The Year of the Rabbit

It is with sadness that I have to declare the beautiful, cherished, rabbit-fur jacket I gained from my Granny is starting to go bald. I know why, it's because over the last few years it has hardly been removed from my person. I adore it. Not only is it the single most warm thing I own, I also relish in the romance of it.

While my late Grandfather bought it to shelter my Granny from the harsh cold of the North Sea, I have used it for everything from days out to job interviews. It never fails to look good but the reality is that the sheer cold has started to eat away at my poor coat, just like a hungry model with a cheeseburger. While the bald patches are virtually undetectable by eyes other than mine, I feel it is time to put my beloved coat into temporary retirement for the next wee while.

Out will come the quilted and waxed Barbour, and carefully stored in my wardrobe will be the fur. I dare say it will make an appearance at the weekend, but much like my Marc Jacobs bag, I have to resist the temptation to look extra-special-good in order to preserve the longevity of such prized and loved possessions.