Earlier this week I took a spontaneous trip to London alone for a bit of peace. My intention being a reading session in a park followed by a gallery viewing of a Picasso exhibition at the Courtald Gallery and finally a well deserved drink at the Enterprise off of Walton street for some and people watching basking in the unexpected sun.
This did not happen.
Why? I hear you ask. Well, to my surprise as I wandered up the steps of Somerset House quite naively I found myself interrupting the buzzing atmosphere of nothing less than London FUCKING Fashion Week?! I was quite astonished at the array of Fashionistas, Bloggers and "paps" that were stepping over one another to get the most attention.
So what did I do? Well of course me being me I chuck on a pair of blacked-out sunnies, stuck a fag between my pouting lips and whipped out my over-sized Nikon.
It was a both unique and mind-numbing experience for reasons I can't quite explain. From the recognisable "internet famous" 16 year olds to the obvious reams of elegant magazine editors, London Fashion Week was nothing short of being beautifully British. that's the best way of describing it. British.
(I took a few snaps when whilst I was cowering in the corner due to the feeling of inferiority and being the fattest one there.)