It looked like rice pudding. It had the right, creamy texture and when I took the first mouthful it was sweet and, really, like rice pudding.

Of course, the anchovy sauce and mozzarella made it risotto and not rice pudding at all. Still, in my head it had been rice pudding and not risotto and so, it tasted strange. Not unpleasant, just not what I thought.

I was introduced to customers and staff (that I didn’t know) as his boyfriend. Apparently, some people didn’t really believe that. He is proud of that fact even if he did say that I was lucky to have him as my boyfriend – which is true, in any event.

The people are nice, even if they are in the fashion world.

The food was mountainous. Too much even for the hundreds of people there. I didn’t eat much. I’d eaten lunch and had been stuffed full last weekend.

I had a glass of prossecco but then saw they had a bar with Campari and Cinzano – so, from then on it was Americanas. I probably should have stopped at the fourth – but didn’t. F told me he was quite drunk. Then the next time I saw him was with a very full glass of wine. I guess he was going to enjoy himself.

Some people went outside to smoke a joint. Outside – on the pavement, on a busy road. In the UK I’m sure (but I really don’t know), they would have been hiding away. Here, it seems better to do it out in the open.

There was dancing by the end. All a little bit crazy. All a little bit drunk. We got to bed about 12.30, completely shattered – and we had to be up early this morning as F was going away and I was taking him to the airport. He’s gone until Thursday.

During the evening, I looked at him doing his thing and thought how much I truly loved him.

It was a great evening with the designer, at one stage, cycling round the showroom whilst a photographer took some pics and, afterwards, dancing with the ‘girls’ some of whom are, of course, not really young enough to be called girls (and I’m being quite polite here).