Whatte The Swyve?*
An American gentleman, on seeing the ultrasound picture of his unborn child, felt driven to devise a non-photographic method of recording the little mite's facial delineaments. Did he turn to artist's oils? Create a likeness out of milk bottle tops? Break out the modelling clay? He did not. He decided that it would be a rather charming idea to reproduce the silhouette of the infant's profile in a turned wood thingummyjig which his wife - for reasons which are not explained on his website - christened, a pirolette. (A word which, although it may sound French, Lady Bracknell is willing to wager is not.)
And thus was created, "a solid artefact of space we forget to look at".
From which Lady Bracknell is forced to deduce that her own preference for actually looking at people's faces, rather than at the space which surrounds them, is now considered to be on a par with finding onself at the top of a staircase with a jug of milk in one's hand, and having no memory of how one got there.
Lady Bracknell, who is getting on in years, and who therefore is perhaps not the best person to be passing judgement on what is or is not le dernier cri in interior design, really has no desire whatsoever to possess an ornament which she can fit snugly against her face to the astonishment of her visitors should conversation be starting to flag during afternoon tea.
Still, one man's meat is another aristocrat's poison, and the desirability of any decorative object will always be a matter of personal taste. Just because Lady Bracknell would not give one of these things house room herself is no reason to heap coals on the head of their creator, or to sneer at what would appear to be a successful business venture. (Although Lady Bracknell suspects that any edition of Dragons' Den on which the pirolette was featured would make for more than ordinarily entertaining viewing.)
* With grateful thanks to Mr Chaucer for unwittingly providing an extraordinarily apposite title for this entry.