I love it when new bags come into the office, I get so excited! This week our autumn/winter 07 collection came in, and it looks fabulous. Not to big myself up or anything, but sometimes I do just look at the bags and think, hmmm, maybe this is fun after all. Creating exactly what you want for every occasion. But then I look at them and can never decide which bag to carry! Aaah, the trials and tribulations of being a girl. Shopping, handbags, wow, it's so tricky.

I have just returned from Miami Beach after a week of people watching and sunbathing. But not one to miss out, I got Mr PB to take me to the hotspot of the moment, Nikki Beach. Wow, that place is scary! Not only did I feel way too sober, but also like I had been thrown back in time to an 80's rave. The place is uber cool - beautifully done, with beds and seating outside, on the beach, and then a kick arse dance floor inside. But it was all rave and hip hop music, and no 80's singalong, or even Dolly Parton thrown in there. My hip gyrating suddenly seemed embarrasingly passe ( I always thought it was quite cool personally) and Mr PB seemed to be struggling more than usual with the 'leg and arm shake manouever'. So we battled on for a considerable amount of time on the sweaty 20 something dance floor, up against the dripping bikini clad bodies of taught youngsters...until we both admitted defeat and went to lie in a crumpled heap in a teepee. My advice? Go, it rocks, but have a few drinks first, and wear as little as you can..and you can always seek solace in the fact that there is bound to be someone older than you in there...somewhere.

So as Mr PB and I departed from our domestic flight in Heathrow the other day, we were shocked to suddenly find ourselves being chased by security guards. Had Mr PB suddenly turned into a secret drug traffiker without my knowledge - I found it hard to believe. Had they discovered the haggis hidden in the bottom of my suitcase - surely that was allowed within the UK?? No, I had 'stepped' over an invisible high secuity line when trying to find my way to the baggage reclaim, and was in breach of some massive security regulations. Next up, the armed police arrived ( I thought highly unnecessary, and obviously gave me the giggles), and this made Mr PB very stern. Our id's were checked, passport numbers noted, and I was not allowed to talk to Mr PB - we were separated. After 40 mins though we had a happy ending and I got my suitcase, my teddy and my haggis back. Really, do the British police think Mr PB and I are the next Mr and Mrs Smith! Fact: I love celebrity and fashion, it goes no deeper than that.

My big sister is turning 40 this weekend. The drama is immense. You would think she was going to the moon. But then maybe it feels like that. She has been dieting for 3 months in the run up to the big day, worrying about her outfit for 6 months, and asking me everyday how old she looks. The local facialists think that Christmas has come early. Why does the big 40 scare us all so much? I keep telling her I am getting older too, so it is impossible to be objective about her age - I still feel 21, she still feels 25, and I hope that this will never change. Bring on the dancing on that bar this weekend, sis - just like the old times..except my skirt may be longer...

Since I met Mr PB...(my now fiance...don't you just hate that word? It reminds me of moist..)..anyway, as I was saying, since I met him, he has been raving about Frank Black, the lead singer of the Pixies, who according to him is a God. Unchallenged. No one apparently has come close to matching this mans talent. Well, says I, lets hear it then. Mr PB says he can go one better, FB is playing in Camden. Yes, this man of unrivalled talent is playing in some has been bar in Camden. But don't judge I tell myself, go along and be openminded. So, we drag along two friends and head off. The place is packed, but Carol and I manage to find a sofa seat at the back, sit down, and the music is so great...we don't get up once. But wow, we had a great gossip! This slightly overweight, balding sweating man did what I would call an average performance. I am uneducated, I love Enrique, and I worship Dolly, so what do I know? But Mr PB, I was disappointed. Maybe he was just off colour...but no, we can't walk down the aisle to it.

London Fashion Week last week, and I have only just recovered! At the show all day, and then partying every night. Fabulous, I loved it. But, I also wondered why we buy into it. A certain well known fashion editor was wondering around in heels she could not walk in, muttering away to her assistant who was wandering around with her watering can all day. Then, said editor, went on to someone's stand to 'borrow' some clothes, stripped off where she stood, changed, and then left! And the funniest thing is that her and her assistant looked ridiculous. And yet despite this, we let them dictate what fashion should be, how we should look, and we crave their approval. But in reality, do they really know any more than us? One look would prove otherwise. But when I mentioned this to other exhibitors, they all said well, she is in fashion, she is someone we look up to, she needs to look mad. I disagree. I think it is scary that fashion is dictated by people who wear extraordinary outfits, and can make or break a fashion business in minutes just by expressing their opinion. In reality, don't we all just want a dress that makes us look pretty, or jeans that make us look thin? Well I know I do.

The ultimate must have wallet for any girl about town. It is large, so not for the faint hearted, but has so many compartments it will make you want more credit cards!