It has been getting quite chilly down here, now that winter has finally arrived, and I have been keeping myself cosy and warm by layering up with cashmere and silk, and staying close to the Aga. We are also fortunate in having large open fires (in most of the rooms), and handsome husband is quite a dab hand at getting them going, and early every morning he goes out to the woods and soon returns with some logs and kindling, holding his chopper triumphantly (clearly something he learnt at scouts)!
Once outside it is all a very different story and its completely freezing, and although I do have some warm coats, sheepskin lined, tweed and a sumptuous Ralph Lauren camel and cashmere piece, they just aren't keeping me as protected from the chill that I feel they should be, and I certainly don't want to spend the winter months indoors for fear of frostbite every time I step outside.
I was feeling quite disheartened as I stomped into town wearing so many layers of clothing and handsome husbands Loro Piana overcoat, I felt I might topple over with the weight of it all, when I spotted a fox heading towards the bakers. When I say fox, I mean a coat, a glorious specimen of fur. Now I know there may be someone now reading this who thinks it abhorrent to even consider such a thing, wearing a dead animal, but really when a girl is as despondent as this there simply is no choice, and I will be quite bold now and tell you that I completely adore fur, I think it was an introduction at an early age from my Grandmother, who's boyfriend was a furrier and she had what might be considered now quite a scandalous collection of fur attire, and I have been a devotee every since.
So I rushed home (not easy under all that weight) and began my search for the flawless fur. I was a little side-tracked in this quest by the lure of an antiques fair in one of the larger towns close by. At previous fairs I have often examined stalls trading in fur coats, jackets, scarves and hats, and have repeatedly been captivated by the gleaming, sleek assortments on offer, however, this was not one of those occasions, and the furs I did see were a sorry, sad looking limp excuse for the animal/s it had once been. Back in the haven of home, I reached for my bible of hope, and font of all knowledge on things elegant, Vogue. I poked the fire and began to leaf through the glossy pages and was transfixed almost instantly by a magnificent beast from Fendi, aah of course, the Italians always know exactly how to look understated when nobody else can pull it off. They are easily spotted in cities around the world, swishing around in their minks, foxes, sables et all, and with the obligatory sunglasses, suntans and dark swarthy looks and that's only the men.
After a phone call with a delightful Italian chap in Sloane Street, who knew exactly what I desired, I am glad to report that I am no longer remotely chilly when I venture out into the world, and handsome husband is so taken with the fur that he hasn't been in such a hurry to rush out with his chopper recently and prefers to stroke my wild animal.....If you fancy a furry friend seek out Fendi or if English is more your thing there is always Hockley.