When I emerged safely from house-sitting at the Parker and the heat wave had subsided, my first instinct was to slam back a drink.
Palm Springs was a vague indication, but if I went by what his mother had told me, it wouldn't be long before I could get my hands on him. All I had to do was frequent luxury hotels, posh dance halls and old-lady bars to try and locate him.
Patricia is the reason the world keeps getting a little rainier.
Warm up the popcorn and chill your glass of white wine to enjoy the world's best Newsletter.
Before each new collection launch, like a monk, wearing my most beautiful pumps, I set off with my team in search of the holy grail, divine inspiration, hoping to be struck by lightning like the tree of life split in two by the gods of Olympus.
While my parents were busy tearing each other apart over what to do with their lives, at the age of eighteen I took matters into my own hands and decided to perfect my English by spending a term in California with the money I'd earned selling cheese at the market on Boulevard Richard Lenoir, near Bastille.