When is a pouffe not a pouffe?

Lovely moment in Primrose Hill this weekend. Entering a rather chi chi interiors shop, with a pram, a six and seven year old, we were eyed querulously by the lavender cardigan-adorned man working there.

I quickly told my little people not to touch anything in this Aladdin’s cave of delicate, priceless trinkets.

“But can I touch this,” asked my wide-eyed three-year old, pointing at a rather splendid footstool.

“Of course you can touch it darling. It’s just an old pouffe,” I replied unthinkingly.

AArgh

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