duvet new york

So we’re doing this thing tomorrow night. It’s called Duvet. And it’s really not so much a thing as a boudoir type lounge and restaurant in New York. And by boudoir I mean big beds and by lounge I mean lounge.

Chris was like “Leave it to me to find a place to lay down and eat at the same time”, said the chic who arranged it. The one with the fabulous hair who did the truffle shuffle on washboard abs at our prospective in-laws.

The only problem may be falling asleep in a bed full of strangers – because there’s cocktails and sushi and french fabric and silk. We’ll miss the ‘stylistic and seductive’ Bellano show – but I’ll cope.

Sunday we’ll hit up St Patrick’s because there’s that thing I have with architecture and because I need mass in incense soaked walls. My brother’s gonna roll his eyes right here. Right here. Watch! And say it’s a Catholic thing. The Saturday night Duvet and the Sunday Morning Mass.

It’s not. It’s an Irish thing … a très European thing. And I won’t apologise. Because darling, that’s just how I roll.