It’s this week’s World Premier Fashion Show and prima donna and top fashion guru, Lotta Fussenshyte is sitting in the best seat, surrounded by her entourage, watching the models pass on the catwalk just feet from her nose.
She’s an important woman. If she states that wearing your household pets is the latest fashion, a week later Prince Harry will be sporting Corgi fur trousers.
“Oh God, this is so tedious,” she neighs, as the skinny, bug eyed girls totter along like a herd of baby giraffes that have been dressed from Woolworths by an escaped mental patient.
“If only the designers could come up with something new rather than just turning the fashion from two years ago upside down and adding a handbag!”
Meanwhile, Harry Tranks, a local vagabond, thief and down-and-out has wandered through the back door of the theatre, via the kitchen and onto the stage. He’s managed to steal a bowl of spaghetti Bolognese which is tucked under one arm and over the other is draped a feather boa which he took from the dressing rooms.
Harry is soaked full of wine, cheap cider and lighter fluid so, as normal, he has no idea of where he is or what is going on. His clothes are torn and stained and one of his shoes is missing a heel, which makes him walk with the same alarming, jerky stride as the models.
Lotta spots him staggering towards her down the catwalk.
“Now this looks more interesting,” she purrs.
Harry chooses that moment to step on the end of the boa. He goes into a sideways spin and throws his hands out to stop his fall. The glass bowl makes a shining arc through the spotlights and delivers a trail of tomato-covered spaghetti that starts in the second row seats around Sting, splatters across the lap of Victoria Beckham and ends on the top of Lotta Fussenshytes dyed blonde head.
For a moment there’s complete silence, but then Lotta says; “Beautiful, just beautiful. I thought that fashion was dead but that display has reawakened long dormant feelings in my heart. This is what we shall all be wearing next Spring!”
The crowd goes wild.
And that explains my appearance this evening, darling.
I’m not drunk and I haven’t been fighting in the Italian restaurant. It’s a fashion thing.
