Being squashed at the fashion shows is not my favourite occupation, but sharing the excitement behind the scenes is. I love seeing the preparation, the make up hair and nails, the models being transformed. Yes they are like us, they too have makeovers, though of course hourly ones. You may get a shock if you caught any of them too early in the morning. There is something so invigorating about seeing them change into creatures. Yes they are creatures too.

There about 42 models per show and they get paid anything from 500 pounds to 100,000 pounds. Well, it has to be worth being beautiful. As for the clothes, there is nothing new, how can there be? Gareth Pugh did Princess Mushroom the day after doomsday, I think; Rick Owens produced beautiful structure, and so comfortable. Galliano for Dior went for sex bomb moll clothes, and Lanvin’s cuddly Albert preferred draped silky dresses hugging the body in folds with plenty of jewels. The good thing about being in  Paris is that you see the most interesting people here during these weeks. I had a great lunch with David Collins and Michele Owens, Rick’s wife, whose own style is one of the most inventive I know.  She makes gold teeth sexy, and I am envious of her tattoos. Then there was Daphne Guinness with her blue eyes, and the high priestess’s shoes were quite something - no heels and pink glitter - only outdone by  bright yellow hair of Pam Hogg, the red lipped queen. Oh, what a week we’ve had - and now back to real life. I shall be nagging Snowden Hill  from Guido’s team to make me fins from the Alexander McQueen show, and I am still looking for some heeless shoes.