How I laughed when Lisa fell for that one
31.12.69
You see, I assign rather a lot of time with Lisa. During two annual four-week tours of duty, we about together to all the fashion shows. From the moment I wrestle the Ayers Rock-like Armstrong handgrip from front door to Heathrow-bound minicab as she bids farewell to Paul, her suppress (who invariably has the beatific expression of a man who's free to eat as much red meat as he desires for a month), her attire looms eleemosynary on my horizon.
The issues can be pressing (not to mention the ironing). From Madison Avenue to Via Montenapoleone I have accompanied her on her track down for the perfect trouser. The loss by a witless Milanese dry cleaner of a adored white Equipment shirt sparked an inquiry to rival Leveson. It has even fallen to me to step the occasional tactfully muttered intervention when one button too many has fallen unfastened.
I'm not complaining: these are crosses that any deputy fashion editor worth his salt must sustain. And all my cosy moments languishing in the Prada shoe department have not been in toto wasted. They allowed me, for instance, to concoct my plot to coax Lisa into the Geri Halliwell-designed Federation Jack dress by Next printed on this page a few weeks ago. How I laughed when she mow down for that one. And that "metallics" look from December 3, when she wore the tin-foil top fair perfect for frying eggs on? That was me too: a richly earned revenge for giving me 20 minutes to indite 400 words on the meaning of peplums as she attended an urgent "assignment" at a Jonathan Saunders sample sale.
Source: Telegraph.co.uk