It's been a long time since I stopped reading Cosmopolitan, and you don't get too many articles about the female orgasm in Wired or the Economist, so I don't know if this is common or not. But essentially, all you need to know (although you may feel that you didn't need to know this at all) is that at times of - ahem - intense sexual pleasure, I hallucinate.
These aren't your run-of-the-mill swirly psychedelic visuals, of the sort produced by illicit hallucinogens. Oh no. They're much more refined than that. More refined, and more materialistic. And quite design-led. So refined, materialistic and design-led, in fact, that sometimes it's a bit like watching a film of A Rebours directed by the art editor of Elle Decoration.
Here, by way of example, are some of my frequently-recurring coital visions:
- A lovely Elizabethan knot garden
- A lovely Elizabethan knot garden under the snow
- An entire collection of retro Marimekko-style furnishing fabric
- A flotilla of steampunk airships in the style of Fornasetti
- A set of cushions with bold art naif flower prints
- Some nice candy-coloured notebooks with a treeline silhouette motif
Next week: My Middle Class Dreams, starring Florence Broadhurst and Nigel Slater.