loved a box.
To her a box was a means of communication. She revelled in all the things a box could say, and in so many beautiful tones and typefaces.
Lizzie Loves Organic .
Only good things inside. Good but very naughty !
50% sustainably sourced cardboard! (Lizzie’s promise! )
A little of what you fancy !
Cornish Clotted Creamery from VERY happy cows !
Responsibly traded cocoa beans taste better !
In the long run it didn’t matter what was in the box at all. Everybody knew that a Malteser was actually nicer than Lizzie’s raw ginger nuggets smothered in bitter chocolate, but who cared when the ginger nuggets were so beautifully presented?
You couldn’t take a packet of crisps as a gift to a hostess, even though pretty much everybody likes crisps. But you could bring some of Lizzie’s shaved turnip curls. Even though they tasted pretty grim.
They were just so beautifully presented.
Half a turnip diced and lightly fried (in sustainable, organic rapeseed oil) then vacuum packed in plastic before being placed in a bag of purest raw cotton which was then put in a little wicker basket designed to look like a miniature version of the sort of basket that a fantasy farm maiden might have used on Fairy Tale Farm to take her home-grown lightly fried turnip curls to market.
Lizzie designed and packaged everything . Her kitchen-accessories range with its great rounded plastic handles in bright Day-glo colours earned her a half-page in Vogue . Her salt and pepper shakers with their cute little feet and hands were the subject of a lawsuit when a major retailer pinched the idea and tried to flog a range at a tenth of the price.
Lizzie offered stationery boxes containing six sheets of writing paper and envelopes handmade from rag cloth to people who only ever sent emails.
She put gorgeous fountain pens with little bottles of green ink into the stockings of people who’d forgotten how to write by hand.
She sold individually wrapped shards of genuine Louisiana peanut brittle to people who threw up in the toilet if they ate a cornflake.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing, no matter how impractical, no matter how pointless, that Lizzie could not box up and make desirable.
Practicality wasn’t the point.
The contents certainly were not the point.
The point was loveliness . Pure and simple.
And loveliness had made Lizzie and Robbo very, very comfortable indeed.
A loan secured
‘Lizzie, it’s Jimmy,’ Jimmy said, trying not to sound desperate. Hoping to replicate the tone that he had used on the thousands of times he had said that same sentence when he had been happy and secure and not about to beg for money. ‘Monica’s told me all about your offer and I can’t tell you how grateful I am and I never would have asked in a million years, but since you’ve brought it up yourself . . .’
Jimmy knew that he did sound desperate, but suddenly he didn’t care. All at once he decided to go for broke, throwing shame to the wind as he suddenly upped the ante, explaining to his old friend that simply finding the money to pay off David’s firm’s outstanding invoices would not actually solve anything either for him and Monica or for David and Laura.
There was a bigger picture which, unless addressed, would make small fixes a waste of money. The problem was that the Webb Street job was only half finished and the real fear was that, with property prices currently in free fall, the whole development would collapse under the weight of its negative equity before the upturn came.
‘I’m going to be straight with you, Liz,’ Jimmy said. ‘If I can’t service the interest on the mortgage, the bank will repossess and I’ll be officially bankrupt, leaving all my creditors, including David and his firm, to divide up the value of my remaining assets, which are basically a bit of furniture and five flat-screen tellies. Which is of course ridiculous because I own a street. A fucking street ! But if I can’t keep the
To her a box was a means of communication. She revelled in all the things a box could say, and in so many beautiful tones and typefaces.
Lizzie Loves Organic .
Only good things inside. Good but very naughty !
50% sustainably sourced cardboard! (Lizzie’s promise! )
A little of what you fancy !
Cornish Clotted Creamery from VERY happy cows !
Responsibly traded cocoa beans taste better !
In the long run it didn’t matter what was in the box at all. Everybody knew that a Malteser was actually nicer than Lizzie’s raw ginger nuggets smothered in bitter chocolate, but who cared when the ginger nuggets were so beautifully presented?
You couldn’t take a packet of crisps as a gift to a hostess, even though pretty much everybody likes crisps. But you could bring some of Lizzie’s shaved turnip curls. Even though they tasted pretty grim.
They were just so beautifully presented.
Half a turnip diced and lightly fried (in sustainable, organic rapeseed oil) then vacuum packed in plastic before being placed in a bag of purest raw cotton which was then put in a little wicker basket designed to look like a miniature version of the sort of basket that a fantasy farm maiden might have used on Fairy Tale Farm to take her home-grown lightly fried turnip curls to market.
Lizzie designed and packaged everything . Her kitchen-accessories range with its great rounded plastic handles in bright Day-glo colours earned her a half-page in Vogue . Her salt and pepper shakers with their cute little feet and hands were the subject of a lawsuit when a major retailer pinched the idea and tried to flog a range at a tenth of the price.
Lizzie offered stationery boxes containing six sheets of writing paper and envelopes handmade from rag cloth to people who only ever sent emails.
She put gorgeous fountain pens with little bottles of green ink into the stockings of people who’d forgotten how to write by hand.
She sold individually wrapped shards of genuine Louisiana peanut brittle to people who threw up in the toilet if they ate a cornflake.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing, no matter how impractical, no matter how pointless, that Lizzie could not box up and make desirable.
Practicality wasn’t the point.
The contents certainly were not the point.
The point was loveliness . Pure and simple.
And loveliness had made Lizzie and Robbo very, very comfortable indeed.
A loan secured
‘Lizzie, it’s Jimmy,’ Jimmy said, trying not to sound desperate. Hoping to replicate the tone that he had used on the thousands of times he had said that same sentence when he had been happy and secure and not about to beg for money. ‘Monica’s told me all about your offer and I can’t tell you how grateful I am and I never would have asked in a million years, but since you’ve brought it up yourself . . .’
Jimmy knew that he did sound desperate, but suddenly he didn’t care. All at once he decided to go for broke, throwing shame to the wind as he suddenly upped the ante, explaining to his old friend that simply finding the money to pay off David’s firm’s outstanding invoices would not actually solve anything either for him and Monica or for David and Laura.
There was a bigger picture which, unless addressed, would make small fixes a waste of money. The problem was that the Webb Street job was only half finished and the real fear was that, with property prices currently in free fall, the whole development would collapse under the weight of its negative equity before the upturn came.
‘I’m going to be straight with you, Liz,’ Jimmy said. ‘If I can’t service the interest on the mortgage, the bank will repossess and I’ll be officially bankrupt, leaving all my creditors, including David and his firm, to divide up the value of my remaining assets, which are basically a bit of furniture and five flat-screen tellies. Which is of course ridiculous because I own a street. A fucking street ! But if I can’t keep the
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