Mademoiselle

I saw the new season H&M collection this week, it’s the collection that’s going to hit the stores in August / September and like Liam Gallagher, I’m mad for it. The shapes were mini-Marni-me. I’ve added the Peg leg trousers, the vintage inspired chinoiserie top and the grey duster coat that the PR minx was wearing to my AW08 must-have-it-now shopping list. Actually it’s more of a scroll, it’s longer than an Andrex roll and it’s only May by the way.

I popped into the Karen Millen press day too. I’ve never worn the label before but, actually I quite like the new bits. I want the black mac (he thinks he’s Burberry), and the oversized faux croc, purple bag (he thinks he’s Dolce but he’s not as expensive). There was tailoring worthy of being on the 1st floor of Harvey Nics and the embroidered layered skirt was fabulous enough to make Christopher Kane go insane in the membrane. I’ll definitely be visiting the store come August. In fact I will be camping outside in my new Chanel tent. Alright, made that up, but they should make them….. Dear Karl…

Yesterday I had breakfast with Samantha Cameron (David’s wife). She is the epitome of English style and grace – what a beauty. She was wearing a snug fitting dress by Prada and carried the Smythson ‘IT’ bag the Nancy bag. I really really want one. In fact I want to be her. She drives a scooter like me, oh we are so similar. Not. Sob.

Today I had a breakfast meeting with the PR from D&G Dolce Gabbana at Cecconi’s, I like it there because I can park my Vespa in the garage opposite for only five quid. Meeting ended at 11am and I was happily scootering up Park Lane when quelle horreur I hit some water on the road and fell off my bike onto my head. I lay amongst 4 lanes of traffic feeling very dazed and confused (picture Courtney Love on a bender) whilst the traffic continued to drive around me. Harrumph, nice, what ever happened to the helpful London cabbie? Thank goodness two American old lady tourists came to my rescue as did a lovely tramp who just happened to be sleeping rough in Marble Arch. Mr Tramp wheeled my now broken Vespa across the road whilst the American Grannies escorted my battered limbs and me to the safety of the pavement. The grannies called an ambulance and I was rushed to St Mary’s hospital to have a head scan. As I thought, they found nothing in my head, not even a brain but they did find an old pair of Laboutin’s, I wondered where they had gone. There was no damage to my Giles for New Look dress and no, George Clooney does not work in a hospital in Paddington, but I did check almost all the wards just in case.

I left you on Monday feeling hysterically tired due to having a total fashion meltdown at the weekend which resulted in no sleep on Sunday evening – not a wink. Not only did I have not a stitch to wear in this weird winter into summer transitional weather, but I’ve also realised that I have had ideas above my financial station for a few years now. Actually since I was born.

I have decided to face this credit crunch nonsense head on and so have been trudging around the high street stores (in the rain) to find the hottest credit crunch fashion available in store today. I’ve surprised even myself at the bounty I have uncovered. What I love about the items, apart from the price, is that they are not direct copies of pieces found on the catwalk – I really don’t do “Get The Look” fashion, I’d rather just “HAVE” the real look and not go out for the rest of the year. Actually I can’t even do that anymore due to being maxed out to the max.

I need a totally new working wardrobe, it needs to be functional yet fashion forward. First stop Uniqlo, pick up some super, super skinny high waisted jeans in black denim (1) (they come purple, green and blue wash denim too) and they are only £19.99, I will be wearing these with the very Todd Lynn-esque cropped, boxy white cotton jacket from NEXT (2) – totally gorgeous and only £35! I’m loving these heels from Red Herring at Debenhams (3) (£28) – a bit Marni but a better colour which will go with denim and black and smart enough for work. These shoe boots from Top Shop (4), (£40) in pale grey are the perfect colour for transitional fashion – you can still wear them with tights or you could go bare legged and wear them with these peg leg trousers from GAP.

I so wanna be the GAP girl this season, she’s effortlessly cool with a real ‘look’ going on.

