Diary – 24 February 2007

I arrive at David Bailey’s Clerkenwell studio. Bailey is doing a shoot for Lancôme; I have been asked to interview the Spanish supermodel, Inés Sastre. The shoot is the usual story — unidentified people with ponytails roaming round stained boxes of mini-croissants, a friendly, normal make-up artist, loud, cool music and a simultaneous air of tension and bohemian confusion. Inés and the make-up artist troop to the window to check her make-up in the better light. They sit back down and the make-up artist grasps a brush like Picasso, staring as if to X-ray her brain. All I can see is Inés’s back, slumped slightly in a Valentino coat. It turns out there isn’t time for me to actually interview her, and tense discussions result in me retracing my steps to Notting Hill, with the promise she will meet me later.

***

Which I don’t have much faith in, knowing that the minute you take your eye off an actress or a model they pop on a plane and vanish into rehab or somewhere like St Barths.