I went around the house today collecting every possession of mine that's pink. Dear reader, the following photo shows the sum total of the pink I own:
How about that? The coathanger was knitted by my Nan sometime in the 70s (the fabric is nylon offcuts she got from the bargin bin at Brentford Nylons - anyone remember them? Of course not - you're all far too young). The perfume is Agent Provocateur; the rainhat (top right) came free with the Lady Penelope doll in the 60s, and the collection of boxes within boxes (centre bottom) was made by my son about ten years ago and two of the boxes are pink. The perfume bags and dog were a pressie and the sissors and tape measure were accidents.
Also, two of the dolls I have from childhood wear pink. This is Angelina who comes from Austria and Jane who's wearing a 60s Faerie Glen dress.
But something is happening now that I've discovered blogland. I visit all your blogs and see wonderful photos of things you've created, treasure hunted, transformed, bought, and they're beautiful; and many of them include pink. I think...perhaps...the thought that pink might be OK is seeping into my brain, because look:
A quilt and shams I bought last week in the local charity shop.
The hat I had to buy in TK Max last weekend:
I can tell myself the velvet trim is a raspberry red but that twinkle in the flower center is definitely pink.
Even my camera case (a Christmas pressie last year) has Cath Kidston pink blooms over it: