So I heaved myself into quite a small Issa dress and went to Vogue’s London Fashion Week party last night, which was at the American ambassador’s house in Regent’s Park. Winfield House. Terribly pretty, good art. A big collection of Rothkos, one partygoer told me, but I didn’t see any because I was concentrating quite hard on the trays of champagne around me. John Kerry also happened to be there, letting his hair down I suppose before sitting down in London for talks on Isis and the refugee crisis.
I happened to ACCIDENTALLY brush quite close to the US Secretary of State at one point (in an effort to get closer to Victoria Beckham for a gawp), and one of his heavies – there were dozens of them – stuck his arm out between me and John, he won’t mind if I call him John, as a sort of human shield. I mean really what drama these Americans have to make everywhere they go. There was literally no room for anything remotely threatening under that dress anyway.
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