Darling! Back from school already? Mummy’s had a shocker, she went to that gruesome GP. It’s harder to get a slot there than my Hermès one-to-ones. Then the bastard laughed at my kaftan! I’m worried about my body temp, see. Teaches me to fly Mustique to Meribel! Don’t get me started on the packing. Cheer me up. Come to Julien MacDonald’s show on Sunday. Everyone’s taking their kids. Engulfing shades, outrageous clutch — you can borrow my Fendi. Pickle, please? He is your bloody godfather.

Gweate choobes! Pardon, babe? Oh, you’ve got new filler. Let me do the talking. Like my wedges? Danke, chica — aren’t they very slutty! Café time? The cutest independent’s just round the corner. It’s actually called Fuckoffee. Y2Koconut lattes! And straws, please. You know, teeth whitening time of the month. Haven’t washed my denim in weeks though, I really love it grungy. Battered biker, mum’s old bag — but I did splash on the Swarovski. Honestly, wouldn’t you die for it?

Come on Smudgy, walk time. Christ, it’s flipping freezing. If you just stopped wriggling I could get your little coat on. Where’s my stupid scarf gone? I’d better put on two. Stripy,
itchy. Time to squeeze another cardi. Okay! Wait, where are my poo bags? Stuffed in an ancient leather satchel. Trapped in beaten Barbours. No, in these jeans. Jesus, woman, breathe — lead on, door locked. Fabulous! The birds have mucked all over the Peugeot. I had that washed on Wednesday.

Great jam, mate. I’ve actually got to dip, though. Got a date. Ha, alright yeah, lay off. I got the jeans for Christmas. No they’re not my Boy Scout patches. Bro, they’re Ralph Lauren. And these aren’t mules, they’re loafers — by a cool designer. She’s called, like, Martine Rose, I think. Not sure though, from my sister. Tartan shirt, grubby T — oh it’s dark already. I’ll Uber to Shoreditch House. Ha, I know. You just know it’s going to be nice, though. D’you know what I mean, mate?