London Fashion Week is a melting pot of flamboyancy and character, with sombre models parading future seasons’ ranges to an audience lucky enough to have grabbed the gold dust tickets. Our front row seats at Meadham Kirchhoff were close enough to touch the elegant models in their floaty, delicately printed chiffons- teamed with something akin to shiny latex or satin… I couldn’t be sure what it was, but the effect was stunning, if somewhat a little weird. Wasn’t so keen on the veiled faces – reminded me a bit of the Handmaid’s Tale for the 21st century, but the show was pure class.
Thursday saw a day spent in Covent Garden, that place of naughty 1980s happenings, much mischief-making in days gone by and, of course, last year’s flashmob choir. Meetings with two graphic designers filled my time until the evening, which I spent with 250 accountants!! Yes, I may not be the best at counting but it’s true. I had been invited to a very grand black tie dinner to celebrate Joe’s fantastic achievement at the glamorous Grand Connaught Rooms. (Where, incidentally, I began my career in fashion, so this week has kind of brought me full circle.) Joe is one of my clients, and he recently qualified as a chartered accountant with the highest score in London for a particular category. He looks after a lot of the designers who exhibited at London Fashion Week, so they’re in good hands. If you need an accountant and want to be in good hands let me know and I’ll happily introduce you.
After an incredibly busy few weeks Steven and I took some time out for a weekend in Brighton – a town that oozes culture and fun. Three hours of happily wandering in and out of vintage clothes shops in the antique and bric-a-brac filled Lanes resulted in the purchase of a retro dress and a sulk. “Isn’t that meant for a 20-year-old?” he asked… Hmmm. Having been told by my new Twitter friend that I look better in the flesh, I’ll take my chances with the dress.
Anyway, it was a lovely weekend: Extravagance in the Royal Pavilion, tea on the pier, cocktails in the Grand Hotel, walking along the pebbled beach amongst snowflakes, witnessing someone getting knocked down by a bike, an hour in the casino and a bit too much clotted cream. We stopped off at the Odeon for its first screening of Cloud Atlas – a brave film, definitely worth seeing but, as always, I preferred the book.
Driving home we couldn’t pick up 
a decent radio station so we listened to Elaine Paige – and what a nasty piece of work she turned out to be. (I originally wrote something rude there, but deleted it as I don’t want to alienate any EP fans.) What annoyed me yesterday was her discussion of Evita, one of my favourite films, starring my all-time music queen: “…with Antonio Banderas and ‘Whatserchops,’ you know who I mean.” Seventeen years of jealousy Miss Paige? Get over it…!
Tickets are selling steadily for my social media training session on 26/3. There are a few places left, so if you, or anyone you know, would like fully optimised profiles on LinkedIn, Twitter, Facebook pages and Pinterest, you can book your place here. As Madonna said, “I don’t always rush in like this, twenty seconds after saying hello; telling strangers I’m too good to miss – if I’m wrong I hope you’ll tell me so… But you really should know, I’d be good for you. I’d be surprisingly good for you.”
If you’d like me to be good for you, get in touch: @WeekendWitch
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