Tuesday 18th February 2014
The Alice Temperley Show was given on Sunday at the Savoy Hotel. Aunt Lavinia and Cousin Lavinia and Cousin Bart couldn’t believe the state of Polpo where we lunched at my suggestion beforehand. ‘Those cracks have been painted on,’ I explained. ‘It’s the dirty food movement.’ Aunt Lavinia came back from the lavs gripped by horror. After, Cousin Bart said, ‘Is it different from any other tapas bar?’ But it’s Venetian not tapas. He hadn’t grasped.
Then we gained the Show. This time the room was square and the catwalk carved a path up and down the space. We couldn’t get near the Greatnesses who were lodged in the middle. Joely was said to be in. Also Pixie or Frou-Frou or whoever. The great ramming of the Greatnesses by photographers seen in former years did not take place. Fashion’s massive spurt was not quite so massive, that heroic surge against death, with Greatnesses pouring into the salon for 45 minutes beforehand, then 15 minutes of hems and sleeves and draping and prints then everyone out, all over.
This year, the real story was elsewhere. Strange that fashion is the fight against Death but a look can die in minutes. The jackette, which I have championed for four years at least… could it be dead? Jackets have gone in, they’re nipped in and they’re longer. Possibly.
The big sensation was outside in the street. I actually saw those Givenchy floral shorts displayed at Harvey Nicks after Christmas. Someone was actually wearing them. Never before have I seen an outré look pushed by a shop actually worn

Another Clutch of Frocked Figures After the Show: Don’t you Just Long to Hack Six Inches off that Black Man’s Jacket and Render it a Jackette?













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Sick with worry at news of jackette’s death. The entire Edge collection put out to charity shops. Or hang on to them for fifty years until back in, when you can wear again as Poor Little Rich Crone
It is a wracking worry
Such an important collection could be donated against tax.
London Fashion Week (and Weekend now) a nightmare. Could hardly get to Derek Jarman exhibition (the real PLRG event) at Somerset House because of hordes of squealing little girls of both sexes dressed in absurd outfits.
But Jarperson would have loved the frocks
I believe the mystery woman in the front row with the Anna Wintour ‘do is none other than that saucy little historian, Lucy Worseley.
Let us believe that it is