When I say champagne hippy, I mean this entirely figuratively. My husband says that I’m really a prosecco hippy – it’s true, I do prefer its lighter taste (or maybe it’s just newer to me; I was a bolly drinking PR in the 90s afterall!) – when in actual fact I’ve all but stopped drinking alcohol (to reassure you this not for any philosophical reason).
The champagne I refer to in the description of myself refers more to the finer things that I enjoy about my life. Like the sky blue Smythson notebook, with its luxurious silver edged pages, that I was given last Christmas (which I resisted using for several months as I wanted to keep it for something special)…and the fushia pink card holder that’s reserved especially for my building pass and, of course, the deliciously dark red and tactile document folder that I bought for myself at the airport (but that was free because I was air-side, surely)!
There are those who know me only as someone who covets these things; a woman prone to treating myself whenever I’m able…to a spa break, a Tiffany key-ring or a taxi home (because the bus is taking too long to arrive).
There are others who know me as a card carrying hippy; a qualified holistic therapist for the last 12 years, a recognised doula (birth partner) since 2007 and an independent celebrant. All of which lead me to wax lyrical about the necessity of complementary healthcare, the value of quiet time and the sheer joy of tree hugging.
However, those who know me best know that I am both of these things, in equal measure. A living contradiction; a 100%, self-confessed, unashamed champagne hippy.