AS THE prime ministerial concubine, I have exquisite taste in home furnishings. No I will not show you my flat, but I will tell you what’s wrong with yours.
Cheap, mass-produced furniture
One glance and I can tell it’s not bespoke. Did you get this from the high street? Ugh. Everything about it just screams ‘stamped out for identical suburban rabbit hutches’. God, please don’t tell me it was self-assembly. It was self-assembly, wasn’t it. That hurts me.
Beige painted walls
Painted walls are municipal. I feel like I’m at a meeting of Pembrokeshire County Council. And the endless beige; why? What’s wrong with hand-painted wallpaper with a bit of gold leaf? Brighten up your dull lives a little? Farrow & Ball? That’s for second homes.
I’m sorry, are you trying to fool people that’s a Picasso? You know that’s illegal? Oh, I see, you got it from the Tate shop. It’s a print. Give me strength. So you’re actually advertising that you don’t own this picture. You like how it looks? Do you know absolutely nothing about art?
Your sofa appears to be a single block colour, while hand-embroidery is far more expensive. I presume you know this? I wouldn’t even have something as plain as that in a doll’s house. For Christ’s sake have the simple self-respect to cover everything in fleur-de-lis.
Books do furnish a room. That’s what they’re for. So rather than vulgarly keeping books you’ve actually read cluttering up the place, as if you’re boasting about being functionally literate, get a designer in who can provide you with the right worn leatherbound spines.
Nasty electric lighting
Harsh, isn’t it? I suppose that soft lighting is a waste when you’re as physically disadvantaged as you are already, but we could make the effort, couldn’t we? Good candles start at as little as £400, so treat yourself. Don’t worry, someone else will pay for it. Not your job to care who.