Julia Roberts lounges on the sofa Huge fake breasts oozing with charm, Diamante bracelets, collectible pen sets “Give us a call, we’ll do you no harm.”
It starts like drugs, the tentative phonecall, You purchase a necklace, (no cause for alarm) Then Christmas comes up, you snap up a game boy And an illustrated copy of Animal Farm.
It all adds up, the gowns, the glasses The cubic zicorna and gold picture frames, The wines, the cake trays, an avocado slicer, The train set, the chess set, the toy aeroplanes.
Alan Titchmarsh drove you to it. Helen Fielding made you do it. Joanne Harris made you try it. Jamie Oliver made you buy it.
The collection of tins, the cushion covers, A montage of teddies and spacemen and whales, What’s that you have there? A spaghetti measure! There’s a damned good reason it should rot in the sales!
The Terracotta Collection, fashion’s zenith Parading itself like the worlds eighth wonder, (And wow! You can pay with solo and am/ex Or by monthly instalments, so dad doesn’t thunder.)
