Well, what can I possibly say to try and even vaguely give you a justified experience of what we had at the Alexander Mcqeen show: the fantasist at his very best.
In the middle of the floor pilled high were the rag and bone remanents of a Steptoe and Son set sprayed silver and abandoned, piled to the ceiling on a mirrored and cracked floor. The girls seemed to glide across as if they were on casters in graphic windowpane checks and rich reds, the combination of which, was sensational. This was so much of a personal journey we were swept away, transported to his magical universe.
And the venue? Amazing! Can we come here again soon, please, Lee?