I'm missing 18th century London. My novel, The Posture Girl, is with my agent and with it has gone my excuse to explore the stinking streets of the burgeoning capital. I miss the white hair powder, the corsets and the Drury Lane Theatre. I miss the home brewed gin and the sponging houses.
Naked Nymphs and Horny Satyrs
I popped into the Wallace Collection yesterday, after having lunch with my brother near Oxford Street, and found myself entranced by the erotic miniatures in the Boudoir Cabinet. Nestled between the Study and the Boudoir on the first floor of Hertford House is a windowless, murky room where paintings small enough to hold in your … Continue reading Naked Nymphs and Horny Satyrs
Frolicking in the Forest
A young woman in a straw hat ringed with flowers swings gaily in a dense forest. One small, white hand holds the rope loosely, high up, and the other arm is hooked around the other side...
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