I was taken to court the other day. I rode in on a motorbike and the judge said “Miss Pearce, may I remind you that you are here for crimes against MEDIOCRITY. How do you plead?”

So I rode my bike in a ten minute Wall of Death around the courtroom wearing a stars and stripes bikini and on my last lap I flipped the Judge the Bird and said;

“GUILTY.”

Then my hella handsome lawyer came over and put on a pair of Ray Bans.

“Girl,” he said, “Is your name Mount Etna? Because you are smokin’!”

Exhibit A:

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This bag. This bag. This bag in a photo of a bag. Vintage 80s patchwork leather in which I can fit a toddler and two Uzi nine millimeters. It’s massive, is what I’m trying to say. And never been used. Ten golden pounds.

Exhibit B:

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This tiny religious picture which is so glitzy and camp even Liberace is saying “Dude. That’s way over the top.” ONE POUND AT A SCHOOL FETE. #thuglife

Exhibit C:

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This skirt. Looking at the pattern of the fabric makes me feel vaguely high. Still, under a fiver, vintage St Michael in a teeny tiny size which I can just about squeeze into but can’t make any sudden moves in, or dance, or walk. Or breathe.

Exhibit D:

This Sparkle & Fade sweatshirt which looks like a bedspread I had as a teen. A POUNDY WOUNDY WOO.

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Exhibit E:

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Handmade child’s dress. Fabric straight outta Sesame Street. Matching bag for my three year old’s lipstick and painkillers and shit. Twenty Five Ruddy Pence.