Roberto Cavalli

Have already settled into a short-term flat outside Notting Hill with a weekly maid and two floors of high ceilings, wide windows and skylights. Turned down a job at a club in Camden as the owner admitted that he wanted to kill himself during the interview, and took a retail job in Portobello instead. Drank at one of Prince Harry's favoured clubs and attended a party in Mayfair hosted by Roberto Cavalli, who poured my champagne as I beamed in my Johnson Street shoes and dress.

Celebrity sightings abound (Liam Gallagher, Kelly Rowland, Nigel Barker, Nole Marin, the Geldoff girls, Agyness Deyn, Sienna Miller and Spandeau Ballet so far) and I finally found a Jewish-looking AA hoodie and leather jacket in the crowds at Movida, the red carpet and paparazzi-covered club that we've been invited to more often than we understand.

I don't want to admit that I'm overwhelmed by all that has happened in the two weeks that we've been in town. It all began on our third night in London when I'd slept off my jetlag and wanted to see the city. I had heard of Yo Yo at the Notting Hill Arts Club, so Jo and I dolled up and set out, only to be intercepted by a posh boy named Tim inviting us to a party. When we arrived, we found our hostess was the daughter of a lord and lady, the guests all drove Ducatis and there were designer shoes and chocolates everywhere. Since then, our Knightsbridge catalyst has brought us everywhere and introduced us to everyone who can help us start our lives here.

I remember telling Jo (the novice celebrity gossip fiend) not to worry; I'd find us some glamourous adventures during our four months in London. It seems it's already begun!