This is a ‘workie’ shirt (5) even the ‘workie’ could afford, (£35), and I’m smitten with this shirtdress (£45) (6), both are from Monsoon and are a teeny bit Maggie Gyllenhaal in The Secretary. Check out their cute silver pumps (7) (£25) – there’s a hint of Lanvin going on there. Ooooh la la. I plan to wear this monochromatic dress (8) from H&M (29.99), with a longer line cardi or an oversized mannish tailored jacket in either grey or black – try Top Shop or Warehouse for one, I got mine from Stella a few seasons ago and I wear it all the time.

Speaking of Stella - I love this little Spring coat (9) from Ted Baker (£140) and this casual rain mac (10) from Warehouse (£45) too.

Back to NEXT, what a dark horse you are! Look at this slouchy silk dress (11), I will be wearing it with a long sleeved black top from GAP underneath it and a vintage biker jacket and heels and this bag (12) will be perfect for work, looks designer but is only £30. I am jumping up and down in the manner of Veronica Salt right now!!!!

Anyway, back to the designers, I have discovered a new website which offers discounted designer shopping on-line check out www.brandalley.co.uk, just in case I still need a designer fix over the weekend – 20% off Chloe? Oh go on then…I hear it’s raining on Sunday and Monday so I have an excuse for some prolonged online shopping. Thank crunchie it’s Friday – this is so exhausting dot com.

I’ve spent the entire weekend fretting about what to wear in this vile winter-to-spring transition period. In fact, I have not slept.

Woke up on Saturday morning and decided it was time to pack away the winter woolly’s and say hello Spring! After a failed attempt to rid my wardrobe of all things passé – think smocks, bell shaped jackets, dark denim and biker boots - I made a list of essentials that I need to replace them. Spring is all about a skinnier silhouette; I need black skinny tailored trousers, lean fitting black dresses, bright flashes of colour, the occasional floral or stripe, but am faced with a wardrobe full of metallics and boho! Consider packing away my woolly tights. A frightening thought as I have become absolutely DEPENDANT on the tummy and leg shapers from Marks and Spencers. And where does that leave ankle boots? Should I break out the lighter summer dresses with cardigans and tights? I had to lie down for the rest of the day I was so exhausted.

To add to my insomnia, I’ve been lusting after bags that cost the same as my mortgage? Everything seems to have become so expensive?? (Including my mortgage by the way.) Why can’t I have the new Chanel box bag in red patent? And the new Tom Ford sunglasses I saw in Harvey Nics the other day? The new Chloe collection just hit the shop floor…. gag gag gag…

The seasonal meltdown started on Friday afternoon when I popped into Dover Street market and was almost seduced by a pair of Lanvin ballet pumps with an oversized bow on the front. They were £300, they were gold and they had my name on them. Sadly, due to my recent mortgage hike there was no way I could justify the purchase. Life is so unfair.

I decide to take some money-saving action and spent Sunday productively trying to get better deals on life’s so called essentials. I searched and searched for cheaper car, bike, home and handbag insurance you name it – I’m insured. Even my Bottega sunnies are insured should I sit on them (Think I might do that after seeing the new Tom Ford collection). I noticed on one document that my entire freezer contents were insured so I had a quick peek in there and found a lonely bottle of vodka and half a pitta bread. Great, saved myself 12 quid. After an entire day of trawling through money saving websites I was more confused dot com than ever before.

This week I am going high street shopping to find some spring time wardrobe solutions – I’ll update you on Friday with my credit crunch finds.

GAP turned all French girl cool last night in Covent Garden, where they showcased their next Autumn/Winter 2008 collection to the press. It was sort of John Lewis ‘back to school’ meets Lanvin. Team ELLE loved it. I need one of the short black-boxy-boy coats and a pair of the cute pointy mod flats ASAP.

