating what motherhood should not be.

Are two cigarettes at once really necessary? Don’t you need a free hand for your martini?

People, let me share with you what was on the screen:

Sometimes I wonder who I’m marrying.

Image source: www.threadless.com

This Yves St Laurent ring is proof that evil and beauty can co-exist in perfect, over-priced harmony. FACT.

This ring is so beautiful I need to go find something soft to faint on. Too bad I don’t actually own this ring. Fainting is ever so inelegant when one’s fingers are unadorned.

Images: www.net-a-porter.com

In case turning 30 wasn’t in itself fancy-lady-making enough, my lovely, fabulous, sweet, thoughtful, handsome fiance gave me something that I’ll treasure forever and guard fiercely from the evils of ballpoint pen ink, blue jeans transfer stain and sun damage alike. Please say hello to Victoria, the ostrich leather jewel in the Chloe family crown.

She blasts crazy quantities of awesome into whatever I’m wearing, even if it’s just flannel pyjamas with bunny rabbits on them. When I walk down the street with her, (usually not in bunny rabbit pyjamas), I feel like the coolest girl on the planet who ever lived.

I’m a little afraid to take her on outings just in case I get caught in an unforeseen torrential downpour, or someone touches her with mucky fingers. People in my future, consider yourselves forewarned. Touch my handbag with mucky fingers and you will surely feel my wrath.

The miu miu collection in Paris last week raises the age old question: how many bows can be reasonably crammed onto one amazing shoe? Four, apparently:

Unless of course you add floral spat type things. Then the answer is two: