'Foof' of Smoke.

Foof. I can't help but gaffaw at the word.

As I sat in the Doctors waiting room, avoiding lurgy-laced sprogs I finally had a chance to digest this months GQ. The typical 45 minutes-after-your-appointment appointment saw me learn of W Hotels recent East London residency (& plan how to stay there gaysap), pet the idea of (a) having an Ipad and (b) purchasing the Pad&Quills leather protector to immitate a book;

'We combine modern technology devices with the ancient craft of book binding' (Founder, Brian Holmes).

Sold.

I care little for who could/should direct Godfather IV as I fell asleep in 1 & 2 within 20 minutes. Yet I most carefully fondled the Lounge Act spread which was a spectacular zoomed-in feature, reminding me of a past Chloe ad; 'in-action' shots, with a splash of 50s Mad Men specs-appeal and a sudden urge to make each libation a fashion conscious Absolute Vodka on the rocks.

Then I saw it. 'Undercover Electronics' section.

Ladies & gentlemen. I present, the Foofbag.

A stupendous example of one of my preferred idioms. Ah Australia, I can only imaging what delights lie within the cellar of the foofshop. Blow up dolls perhaps? Or replicas of Saleems art project, as seen in East is East?

Certainly brightened up my Monday morning.