Being a football widow several times a week I decided to take action. Women need hobbies too you know. The Boy plays five a side footie twice a week (Monday’s and Thursdays), watches Soccer am on a Saturday morning (10am) which conveniently blends into the pre-match build up on Sky (noon), he then goes to watch the match at the Fulham ground (3pm). When he finally gets home via the pub (6pm), he re-watches the match he’s just seen live at the ground on Sky Plus (7pm), just in case he has missed anything that the pundits talk about. He then watches match of the day (10pm). How annoying.

So what should a football widow do? Netball, knitting, salsa, golf? Most activities involve some sort strenuous physical activity and I don’t do strenuous, unless it’s power shopping. Anyway, I’m more of a darts tart than a croquet chick so a month ago I hit upon the idea of a women’s darts night - onnnnnnnnneeeee hundred and eeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiggghhttttttyyyyy……!!!!!!!!!!!

I walked into my local boozer at 8.30pm last night and it looked like a scene from Shameless. My Facebook invite said that a designer prize (a pair of Celine sunglasses) would be given to the DAG of the night (think WAG with darts, more bling and belly). It was totally hilarious, it’s amazing what the thought of a designer prize can do to women. One friend strapped on a beer belly and wore a bikini over the top of it.

Our darts tarts, who were in teams of two, had the most inspired team names; The Royal College of Darts, Love will tear us a dart, Murder on the darts board…. Brilliant. Something fabulous happens when you mix alcohol, darts and 40 women dressed up as tarts in a pub on a Thursday night – and I’ve got the bruises to prove it. I thought I was going to get chained up to the lamppost with severall yards of Elizabeth Duke gold chains when I won the entire tournament! Obviously I gave up MY first prize win which was a Mulberry Poppy bag in mustard (begrudgingly – I.E it was ripped from my arms by 40 screaming darts tarts). I raffled it off instead and I raised £500 for a charity animal rescue home! Ahhhh, absolutely barking and a good night was had by all.

My first experience of Terminal 5 was when I overheard a fashionista from a rival publication moaning/droaning on about her lost luggage which contained her brand new Lanvin dress – AG AG AG AG GAG. So last week, when I found out that I was flying to Munich from Terminal 5, I ran immediately to Selfridges and purrrrr-chased one of those wheel-them-any-way-round type bags which basically looks like you are walking a dog through the airport but fits in the overhead locker - perfect. Now for the decanting of multiple beauty products. It was so stressful, even though I’ve had many an experience of decanting vodka into lemonade bottles at Glastonbury whilst balanced on a car bonnet in heels and a bikini, my bathroom still looked like there had been an oil spillage worthy of Greenpeace intervention! Still is more eco-friendly than mini’s so worth it.

Another early flight and another case of not sleeping the night before. Don huge Bottega sunglasses, jeans by Closed, a tailored jacket and converse in the vain hope that the decanted Crème de la Mer will do the rest (am smothered in it). Meet the PR from Hugo Boss at eight am in Terminal 5’s Carluccio’s - ouch. The PR, who is male and hot (but who doesn’t bat for our side if you know what I mean) is such a nice boy so it should be a great trip.

Get to Munich – it’s cold and grey but the company is good and the hotel is swanksville! Ooooh, and the lovely Hugo Boss PR has left us a brushed gold plated bracelet on our bed as a gift. I luuuuurve it! There’s time for a quick disco nap then it’s off to meet the others in the bar. I look like I’ve had a fight when I arrive in the bar, the lighting in my room was so terrible I look like a panda sponsored by Mac. I wear that See by Chloe dress with the ruffle sleeves again and those Gucci platforms I nearly killed myself wearing in Istanbul.

The party is in a warehouse – it’s all white and mirrors and strobe lighting. There’s going to be a fashion accident in here, actually there already has been looking around the room. Those clever people at Hugo Boss have created little booths with models sitting inside (a bit like a peep show) wearing the jewellery. Within five minutes I’m all jewelled out so I sniff out the back bar (I have a nose for this) and settle in for a night of gossiping and vodka drinking and frolicking on white leather sofa’s…

The entire ELLE features desk are trying out non surgical boob jobs. I am more than a little perturbed. One is rubbing ’fat sucking’ oil onto her chest in the disabled loo every lunchtime, another has been injected with gunk from a five inch needle to give her a cleavage to rival Pammy, whilst another is trialing the latest cleavage enhancing bras. It’s tit-tastic over at ELLE towers.

