Slut for red

I was poking through my files and just came across this little piece which I wrote about 18-20 months ago. I don't know if it conjures quite the moment and feel that I wanted (It does to me, but then it would, I was there..) but I think this was the day I knew that in spite of all I may have said in the past I wanted to move back home.

I guess its the case of you can take the boy out of Wales but you cant take Wales out of the boy (thank you to Bonnie Tyler for that one)

Slut for red.

Waiting in the cosy slightly time warped reception area of a company importing musical instruments in Blaenu Gwent, the rain pouring outside I was listening to the conversation between the lovely curvaceous Welsh receptionist and her friend.

"I got that handbag at the weekend from Debenhams, it was so expensive even though it was on sale, John Rocha, All I could think of all of last week was that bag, then on Saturday I bought it. I finally had it. Oh but when I got it home I was so disappointed, the red boots that I bought it to match, it didn't, it was a completely different red, and as my mum and my husband  will tell you I'm a slut for red I am, now I don’t know what to do"

On my way out, I told her rather then taking the bag back obviously what she should do is to buy another pair of red boots.

One of those rare perfect moments in life, I would love to know what happened