Row 68 Seat H. The non-pointy end of the plane...

There's usually nothing I love more than turning up to the airport and going overboard in the newsagency - Vogue from every corner of the world, the latest issues of Hello! and The Economist (one hidden surreptitiously inside the other...) I think 'cruel irony' is the only way to describe my reading of a natty Q&A in said Vogue with a jet-setting model who explained that all she ever needs to survive a long-haul flight is a bottle of Evian, some hand cream and a cashmere throw rug.

As miracles might happen, I managed to sleep most of the way to London. All I needed was three preceding nights of no sleep, a small but nevertheless traumatic accident in my mother's car, an emotional farewell at the airport, two sleeping tablets and a vodka. Good times.

Am off to buy an umbrella. Welcome to London!!