Cash is reverberating through my head once again.
He visits when I need a fag, but instead I reach for my 12th cup of tea of the day.
He begs forgiveness, I beg for strength.
So it goes I've kept busy snapping a bit of a train-wreck outfit.
Turns out that I like it.
I feel like an early 20th travelling lady that had to rip off the bottom of her skirt to grab the reins and surf the roof of a stagecoach in pursuit of a gang of marauders.
Retrieving grandmama's locket and her dignity.
The lady in question is wearing a very fragile, Edwardian silk blouse, Bitching and Junkfood leather mini, 1940s fox fur cape, Storets mesh leggings and 1950s veiled headband, plus the trusty Forever 21 booties.
Time for a cuppa.