And which publication do you work for?

Rather robust woman, greasy hair, poorly 'streaked' blonde picks up her phone and blatantly, without dialling any number in particular murmurs drunkenly down the phone, "meet me at tha basstop, there's sam c**t ere yoor gunna av to tw*t, ee won't stop breavin on me."

This was the end to last night for me. Let's start at the beginning....

I've been working at graduate fashion week for the past two days and it's been my first real time as a 'member of the press'. A small white badge with the word PRESS imprinted upon it entitled me to free food and drink all day, front seats at the gala show and a chance to mingle with the 'slebs at the aftershow party. I could very much get used to this lifestyle as i'm sure anyone could. I've been left revelling in the memories of being sat behind Claudia Schiffer and Erin O'connor, and all because i am now a fully fledged, albiet somewhat flukish, member of the press.

However, when one is on the number 25 bus to Whitechapel on a Wednesday night apparently this newly granted status does not matter much at all or in fact bode well. Jordan and i were stood minding our own business only to be called 'fackin cants' i'd say all in all around 20 times by this absolutely lovely women sat next to us. The crime you may ask? Jordan was breathing on her. I absolutely love London. In no other place in the world would this situation happen i am sure of it.

Still feeling rather woozy from all the free alcohol so i think i'll have a lie down, perhaps go and twat some kids later if the breath on me but i'll see how i feel.