Thank god I could escape for the launch of the new Tommy Hilfiger Internet TV channel called Tommy TV (www.tommytv.com). The main man himself was over from New York and waxed lyrical about his love of the British rock music scene, The Stones and Bruce Springsteen’s jeans. Cute Parisian duo ‘One Two’ played a song which must have been weird for them considering it was to a sober crowd at noon. They still rocked out. I caught up with them outside where I tried to be witty and clever in French, I almost pretended I smoked I was so keen to impress the indie hotties.

Next I was invited to have lunch with the Chairman of Marks and Spencer, Stuart Rose. Basically the man is the God of the high street and loved by kids and grannies alike. He asked me what he should change about M&S, I got an attack of tourettes and asked why Percy Pigs contain pork gelatin and were there plans to stop using it? He looked genuinely surprised as he turned to his PR person who replied that Percy has his own Facebook page and has 30,000 friends! G-E-N-I-U-S! I went Facebooking immediately and found 72 Percy Pigs! All of them claiming to be the original Percy, some with pictures of the sweet wrapper, some had photos of the actual sweets. Wonder if any of Percy Pig’s Pals have a Facebook page? I requested to be friends with the most genuine looking Percy. I’ll update you when I hear back from him.

Anyway, you heard it here first, next autumn/winter M&S is looking hot and very on trend, I wanted almost everything, especially the oversized patent handbag, the grey wool cardigan and the black PVC jacket with faux fur collar. Interestingly, everything that Twiggy wears in the campaign sells out in store… I reckon this next collection will be loved by the 20-something too, and her mummy of course.

Paul Weller was total tosh last Thursday night. He played the most self indulgent set I’ve ever heard in my gig-going life. He played hardly any hits and left his poor old mate from Ocean Colour Scene to play a song on his own while he went for a loo break or something. I wanted the Style Council and I got Style bypass It was so dull I even passed up the opportunity to go out to an after party even though I was working a great Mod look. Drove home on my scooter in a huff.

Due to crap gig, the next day at work was hangover free, which was weird for a Friday so I planned to make up for it later. The Art Department, who have the reputation for being the most hardcore department in the office have invited me to join them at Team ELLE’s favourite local wine bar. The Editor in Chief is constantly vowing to sack anybody found in this bar due to it being a total dive and not at all glamorous, having said that, she also vows to fire anyone seen wearing comfortable shoes, god knows what she would do if you were actually caught in there wearing comfortable shoes. Anyway, the rest of ELLE love it, they have soggy hand made chips and cheap wine - it’s kind of 80s retro cool. Later, my ex-assistant, who was leaving her job as head of press at Diesel, invited me to her leaving do in Kings Cross. Being a strictly west London gal I dreaded the journey East and hadn’t packed a Thermos or anything so forced the CD to drop me off in Kings Cross in a taxi post wine bar shenannigans. She kindly left me on a street corner at 10.30pm. Mmmmm. Scaresville.

Oh my, it’s such a different scene way out East, boys were wearing jewellery instead of tattoos and the girls looked like wrong versions of Peaches Geldof. I ignored them all as they made me feel like a granny and chatted instead to the very talented Amy from London label PPQ who was wearing a mannish blazer as a dress with ankle boots. I was wearing my new jacket by Kinder so luckily wasn’t outdone in the style stakes. After that it was all back to a house party where the world famous DJ Damien Lazarus just happened to be dj’ing. Last time I heard him was in DC10 in Ibiza playing to a crowd of 2,000 people and now he is playing in a front room in Hampstead! Mademoiselle totally lost track of the time and skittered in at 8am….

