Back home in London, with a temperature and feeling like cr@p, I’m trying to re-imagine myself back onto Cornish soil, with the sound of the waves crashing, my sister smiling, and the rat gambolling around with joy in the sunshine. We had such a wonderful trip, lil’sis, P Bad and me, and we really didn’t want it to end.
But I came crashing back to London reality, with the sleeper car steward’s knock on the door of our compartment at 630am. There’s nothing like flicking up the blind in your berth to see the 0645 on the opposite platform at London Paddington, and bleery eyed commuters clutching coffee cups to get you back into London life.
After the taxi dropped me off at home, I shoved in a load of washing, grabbed an hour’s sleep, and then took in ten press appointments all over London for AW12, from the divine DvF for Gap children’s launch breakfast through Anya Hindmarch, Rupert Sanderson, Moschino and more, ending up at Christian Louboutin’s shoes of lust for next season last thing. I only stopped whizzing around when my new flats, changed into to stop my pointy toed black stilettos rubbing, promptly took a strip of skin off my bare heels. There’s a certain irony in pitching up to Louboutin HQ barefoot, holding one’s shoes in one’s hand.
Today hasn’t been quite so successful. I awoke with a headache, felt distinctly unwell all morning, blacked out around lunchtime, and missed not only all today’s meetings and press appts (Diesel *sniff*, Whistles *sniff*, Louis Vuitton *sniff*…), but the Sainsbury’s spring party — which I was rather narcissistically looking forward to, as there is a feature on my recipes for spring in the May issue of their magazine, out imminently. And, now, of course, having snoozed all day, am wide awake with a cracking headache at 0152hrs. Euf.