J: So what did you get up to at the weekend?
PC: Cocktails with the gang from Vuitton, saw the sexy Italian, Givenchy press sale.
J: Oh God, I don't want to know, but tell me anyway.
PC: Fabulous 100% cashmere black coat, catwalk sample, last forever classic, complete steal. Red dress Carrie Bradshaw would kill for, several pairs of fantastic kidskin elbow length gloves. Very Bond girl. You?
J: Bought a small shrub from an enormously fat bearded man in short shorts. Cleaned up a lot of excrement. Found a slug in the kitchen. The usual. Damien at the corner shop said I was looking "ravissante" though.
PC: An admirer! How exciting!
J: He's 50 and still lives with his dad. And he said the same to the CFO's mum last time she was staying. And to Dominique, and Claire who looks like a pre-op trannie. And Mauricette next door and she's about 80. I think he might have some kind of sexual compulsion problem.
PC: Darling, beggars can't be choosers. Did you leave your make up behind on the corridor of ennui again?