FANDANGO

WHERE DO I start? The last two weeks have been rather hectic - so much so, that I ended up in bed for four of the 14 days, not with anybody I hasten to add, but with my old friend tonsillitis. It's such a pain when you can't even swallow an ice cold voddie and tonic. Anyway, I've been advised to take it easy, so that's exactly what I'm not going to do because it's simply impossible. So, back to the last two weeks: dragged myself to the opening of Little Havana, a restaurant off of Leicester Square. I didn't actually sample any food because I'm way too clumsy to balance a plate of food, drink, fag, etc. and far too ladylike to eat in public - but it looked delicious. The hustle and bustle then got too much and I had to leave, along with Mr Gareth "Maxwell House" Hunt. Well, he walked out alongside me - we didn't actually leave together, silly. I then found myself draped over a sofa at the Met Bar with somebody who had the same name as my cat; strange that, people in London have such unusual names, sometimes I'm sure they make them up for effect. For instance, yesterday I met a girl named Willow, for heaven's sake. And no, she wasn't weeping.

I am the envy of all my friends (understandable, of course, being 5ft 9in, blonde, body like Elle MacPherson etc), as I happened to be lunching in the same restaurant as Tim Roth last week. OK, so he's cool beyond belief, but really not my type at all, and nor I his, no doubt. No, my week was made when I bumped into the man who plays my favourite character from The Fast Show, Competitive Dad. He is without doubt the funniest man on TV, I only have to look at him. Which I did throughout the evening, as I didn't have the courage to approach him - what does one say, "Hi, Competitive Dad, I don't actually know your real name but I think you're hilarious"? Not my style. So I didn't say anything at all. My friend then embarrassed me completely by asking George Daws from Shooting Stars (don't know his real name, either) for his autograph. At which point I made a swift but saucy exit.

I'll bore you no longer with my antics and tell you something about shops and clothes, the important things in life. Here goes: trainers, and where to buy the latest. Offspring, that concept sports store devoted to bringing us the best and hippest trainers, has just (yesterday, in fact) opened a store on Camden High Street, London NW1. Sounds like it's worth a visit just to sample the Sixties sci-fi atmosphere, if you're into that.

The sales are coming to an end, thankfully. I hate all the shops in a mess, it upsets my equilibrium. (You can tell I worked at Joseph for far too long). Wardrobe, at 42 Conduit Street, London, W1 are throwing their doors open from 12-5pm today and their expert team will be on hand to advise you on clothes, hair and make-up, plus major reductions on labels such as Jil Sander and Strenesse. A one-stop style solution!

I've decided that I'm going to save all my pennies and treat myself to a face-lift - sorry, I meant to say a scooter. Patrick Cox, that charming designer, has teamed up with Italjet to bring us the ultimate accessory: a limited edition (there are just 22 of these babies) gold scooter, with cream leather upholstery, 50cc engine with automatic transmission and electronic ignition (they are usually ignited by the pilot light, I think). At pounds 4,000 it's a snip to improve your street chic, plus it comes with a matching gold helmet. Patrick Cox, 129 Sloane Street, London SW1, 0171 730 8886.

I know I've harped on about footballers before, for no apparent reason, but this time it's justified. Do the manufacturers of whatever shampoo it is (you see, even I can't remember which brand) think they are going to flog shampoo by coiffing David Ginola's hair and giving Jason McAteer the latest Rachel style? These ad men should understand that it is disgusting beyond belief to have hair like Yasmin Bon Bon if you are of the opposite sex. Women do not find such men attractive, especially if they spend too much time styling their barnets. While we are on the subject of footie, what is Ian Wright doing on TV on Friday nights? OK, he's giving it his all, the TV producers etc think he's a natural. Yes, he's very relaxed, but I cringed throughout the programme, especially when he sang a little duet with old Lionel Richie. Best make sure I'm out every Friday from now on.