Darlings, you simply *must* read this! You won't believe the tutu-la-roo that's gone down today!
I was sipping my morning Darjeeling, nestled amongst my cushions, wearing my most fabulous silk dressing gown (pink, obviously) and the morning news had barely begun when I gasped, darling, I simply gasped! "It's the tutus," I whispered to myself, "it's all about the tutus!"
Here's the scandal, darling: Apparently, there's been a tutu-tastrophe! The Royal Ballet has been caught in a *serious* tutus mix-up. They're accusing their costume designer of stealing…well, **stealing tutus!**
The darling costume designer, a young chap called Quentin (can you believe he has a name like Quentin!), apparently claimed it was a misunderstanding. Apparently, he 'forgot' where he'd stashed the tutu stock – apparently 100 tutus have just *vanished* – *poof!* Gone! Like magic, except less enchanting and more…arrestable.
Imagine, darling! A whole evening of Swan Lake without a single swan? Simply dreadful, *absolutely* dreadful!
But wait, there's more, darling. This is where it gets REALLY delicious…because our intrepid Quentin had been hiding these, let's say "misplaced", tutus in his *flat*.
You know how some people have secret rooms, or walk-in wardrobes? Quentin's flat, darling, is **a whole haven of tutus.** Apparently, the place is *stuffed* with tulle. He even, *quelle horreur,* has a special display rack for all the *rejected* tutus! Oh the audacity, the *scandal*! The **Tutu Trove of Quentin** as the tabloids are now calling it. I'm tempted to do a fashion spread! Just picture the tutus, darling: swathes of silk, mountains of feathers, plumes of sequins…
Darling, you just know there must be *more* to this. What exactly is Quentin doing with all those tutus, in his tiny flat, all by himself?! The gossip mill is going wild. Some say he was preparing for a grand ball with all his teddy bears, others say it's a plot to overthrow the Ballet with a tutu revolution. **Tutuism, darling!** I mean, who knows?
Now, the whole situation has the ballet world in a spin. *The Times* is calling it a "Tutu-orial disaster", *The Daily Mail* is breathlessly asking: "Are tutu's the new heroin?" (darling, how *uncouth*!)
The only thing we know for certain? The whole thing has us all giggling! I’m *living* for the drama, I’m so *in* on this one!
Meanwhile, the Royal Ballet, faced with this scandal, is scrambling. They’ve said the tutus have all been *re-sourced*, (re-sourced darling! You'd think they'd call them *replaced*, how embarrassing!) and they're prepared to proceed with the show. I wonder if those newly *sourced* tutus have the same fabulous, flamboyant "je ne sais quoi" as Quentin’s hidden treasure? Doubtful! I suspect they will simply *have* to resort to more conventional and frankly, boring, designs! *Tsk Tsk* .
Of course, this whole scandal has me utterly, absolutely enthralled. Not just the tutus themselves – but their symbolic *power*, darling! They’re so wonderfully glamorous, yet so terribly practical, all at the same time. These are the questions that *really* matter: why is a grown man hoarding tutus in his flat, and why does this affair make me so *deliriously* happy?
Well, my dears, *c’est la vie!* Just goes to show, it's not enough to wear a tutu, sometimes you just need to *be* a tutu. Oh and, Quentin, if you're reading this: call me!
A Tutu-ing Question For Our Readers:
Have *you* ever felt the overwhelming urge to hoard tutus, darling? (You're not alone). Tell us what you’d do with all the tutus in Quentin’s trove, would you *re-source* them? Would you join a tutu revolution? We want to know! Tweet me using #TutuTrouble or just reply in the comments, my darlings. Let’s chat!