 Right from the word “go,” today has been like a military operation. I woke up wondering if I had “un petit mal de tete”. Luckily, I hadn’t drunk so much last night so I was wasn’t too blurry and I was just about able to spring out of bed and jump onto MSN whereI had a quick msn with “The Ed” who told me to go pack immediately. And why? Because today I’m back off to the wonderful world of Stockholm Fashion Week and see “The Ed” (who happens to be one of my dearest friends).
Around the same time I received a text from the latest Potential (ie, a ch ap who seems to have a bit of a soft spot for me – very flattering) who very kindly offered to take me to the airport. And that delighted me as he has a super swanky spanky sports car. So after hesitating for a split second (never appear too keen), I said yes and whipped off to pack. Now I’m attending the entire week of Stockholm Fashion Week – what on earth do you wear for heaven’s sake? I know this isn’t London or New York or Milan but still, bear in mind that Sweden’s mightiest and meatiest fashionistas are going to be here. Plus “The Ed” has apparently been banging on about me to everyone so they are all wondering who on earth is Miss Blackwell? Added to this, you’re only allowed 20kgs of luggage. So there is only a little bit of pressure. I finally go for what is called A Core Wardrobe. Well, whatever, it sounds good and I pray to the sweet lord that it’ll be fine. Fast forward, Potential turns up, opens the roof of his car and we crawl out of London. At the airport, I do security, do the duty free, do the flight (with a screaming baby), do the arrival, do the train and …… there’s my dear, dear Henric waiting for me with a big, big hug. About ten minutes later we were squabbling just like the good old days and it warmed my little heart (which is about the size of a ball bearing).  After a nice fat glass of wine, he showed me our schedule for this week. I nearly took the next flight home. It is huge! On Wednesday we have 12 shows to attend. This is going to kill me. And this is meant to be a holiday. Ladies, I’m not happy. Not one little bit. I think Henric cottoned on to this as he brought out a huge box of chocolates which I tucked into. So now I’m looking forward to several extra pounds on the tummy and exhaustion.
Great… this is not fashion week. This is boot camp week.
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