Renoir and Love left me in far too good a mood to go straight home, so I claimed a corner of the National Gallery café instead. This dress has been slipping all day and I've stopped pretending to fix it. Tell me which painting you'd drag me back for, baby.
East End's still rubbing its eyes and I've already claimed the best wall in Shoreditch for mine — the art fair has no idea what's walking toward it. Come get lost in the stalls with me, baby?
Wide awake with the Frieze Sculpture map glowing on my screen and a whole free trail waiting for me in Regent's Park — I've already picked my favourite to pose against. Come tell me which one you'd drag me to first, baby.
The Nineties opened at the Tate and the private view left me in far too good a mood to behave — got home and the dress never stood a chance. Tell me what you'd do if you walked in right now, baby.
Found the new show where the paintings change colour with your body heat — I've been standing close enough to make one blush for ten minutes now. Come warm something up with me, baby.
Film festival season kicks off today and my dress is still hanging on the door while I'm standing here like this — I have my priorities. Tell me you'd make me even later, baby.
Nobody gives the orders in this bed but me, and tonight I'm in the mood to make someone beg for permission. Think you've earned a closer look, baby?
The drums are shaking the square already and I came exactly as promised — this obi's tied so loose it's barely doing its job. Come find me by the food stalls, baby.
Trafalgar Square goes full Matsuri soon and I'm supposed to be picking something sensible to wear — instead I'm testing how little I can get away with under a robe. You'd vote for this one, wouldn't you, baby?
Every square in Bloomsbury has a camera pointed somewhere this weekend and I'd much rather be the subject than the crowd. This cardigan's already lost one shoulder and I'm not fighting for it. Tell me you'd stop and stare, baby.