I woke up, having had a brilliantly restful sleep. Micky had prepared me a gorgeously extravagant breakfast – scrambled egg with smoked salmon, and Bucks Fizz.
Then, my friends arrived – all with presents I would have chosen myself. Not a single one will need to be sneaked back to the store tomorrow. We went out for lunch and drank lots of champagne.
Micky picked me up afterwards and whisked me off to Paris for the evening, via his private jet. It’s all been so–
Oh, OK – I’m making all of this up – but that’s how rich people live. Isn’t it?