That’s Not My Age

Whilst the rest of the blogosphere went into overdrive about the opening of the Anthropologie store in London, That’s Not My Age was in exile up north. No computer, no internet, no blog. So, I had to talk to Mr TNMA instead. And the blog widower took this opportunity to point out:

1. We’ve stopped watching The Wire – the fourth series is shaping up nicely but we’ve come to a bit of a standstill. (Note to Mr TNMA: this is not a programme to watch when suffering from blog-related exhaustion).

2. The whole family will be venue-less for Christmas if he can’t get onto the computer to book one of the two uninhabitable cottages that are left, in the entire country.

3. Constant obsessive checking of the blog is not healthy.

4. He is not interested in my new virtual friends.

5. It is not raining in London.

Anyway, before I turn into Liz Jones, let’s get back to important retail matters. So what if the brand spanking new Anthropologie store full of gorgeous globally-sourced products opened in my absence – obviously the invitation to the launch party earlier in the week got caught up in the postal strike. As a regular visitor to New York (the younger-but-still-over-forty brother lives there – sorry bro, it was only a matter of time before you were outed online), That’s Not My Age has long been aware of the lure of Anthropologie Oh yes, on days when the West Broadway store is too much of a hike, a little trip round the corner to the 5th Ave branch always provides a quick fix of fashion and homewares, swiftly followed by some hot apple cider at the Union Square farmer’s market.

Cry into my lovely old, floral Anthropologie napkins? Me? Never.