I was really delighted to see this quotation from T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock painted onto the wall of Whittard of Chelsea in the Westfield. This radical re-reading of Eliot's elegy to a wasted life has been long overdue.
Nice to know that this image, often misinterpreted as one of the bleakest in the canon, was just his way of saying that, over the course of his life, he'd drunk a lot of coffee.
What a relief!
It's fantastic also, to see this quotation ascribed to T.S Eliot rather than the narrator of his poem, as though it was something that he'd said in an interview in Take a Break. I've always been a guilty historicist myself and but so naturally I'd hoped that Roland Barthes would be an anaethema to a brand like Whittard of Chelsea too.
Well done Whittard of Chelsea, for bringing High Modernism to the masses.
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I have measured out my life in buckets of of spunk.
But I know what you're thinking: Kate, you lying slag. You swallow all the wand-juice that come your way.
Of course I glug back (quite often with a bit of gargling and a sort of impromptu 'fountain' show) the mouth deposits, but there are several other orifices that don't absorb quite as easily (I'm thinking about you, Mr Earhole).
So when they're full, I simply tip them into the buckets.
Three buckets is average, but ten is a really good night, and the really good thing is I don't have to go out for breakfast!
That, I believe, is authentic Kate Moss ladies and gentleman.
It's rather like having Banksy paint a big cock on your house.
I remember when we was goin' out and sometimes when Kate had run out of buckets I let her store the excess jizz under my pork-pie hat and in the tips of my pointy witch shoes. Happy Days.
I love this poem. It's strange how something written so long ago seems so poignant today still.
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