All Hallows Eve is an almighty Snore.Fest. For two reasons; (a) Mother dear never let me celebrate the Pagan festival &the moment I was allowed to attend a spook-shindig, I dressed as a broom (b) I'm in a wheel chair & I refuse to go as Lou & Andy from Little Britain.
But that's by the by.
As a child my most treasured programme was Bewitched. Viewed in snatched moments as Mother believed it would encourage odd behaviour. Sheltered life.
Oddly enough I'm now often compared to Endora, a compliment in my opinion. For my attitude, appearance and apparel.
Oh isn't she a doll?
Whilst the protective parent humoured me with a mini shop-spree, I spotted a fur that was Endora. Camel skin, poppers and leather. Hook, line & sinker. I needed it. Between trick or treat it certainly was the latter.
As the scrooge of Samhain I'm boycotting the night. (would however certainly consider altering my opinions if Katy Grand invited me to a ghoulish gala circa 2008 (below))
Since my eyes were treated to this flocculent fur, my slight adoration for taxidermy and fur have swum into every thought. Each contemplation consumed. The following snaps are cathartic. I shouldn't like it ... oh but I do. Maybe I could live with faux?
Yes Victoria, fur = murder. Stay strong.
But JPG did it so well ...
I suppose I could humour the protestors
WAH I want one
I think I'm in love
Oh wait ... that was lust. This is love.
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