I am a lucky old bag I am stuck in this fantastic hotel, 11 Cadogan Gardens, in Chelsea, and I am not complaining, no hell with that. In the rain I am a happy bunny in a four poster bed with a bit of a head ache I can laugh merrily. No water is a pain in the neck, we all give these things no further thought, until they go wrong. I am just hoping as I said before that my Mother is haunting me..
This afternoon I went to look for long dresses, I hate long dresses, I look like matronly in them, putting them on guarantees the killing of my favorite designers and no sex for me. I have been nagged to death to wear them, and on most occasions I can put them at the back of my wardrobe and say I haven't got any. They have to be black. I hate shopping for them. The only thing to do is to see my friend James Servini, who once did a photographic competition using my work. He is the clothes hunting machine in Selfridges. The personal shopping king along with Pandora Delevigne they rule the rails and steal the best for me and for all my friends. He is the only person who convinced me I looked attractive in one by Moschino, and now I will take him everywhere with me in a suitcase, When somebody says long and flowing I hope they mean the Thames, not the chiffon rag I hate and bought in sale just for emergencies. I usually try on the most unattractive one so people say "yes, you are right, get it off straight away"
I also skipped by their exhibition of Art, but only like Kay Saatchi's choice.
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