Just to give you some clue as to the state I'm in, I must tell you that I took a taxi from Heathrow to home. I could not face the Railair bus; I am sorry, I just couldn't. A surfeit of alcohol and not much sleep has left me jittery and unstable. At the airport I ate a sausage roll. That is how bad I am. Non-kosher carbs in full view of the El Al frequent flyer lounge. Desperate.
Since revealing myself to be a member of the real economy, with a real job in which I meet real people and make real decisions, my inbox has been becrammed with demands from dreary women wanting to know the secrets of my success. What shall we wear? What shall we buy? With whom should we be seen? This is the burden of their song. Obviously, I am uniquely placed to answer these pleas, but I do not want to alienate my menfolk, or Kev and Gadj. Therefore, for a limited period only, I intend to split my posts into two distinct halves: one for each gender. I will strive to make it abundantly clear which is which.
Can I say that these unimaginative enquirers are not my regular readers. They do not feature in my comment box, nor are they fans or followers. Many are from the United States and host knitting blogs. Some are Australian. There is a Canadian, a South African, three Kiwis and a farmer's wife from the Falklands. A harridan from the Netherlands wants to know about Coccinelle bucket bags, and two Austrians - twins - ask if I know Vincent Lacrocq. I am even solicited from Sweden! Who would have thought that race would need style counsel? (unbridled mirth here from Mrs Pouncer who believes the Swedes to be out there in the frump-stakes, Abba notwithstanding. And I don't care what anyone says, the blonde one had clinical lordosis which is why she wore johdpurs and zouaves. I am a doctor's daughter. I see these things). A native Emirati issues a poignant plea: I wear a floor-length black niqab every day. How should I accessorize? And a Latvian hussy boasts about her huge rack before asking about Agent Prov's new fishnet knickers. See what I am up against! The job is almost too big, but I am up to the challenge, I know I am. Now, just follow me:
(Everything you read here is true. I don't fuck about with "in my opinion" or "it's a matter of personal choice". You must follow my advice to the very letter. Otherwise, it is all a waste of my precious time).
Q. Which black eyeliner should I buy? I want to look like you.
A. Guerlain's Indian Black Kohl. If you are poor, or live in an area that still supports a Budgen (most of Wiltshire; Telford, etc) Dolce & Gabbana's Stromboli Eye Pencil comes in at £5 cheaper.
Q. I am going to the seaside. Usually, I go to Antibes, but this year I am poor and have to go to Camber Sands. How can I avoid suicide?
A. Silly! An oversize Irwin & Jordan shirt (the androgynous shift is the only thing to wear a la plage this year; do NOT lie down and die in a Matthew Williamson kaftan), a pair of Casadei gold sandals, a huge Epice bag and a bright yellow Agua Bendita. You can then ignore your irredeemably prolly surroundings. Don't forget to sneer. Do not buy a Mivvy from the icecream man. Do not strike up a conversation with a pleb.
Q. Quick, Mrs Pouncer! I stink of drink and Kensitas!
A. Dr Maroon! You are in the wrong section! However, I am nothing if not giving and Marc Jacobs Splash Sorbet in Grapefruit can be used by either gender without their sexuality being called into question. It is also available in Pear & Basil, which you might like to spritz over your oatmeal, hemhem.
Q. Mrs Pouncer, why can't I be you?
A. Good heavens! I would have thought that was obvious. However, never say die. Start with Sisleya Radiance Anti-Ageing Concentrate (£200 House of Fraser, Selfridges, Harrods, Harvey Nicks. Not Boots; not Superdrug) and work down. Agent Prov's new fishnet knickers cannot fail. And hips don't lie, as Shakira reminds us. Get your hair cut by Sam McKnight - say I sent you. Wear Plexiglass jewellery and Nicholas Ghesquiere glasses. Own at least one vintage Halston piece and a silk dress by Missoni. Drink gin. Sleep alone.
Q. What about minge?
A. Ye Gods! How vile! Who are you? No, never mind. Go to St James's Beauty Rooms (Strutton Ground, SW1) where they do the most painfree Brazilians. Between times, Gillette's Venus Embrace is the only thing to use, particularly if you have a shaky hand.
Q. Mrs Pouncer, I have done everything a bad man asked me to. How much should this be worth in pounds sterling, or as some tchotchke or other?
A. You sound like my younger self! The Wages of Sin this season are easily identified: A Mulberry Bayswater clutch, a Mulberry Piccadilly high-heel pump and a night at the Langham (Portland Place; 020 7965 0191) should suffice.
I do hope you have all benefited from this advice. Tomorrow, I will address the men. But now ... I drink!