London Fashion Week

What a weekend! I'm totally shattered now after all that fashion. It's made me that style-conscious, I've felt compelled to change my font to something a bit more with-it, and it's taken me all evening just to work out how to do that.
And it was all over as quick as a flash, this fashion show of Julian's. They go at a hell of pace, those models, strutting along like giraffes on hot coals. I could barely take it all in. But I do like this dress. Might have to take a few inches off my arms and lose 5 stone before I can get into it, but I can see it causing a stir the next time I go out to the cafe at Bridgemere Garden World. I said to Evie, '"What did you make of it all?" She just said, "I thought the classical lines offset the eye-opening colour juxtapositions rather effectively. The melding of texturally antithetic fabrics with a bravely uncomplicated sense of 50s Parisian chic was particularly refreshing. Can I have a strawberry Yop now?" She is funny, what she comes out with.
But I tell you, my blood pressure just can't cope with all of this excitement. I must have walked ten miles yesterday getting over to Portobello market, my feet killing me the whole way, and then it turns out to be jam-packed, with parts of it what I would call very arabic. And somebody was trying to sell the Whistling Boy for £120! I tell you, I'll be filling up the Honda and bringing stuff down here from Stoke before long, if you can make that kind of profit. Only they don't have any balconies where you can sit and smoke a fag in London, that's the only problem.