Audrey

The poster went up on my wall at age thirteen. The black and white close up was the last piece in my carefully assembled bedroom – Audrey Hepburn’s eyes looking out over a purple bed and a pink blow-up chair. I wonder how many Audreys have graced similar walls, how many thousands of beehives and cigarette holders there are displayed across the world? The poster has gone now, rolled up and donated to a charity shop. My lilac walls have been re-painted in cream, and what was once a minimal space is now a clutter of mirrors, jewellery, clothes, stacks of books, old cameras, magazines, arts materials and sheets of paper. That portrait blue-tacked above my radiator no...