PPQ, Or, A Catastrophe

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I get to PPQ about five minutes early. I'm meeting Rebecca from Elle.com and despite our seated status, we and the rest of the crowd are locked outside a gate. While the show should be starting, workmen bring in the benches.

Alexa Chung slides by and The Moment twitters that editors are being turned away while socialites are flying in. We get past the gate and there's a bar serving PPQ lemonade - which has no lemonade and tastes like straight Pim's. By now, we're practically in a mosh pit. No one's let behind the curtain - not even Alexa Chung - until 8:37.

Everyone's told to put down their glasses, alcohol spills, a girl slips, her knee cracks, she passes out and the stampede rushes on into the almost mile long arcade. Rebecca and I pick her up and get her sorted before taking our seat in the mono-row, (how Marc).

By now it's 8:53 and 2812 starts in Camden in seven minutes. Colin McDowell and Hilary Alexander both get up and leave. The British Vogue editors behind me chatter, "That's interesting, should we go too?"

As I'm about to bolt, the lights go down and Daisy Lowe stomps her way down the runway.

The clothes are bright, the braids are plastic and the shoes are fun.

I do indeed bolt before the finale and thank god that I've made it this far without passing out, falling down or trampling any passerby.

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