After spending Saturday in bed, that evening I took The Boy and The Dog to my friend’s new flat in Primrose Hill. Apparently Kate Moss used to live here and they still receive her mail – party invites, the lot! It’s garden backs onto Super Nova Heights, the ex-residence of the Oasis clan. Bet this flat has seen some parties. Cant help wondering what’s gone on in the bedroom before now when she shows me around. Wonder if she needs to get the Church of England round.
My next trip is to the Hugo Boss jewellery launch in Germany this week… Last time I went to Germany I painted on a moustache and crashed a gay, men only leather bar. I was wearing a pink Marni dress at the time but so convincing was my masculinity I actually got served a beer at the bar! I think I was chucked out because of my accent. Kill joys.

By Tuesday morning EVERYbody was talking about the Hermes event. News had even spread to the D&G showroom and everyone was desperado to hear my tales about the Hermes orange sheep, the pink pony and the mechanical elephant. The D&G showroom was awash with tartan – it was Sid Vicious meets Karen Carpenter, all ruffles and floor length gowns. I loved the new bags, snappy little numbers with multiple zips all over them. One larger bag even had a front pocket for all things to do with travel: a special holder for passport, keys and currency. Bravissimo!
Next it was off to meet Lara Bohinc for lunch at Providores on Marylebone high street. Lara, who is 6 months pregnant was still working 6 inch studded Louboutin boots! Now that takes stamina. The Slovenian beauty showed me her new fine jewellery collection, Mademoiselle wanted every single piece. Anyway, I was more obsessed by the fact that she was still working a skin tight pencil skirt in pale grey, a green flouncey Preen top and those boots! Those boots! From Providores I skipped (due to my new flats by TODS, I felt so ashamed in front of Lara) off to a meeting at the Tommy Hilfiger press office to meet another glamour puss to talk about the launch of Tommy Hilfiger’s new music project – I didn’t realise Tommy used to dress the New York Dolls in the 1970’s. What a dude. Apparently Tommy is coming to London next Wednesday and I’ve been invited to the launch – can’t wait to meet him.
On Wednesday the Giorgio Armani press team invited me into the office to look at their bag and shoe of the season (I’m talking AW08 here). I love their new flat biker boots – OMG, can I feel a flat moment coming on? Have to breathe into a brown paper bag on the way out as am suddenly convinced I’m getting old due to new interest in the flat. Or maybe I’m just feeling a trend coming on. A trend that I will do my best to ignore, there’s plenty of time for that in retirement god-damn-it.

Pop into meet the girl from the DKNY Jeans press office on the way out of Armani. I love the new store on Bond Street, all neon strip lights and dirty banging house music. Feel like I’m in a gay club. Moving on. Meet up with a friend who at the age of 34 is burnt out from the fashion industry and has gone off around the world to find herself and recover. She’s been seeing the top healer in London who was recommended to her by the make-up artist Charlotte Tilbury who she met at Alice Evens wedding to Joan Grufford last year. I am LOVING her tales of adventure. Plan to book myself straight in to see Mr Top Healer man….
Finally, yesterday, I went to see the stunning new collection at Bottega Veneta. OMG I want to be the Bottega woman, all super-lux and credit crunch free. Hobble down the road after that to meet high flying lovely publisher of ELLE in the Wolsely where we eat……wait for it…. CAKE!!! We discuss the news that apparently Phebe Philo has bagged herself the top job at Celine - you heard it here first! Round off the day perfectly - head off to see Paul Weller at the Royal Albert Hall

Saturday was so lovely, I donned a pair of walking boots and did a charity walk with the dog around Hampstead Heath in aid of The Mayhew Animal Rescue

Home. I felt so virtuous and I raised £400.

Later on, a friend’s 30th turned into the mother of all celebrations. It was hardcore. I left (fell out of) a basement party called “Bloodbath Disco”, on the Hackney Road at 5am yesterday morning. AND IT WAS SNOWING! I was wearing a new pair of Ralph Lauren, open toe, red, silk sling backs (ruined). Staggered into a cab and managed NOT to get side tracked by numerous texts from friends who were at an after party somewhere in Chelsea. I developed the restraint gene late in life, clearly.

