Remedies for an unsettled Madame Moselle…

Reading fiction.  Eating tinned spaghetti on toast. Snuggling up to hot water bottles. Wearing sequins. Bloodletting (within reason). Performing acts of beauty. Doing laundry. Swooshing about in long velvet skirts. Sniffing boot polish. Thinking about bees. Imagining/planning/getting tattoos. Quality Monster time. Watching Poirot. Fantasising about Golly from Monarch of the Glen. Remembering the smell of musk around the National Park when the deer are marking their territory (Wiki informs us ‘Good deer musk is of a dark purplish color, dry, smooth and unctuous to the touch, and bitter in taste. The grain of musk will distinctly scent millions of cubic feet of air without any appreciable loss of weight, and its scent is not only more penetrating but more persistent than that of any other known substance.’ Which just makes me all hot and bothered, really — and could explain a LOT about my urges to sniff hairy boys in leather clubs). Eating icicles straight from the leaves of snow gums. Flannelette on flannelette love. Giant pretzels, Berlin-style. Opera, and ballet. Wandering around art galleries. Birds of paradise plants. Madonna lilies. Moss.

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About Madame Moselle

Freelance provocateur. Enthusiastic optimist. Dancing bear. Believer. Facilitator of perversion. Disseminator. Libertine. Moth and flame. Rouser of rabble. Stirrer of pots. Bowerbird. Public spectacle.
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