Arrived at the Observer offices to find the whole place pretending it wasn't discussing last night's Celebrity Love Island. Happily, there's no such thing as Shallow Shame on the cocktail desk – au contraire, we understand that there's no depth without shallow, that there's a distinction between 'shallow' and 'stupid', and also that generally shallow's better fun at a party. Having said which - I've got an awful feeling CLI might represent a shallow too far for the Cocktail Girl. Apparently, I just don't care that much. Paul Danan is such a poor woman's Jude Law he might as well not even bother existing, Calum Best's not as handsome as he used to be, Isabella Hervey's abs alarm me, and even though I quite like one of Rebecca Loos' bikinis, I'm not sure that alone is enough to keep me glued, (although it might be.) Am I getting old? Or worse yet, earnest? Have two and a half years daily (ish) exposure to the Obs turned me? Actually, it seems unlikely. I've spent the last couple of hours creating an Observer Love Island in the furthest reaches of the fashion cupboard. Lucy Effikal Siegle's in, and I'm sending the workie out to get my best beachwear back from the dry cleaners. I'm a Fake Bake spray tan, an extreme wax and some fanciable, game colleagues away from something special, people.
Dispatches from the Observer Love Island 10.45am Effikal and I await the arrival of hot colleagues with bated breath. Oh, OK then, I await the arrival of hot colleagues with baited breath. Effikal tries on frocks and wonders out loud if something similar could be achieved with clever use of hemp.
11.00am Still no sign of hot colleagues. I've changed my bikini twice and had some fags. Effikal's reading the new copy of Grazia. Things looked up when my good friend fashion editor Julie Goose stuck her head round the door and asked if I wanted to go for a low GI poached egg breakfast at The Wolseley. I explained I was part of a fashionable social experiment and therefore couldn't. She called me a freak and left.
11.25am Effikal's gone to sleep in a pile of Marni. She says the smell of designer soothes her. I'm pleased to note my spray tan's developing nicely, but increasingly concerned about the absence of hot colleagues. Where ever could they all be?