On Sunday I watched crap films all day wearing star print pj’s. Ate 10 rounds (pounds) of buttery, marmite toast. Felt VILE. Ralph lauren shoes are destroyed.

Another manic Monday, my alarm goes off at 6am. Behind my eyes still hurt from Saturday night and I’m getting on the Orient Express this morning to go on an

Hermes press day! I have to get to Victoria station for 7.30am. Yuk. What to wear??? I’m feeling Agatha Christie meets Blondie. Decide to rock my new Kinder jacket (its Chanel meets Amy Winehouse) and my 30’s, flapper style black silk Miu Miu dress. Its a winner outfit. Oh hell, the invitation says wear flat shoes….But I don’t own any.

Remember I have some old riding boots in the downstairs coat cupboard. I’ve never been riding. I’ve never been near a horse, I bought them for Glastonbury 5 years ago. I’m allergic to horses, why do I even have riding boots? Scrape 5 year old Glasto mud off boots, mirror check and off. I feel weird wearing flats. Didn’t know I was so short. May need a booster seat in the car.

Dash along the platform to catch the Orient Express half expecting steam to rise around my ankles and a man in a trench coat ask my if I needed help with my Louis Vuitton 5 piece luggage set…… Whistle blows, all aboard.

It’s so old time glamour. We sit in big moveable arm chairs and eat a 5 course breakfast from cream china plates with solid silver cutlery. So decadent, so 1930s, pass on the champers… Oh alright, go on then.

After 2 hours on the Orient Express we arrive at Sezincote House which is a turn of the century Indian inspired folly set amongst acres of glorious countryside.

Hermes have an annual day out for the press which is themed and this year the theme is India. We spend an hour looking at charms in a garden (hence the flats).

The charms are being given out by Indian deities. Freaky looking characters sprayed gold, blue or pink. Its all very trippy hippy. We have to perform various tricks to collect trinkets, one of which involved hissing at a snake. Moving on….

Hermes had dip dyed various animals. I spied 5 Hermes orange sheep and a bubble gum pink horse……

Anyway, lunch was held in a beautiful tent with Indian music tinkering away. We had a gorgeous creamy aubergine curry and an array of fine wines. The painted deities arrived with snakes creeping around their wrists and necks. Ugh ugh ugh.

Back on the orient express, I am delighted to find the entire train has been turned into a bar. We roll back into Victoria at 7.30pm…..

I was all fashioned out (all cried out more like) by the end of the Paris shows, but I’m back by popular demand (I made that bit up) – and on more than a weekly basis from now on! HURRAH / oh no!!

The lovely PR from Calvin Klein watches invited me to join her on a press trip to Istanbul way back last December but what with the pre-show prep, the actual shows and the post-show meltdown, I’d totally forgotten all about the trip until almost the day before I was due to fly. Istanbul has been on my hot weekend hit list for a while but due to afore mentioned melt down (think Britney on Red Bull) I had no time to get excited about it – that was until the itinerary fluttered its way into my inbox. Glamourama-dot-com-dot-co-dot-uk!!!

Arrive at Heathrow and spy a friendly face from another women’s glossy – phew, it’s always such a gamble going on these trips with other mags, just in case it’s with somebody who is REALLY dull. There’s nothing more horrendous than taking a flight to Snorsville with somebody who works for Snortastic magazine. It’s a good sign… looks set to be a good trip.

Istanbul bound

Arrive at the hotel in Istanbul and it’s a modern and rather austere looking place – all shiny, sandy marble and pillars. We have to walk through a metal detector upon arrival at reception – it’s just like the one that used to be on the door at the Hacienda in Manchester - although thankfully I can’t see the Happy Mondays smashing up the bar. Speaking of which, the bar is all low lighting with views over the sea. At least the PR will always know where to find me.

