Before I begin, I should thank the eternal worrier for the structure of this post: It's all about the number seven and quite unlike my usual writing style. More opaque, for one.
Melbourne today: torrential rain, gale-force winds, staggeringly high heels (mine). Umbrellas, damp pedestrians, public transport and other bloggers.
They can verify that
1) I do exist and
2) even look like my header,
3) my hair's not a wig and
4) I wear leather and
5) (black) lace and
6) a scarf with
7) tiny fairy bells dangling from it's tattered black fringe.
Angela, Alicia, Lady Smaggle, Selena, Grant, Lady Melbourne and I (that's seven) made an upstairs table at Laurent our home for hours, talking toobs, clothing, jewellery, readership, cake, nuffnang and the science of confectionary-preference-compatibility.
(Photos here and here)
I'd be lying if I didn't confess nerves, and a tiny, miniscule, nagging crush. On whom, I'll let you guess.
And my seven nominated bloggers? Well, there were six in attendance and one more I would very much have liked to meet: Esme and the laneway.
Please participate if you would like. Mr London Street began it all in this post.