Well it could hardly be any other era, could it? There's that platinum blond bouffant bob; that fabulous lime green minidress; those matching platform sandals. And then there's that sleazy, moustachioed chef - chatting her up, elbow on table, nonchalantly twirling his glass. Mind you, she seems more than happy to flutter her false lashes at him.

Aaaaaah ... the 70s. Bye-bye stuffy, formal restaurants. Bye-bye lethally starched napkins. Bye-bye ho-hum silver service. We're off to our favourite little brown brick (the more arches the better), dimly lit (candles in Chianti bottles) pizza parlour.

I have my chum Miranda - AKA the divine Miss Moneypenny - to thank for this delicious piece of vintage yardage. It's actually a handsewn mixer cover, and thus ridiculously perfect for tarting up the handsome Kenwood (whom you may have read about here). She's like that, Moneypenny. You find a vintage mixer and - Ta Da! - she whips something like this out of her drawers. What a gal!