There’s a dinner being held at the museum of Modern Art tonight and Calvin Klein have planned a private guided tour of the gallery where one of Turkey’s most famous modern artists is having a special retrospective of his work. Opt to wear my nearly new Marni, almost painterly floral print dress, Miu Miu long cardi and those chunky almost unbearable / unwearable, Marni wooden clog super wedge things I bought in Milan. One has to suffer for ones art dear.

There’s around 200 press from all around the world on this trip and one by one we have to traipse through a metal detector and have our bags checked. YIKES, security is so tight in this city. Up in the gallery, I can barely hear what the guide is saying but I swear she said that Turkey’s most famous artist is called Borat. Feel giddiness rising. Have a mental image of Borat painting in tight Speedo’s, which is only made worse when I learn this Borat character paints like a mad old woman and his favourite subject matter is cats. Abstract cats at nine o clock at night. I need a drink.

Come over all whirling dervish and am first in the dining area looking for a glass of… anything alcoholic. Whip a glass of bubbles out of the waiter’s hand before he can even offer it to me. Plonk myself down in the corner on the comfy seat and wonder where are the PR and the other mag hag?

Am then surrounded by three blondes and three brunettes from Austria. I only mention this because this was their ONLY conversation – hair colour. SO Stepford Wives. Am forced to drink more to get through it.

The next day there’s a Calvin Klein fashion show with watches held in a beautiful ruin on the waterfront. The building isn’t the only thing that’s ruined. All 200 of us have a formal sit down lunch. It’s quite wedding and over the top but in a good glamorous way. I end up sitting next to a French guy called Vincent who publishes the Hotel Ritz in-house magazine. He is wearing ripped jeans aka Bros. I cannot look at them. Not even Christopher Kane would approve.

Thankfully we are all shipped off in coaches for the next excursion. I opt out of the culture vulture and head straight for the Souk. I need to buy stuff and I need to buy it now. Arrive at the bazaar to find that my Chloe teeny tiny mini skirt is going down a treat in the market! I’m being cat called from every stall. Though I intended to dress in a tasteful and respectful manner, I clearly had not. Thick black chunky Falke tights, almost librarian, flat Pretty Ballerina pumps, long scarf from India to wrap over head if entering a place of worship (we’re going to Harvey Nichols later), damn it, messed up on the old skirt length again.

Thanks to obscenely short and not really there mini Chloe mini skirt, I leave the souk followed by several men who have agreed to carry my wares back to my hotel free of charge. It’s a sight to behold. The Calvin PR is in total awe.

There’s a fancy dinner later and the dress code is black so yours truly had to buy a new See By Chloe dress as nothing else seemed to work. Thank the lord for my Harvey Nics 20% discount. Speaking of which, I hear there’s one in Istanbul so make a dash over there before dinner.

Harvey Nics Istanbul is weird – there are armed police on the door! Perhaps J-LO is in there shopping for kids cashmere!!

At dinner I sit next to the accessories editor of French ELLE who is fascinating. Am cheered to hear that she and her friend who works for a different French glossy, are women of a certain age (one is over 50 and one is over 60). Vincent sits with us and has finally taken off his distressing denim so I agree to engage him in the conversation. Am made to feel like an English buffoon when I fess up to not knowing whether we are in the East or the West. Bloody French, so educated!!

Forgot to mention, our restaurant that evening is on an island that you can only get to by boat. That was much easier to deal with on arrival but on departure I fear for my life in my platform Gucci sandals. Some strange men on the boat on the trip back across the water ask me if I am a dancer (no, just a bit sizzled thank you very much).

The next day the other mag hag and the Calvin PR agree to distribute the load of my purchases. How kind. How foolish. At Heathrow, The Boy has smuggled The Dog into the Arrivals area! Genius! The Boy looks like packhorse as I load him up with bits of pottery and cashmere scarves I’ll never use or ever wear!

I heart Istanbul.