With a rare day’s holiday after working the entire weekend, I decide to head for a little sun.

Sat on a packed regionale (ie no money train) heading for the sea, I nevertheless tried to keep the side up with a little vintage Pucci, and gossip magazine for company. After the stress of menswear fashion week (and despite being paid to be up close and personal with male models) I was in need of a little sun and apart from the lack of a convertible/driver/any form of transport (at all) I was determined to look like I’d spent the weekend in Capri… a necessity for the job.

Opening the pages of my insightful magazine (in normal situations I would wrap it in the sleek covers of The New Yorker, but this being a regionale, I can rest assured no-one I know will see me)…I open it to the spy pages. There before my eyes was Mr.G. and Mrs J.Lo! Swimming in the azure waters of Portofino…if only I had opened my mouth in the lift that could have been me! She looks great of course, and Mr.G I can tell is acting the gentleman that he is. Wonder what they talk about…? Unlike me I notice she does appear to be talking.

On my nylon lettino hours (and I mean hours later…the trains appear to run on their own timetable) my friends who are also in post-fashion week "me-time", give me their own little interrogation.

“So, what’s Mr. G like…?"

"We heard that he’s in Portofino right now…”

I nodded knowingly, hoping my magazine wouldn't have a Disney moment and fly out of my bag. I couldn't handle admitting I only knew Mr.G's whereabouts courtesy of a low-end gossip mag.

“You are so lucky working there”, they all coo-ed. Again I nodded knowingly.

“So, you hung out with Naomi…?”

My little habit of appearing mute in awkward situations reappeared and I ended up nodding in response to all their questions. I hoped it would lead them to believe I was above all their gossip and not so obviously rubbish at my job. I proceeded to spend the rest of the day like a desk ornament, moving my head on cue until eventually my friends assumed I had several confidentially clauses or a hangover (the slightly more believable of the two options) and left me in silence.

Silence is deadly at behindtheseamsgirl@gmail.com