Still nothing wildly interesting to report from Paris Fashion Week: more marginally talented people in leather pants (the last offender being Orlando Bloom); Daisy Lowe in an awful pair of pants; the same handbag; Kate Moss "drunk" (although, it was plausibly more a case of "Ah, faking 'ell, more faking paps, I just wanna 'ave me faaaag, cor blimey, lovaduck, etc etc")...
In saying that, I didn't quite expect Florence Welch to turn up in a partially transparent business suit; Palmoa Faith to look really doable; Nicole Richie to highlight her miniscule height by wearing a dwarf-mongering country house lodge bedspread as a cape, followed by a look Beckham championed a number of years ago; or La Roux to be afforded front row seats.
Also featured: Liv Tyler, Anna Wintour, a load of models, Boy George, Ronnie Wood and the girlfriend, the Parisian answer to Joan Rivers, a squaw, some mad glasses (see, it's not gaffer tape, it's actually a bow), and a time travelling Georgia May Jagger?
