In which our glorious FH delivers herself into the clutches of Gok Wan
So, yesterday saw the Fag Hag racing up to the hugely glamorous environs of Camden Town for her meeting with Gok, the god of all things fashion…
I dashed into the local Post Office en route to find it bolted and a note on the door saying, ‘Closed due to customer defecation’. Not exactly the most auspicious of beginnings for my Gok assignation and I was relieved that a man of his calibre wasn’t around to witness it.
And what can I tell you of the man himself? Some of you were keen to point out yesterday that he’s not exactly your favourite person (‘absolute cock’ I believe was the exact descripition), but I’m afraid the man completely had me even before hello.
He was hilariously indiscreet as he puffed away on his Marlboro Menthol Lights (natch) and no man has ever whacked the Fag Hag’s arse with such force before and not got a slap (or a payment by the hour). We discussed hot chav men, irresponsible methods for weight loss (stub fags out in leftovers) and to-die-for Dior jeans.
In fact, I’ll be stalking him again very soon. Maybe I’ll even hole him up and force him to style me a la Kathy Bates in Misery…