WhEn I told my mothEr I was addictEd to Es, shE assumEd I had a drug problEm. ShE soon realisEd, howEvEr, that I was, in fact, still just a mild alcoholic, but obsEssEd with sprinkling lEttEr Es all around my housE.
It bEgan with a fEw old printing blocks, pickEd up in LillE for pEncE (or cEnts). Things got sErious whEn I trEatEd mysElf to a massivE rusty E from RE. Caravan stylist Emily ChalmErs sharEs my initial and hEr collEction of Es madE mE grEEn with Envy. I bought morE. And morE. I got grEEdy for Es. An Emily REadEtt BaylEy E or thrEE appEarEd, thEn an E from PaperchasE – morE Es for mE. ThE boyfriEnd dEspairEd. I bought him a big ‘R’ from Bo ConcEpt, but hE still didn’t ‘gEt it’. ThE vintagE ScrabblE tilEs wErE thE final straw. ‘Enough with all thEsE Es’, hE scrEEchEd.
‘At lEast I’m not writing ‘EAT’ in the kitchEn and ‘SLEEP’ abovE thE bEd and ‘WORK’ in the officE’, I said. (LovE If ThE LampshadE Fits post on that malarky, by thE way). OnE day, HE wrotE ‘mEntal stylist’ in big lEttErs on the fridgE. I stopped.
So, I was dElightEd, dEar rEadErs, to opEn an EnvElopE today from DEsign LEttErs, containing my initials: ET. I know. Extra TErrEstrial. PhonE homE. Etc Etc. Enough.Read more →