"Who ARE These People??"

Tonight I went to Mahiki for the launch of a new fashion website. It sounds glamorous, and I guess it partly was-- I only dragged my tired ass out of my flat because I was on the guest list, and even then I had to queue in the "guest" line for 45 minutes. The place was crawling with B-list models and rich people; everyone was dancing around violently, in the throes of some great highs. Jess and I were probably the only girls not on coke and with healthy body weights (and mine is a bit healthier than hers, it should be said).

The music was okay, but I got pushed around too much. After the fifteenth girl leisurely strolled by and shoved me out of her way (Jess: "Who ARE these people??"), we decided to call it a night. In all fairness to the club, it was probably so full of assholes because it's fashion week. The girl ahead of us in the "guest" queue wouldn't let us forget how she was an important person being forced to wait for her born right to skip ahead of the plebs. I didn't see Jordan or any soap stars stumbling out in their knickers, unfortunately, but now I can check that damned place off my list of things to see in town.

At the bus stop, I got treated to the sight of three guys (all drunk, all wearing loafers, and one named Alistair, which is the toffiest name I can think of) wrestling, doing a scrum, and almost getting hit by about 10 cabs.

This weekend, I'm off to Edinburgh. I leave tomorrow, from King's Cross (yess photo op at platform 9 3/4), and I'll be back on Sunday night. Mucho haggis and kilts, people.