Sunday, 27 November 2011


I blame my father for the negligible impact I have had on the world so far. He called me Mrs Mop throughout my childhood - and, indeed, throughout that part of my adult life that he survived to see. The reason he called me Mrs Mop was because, he said, he believed that I would grow up to become the cleaning lady in the public lavatories at Waterloo Station.

I remembered his prediction when I saw a cleaning lady in the window of a smart shop in Mayfair, animatedly advising the girl who was laying out the wares:

Imagine the pride in my father's eyes, if I'd managed to transcend the transport system and landed a post wiping down surfaces at Lalique.

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