There are many reasons I love working at Tatler. The morning after our annual Little Black Book party is one of them. ‘I went home with someone who was so posh he had an oil portrait of an ancestor in his bedroom,’ one colleague just breezily announced in the office. Another one has been sick into a bin at her desk, so she’s on her way home.
I am feeling fairly s-l-o-w today as a result so will shortly be stepping out of Vogue House for a lunch that contains eleventy-billion calories.
There’s a load of stuff I have completely failed to write about on here in the past week or so. Interviewing the magnificent Clare Balding, my obsession with Channel 4’s National Treasure, dinner at Albert’s (the new members’ club in South Ken which has the prettiest loos in London), my escapades in a McLaren, making a Ralph Lauren video with various it-girls about whether they’d ever date a man who didn’t like Labradors (watch it HERE) AND having a crack at sorting out my garden last weekend.
‘Why are we planting onions?’ I asked my friend Bells, who came over to help because she has an allotment and knows what a trowel is.
‘They’re not onions, they’re bulbs,’ she said.
But I haven’t got the strength to go into all that today so I’m just going to paste some pictures below. Sorry. I need to get my lunch.