I was having a bit of a clean up this weekend, sorting out things and re-arranging my room. Yes my life is really that exciting. Anyway, while rooting around looking for a CD (which admittedly I still haven't found) I came across my little black book.
It's a bit out of date, but still it's satisfyingly full of names, some of which I can't even remember who they are exactly. It's like a relic of a time gone by, a simplier time of roguish abandon at parties across London.
There are some fond memories in it, girls I met while shopping for shoes, or ones I met in museums. Some who met me back and even one who stalked me for a while (she is helpfully marked down as 'BAD PERSON').
Maybe it's time to get back to being a bit of a rake, I've got the book after all.
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