I am slightly obsessed with Florence Welch. I often find myself musing on whether she came to us through some time travelling portal. Did she slip in via some 1970s Ossie Clark/Thea Porter time travel wardrobe, swathed in hippy goddess threads and long Titian hair? Maybe. Or maybe she was a long lost star of the 1930s, an Art Deco goddess in the style of almost forgotten actresses  like Kay Francis and Eleanor Powell,waltzing around in swathes of bias cut silk and furs, emoting elegant suffering at the hands of Cary Grant and Ronald Coleman. After seeing the glamorous star opening the Harrods sale today, I’m inclined to think the…