down the hatch

Today, we begin with a moment of genuine terror. 

I'm in the kiddie tunnel at the National Wax Museum. 

No, not the kitchenette of horrors or whatever they call it, the cute little play area where you stick your four-year-old when they show a disappointing level of interest in a life size model of Brendan Grace. I'm not going to tell you what was up in that hatch, but it was not suitable for children.

There's absolutely no balance to this outfit.

Print for print, it's pure trash. 

Seeing as I made absolutely no attempt to class things up when I got dressed that morning, I thought I'd see if hanging out with some of Ireland's great political and artistic minds (and a couple of head scratchers who presumably made it to wax on some form of dare) would make me look like any less of a harlot.

Your guess is as good as mine on that one.

Needless to say I felt right at home in the Writers' Room, with Wilder, Joycee and the lads.

ATTN: GOOD PEOPLE OF THE NATIONAL WAX MUSEUM - When you finally come to your senses and add me to this exhibition, I want my waxwork to be doing this. 

And don't be putting her in no tea dress.

threads: {top - mangled dress} {skirt - motel} {belt - vintage} {leopard collar - oxfam} {bracelet - vintage} {tattoos - found in chinatown in London and helped along with eyeliner}