We get invited to some charity auction thing at Tommy Hilfiger’s. The shop is quite close to our house and we shall be meeting friends, so it will be nice.
We are late, of course. V has decided to wear his kilt. I no longer care if he wears a kilt with me around as I am no longer responsible and he can look as ridiculous as he wants. It’s impossible to tell him that he does not look good, especially when the Italian women just want to feel him up! But, I’m sorry, he just looks like a prat. His legs look shorter and stubby. It’s not a good look.
We arrive and wait for our friend with a second home on the lake (FfC). She arrives by taxi and we go in. Unfortunately, the apero part has, to all intents and purpose, finished and they are on to the charity auction. The room is filled with Italians who are there to be seen and would-be models walking around expecting something (probably attention). They spend most of their time looking around the room to see who is there that might be important. V tells me that ‘there is the guy from MTV’. This is lost on me since I rarely watch MTV and care less about someone who presents on MTV.
Luckily, there are waiters who are serving drinks. The trick is to grab a drink as they go past or, since these are free and this is Italy, beating your way through the throng to grab a glass.
The same for the bite-sized food that they are serving although by the time we are in they are on to deserts. One I had was two raspberries sandwiched with the tiniest amount of whipped cream. You get the idea.
FfC goes somewhere. V and I are alone for a moment. V says, excitedly, ‘There’s Helena Christensen’. I know the name. I knew she was going to be there.
‘Where?’ I ask.
She is standing with her back to us about 6 inches away. V is exasperated that I fail to recognise someone I am not interested in. However, she is dressed in an off-white (magnolia) dress that does look rather nice. She is not as tall as I would have thought. She’s older than I thought. I’m not really sure what I was expecting.
FfC arrives back and V excitedly tells her, having failed to make any real impression on me. FfC is suitably awed.
‘I want to have my photograph taken with her’, V exclaims!
She is standing next to a shortish guy who is, probably, someone very important. Maybe Tommy Hilfiger or someone? I don’t know. They are talking and I’m thinking that V, acting like a little super fan, is just going to be a pain in the arse for her.
‘I don’t have a phone that takes photos, can you use yours?’ he asks me.
So, he asks Helena for a photo and, graciously, she says yes. I am holding drinks so FfC tries to take the photo but cannot seem to do it so I handed her the glasses and I took it. I’m afraid it is not a good photo – we were outside, the lighting was not good and it’s only a phone camera – but it will have to do.
V and some woman, who is famous or something.
[Update: After downloading it, it really is a dreadful photo but the only one I have, so there!]
After that, of course, the floodgates opened and everyone wanted their photo taken with her.
Anyway, she seemed really sweet and waved to us after several more photos had been taken and she was escaping with the little man! Oh, yes, and she also thanked us for coming. Hey, Helena, it was free booze and, had we got there earlier, free food as well! And, of course, we met you! What more could one ask?
After we went for an Indian with FfC and, once again, V explained about the ‘retreat’ weekend and more of that later in another post, probably.