By day three of London Fashion Week my personal style went out the window. My feet were blistered and embarrassingly swollen to the point I could barely squeeze them into a pair of converse. This flip flop wearing girl is seriously not cut out for eleven hour days in sky high heels. I’d like to say lesson learnt, but chances are I’d do the same thing again. I was no longer bothered about what I wore and as a way of sticking it to the Man I opted for all black topped off with converse and a low bun. After the first show of the day we went for breakfast in Covent Garden only to discover most places have move onto lunch by noon. Unfortunately I was in no state for soups or sandwiches so broke the cardinal rule of fashion week and scoffed down a bowl of fries. Bloated belly in a body con dress? Oh well. Instead of being sunny like the day before the air was icy cold all day. Shame, another attempt gone awry. My bare legs were literally quivering when Jill offered me her mom’s buttery driving jacket to wear. Bless her, it saved the day.