Scene: I’m walking through the National Hall, looking for my stadium seat at Vivienne Westwood’s Red Label Show.

I have to make my way through a rabid pack of people who are not paparazzi. I’m not sure what they’re doing, or why they’re banded together, or why they’re all young girls.

Suddenly, I realize they’ve descended upon Lily Cole, not you know who, and they’re asking for her autograph.

If, or when, you meet your favorite model, or any model for that matter - would you ask for his or her autograph? We’ve never really understood the concept of an autograph anyway, but it seems all the stranger when applied to models. No one in the office would ever ask anyone to sign a piece of paper, though Natalie can understand asking someone like Kate Moss, who’s more rock star than model anyway and Carson (our new intern!) would just want to talk. When I met Kate, I kind of whimpered hello, and when I saw Doutzen I just gaped - they’re my favorites and yet I never thought about asking for their signature.

So if you’ve got anyone from Stephanie Seymour to Ali Michael in front of you, what do you do?

That recession thing everyone was obsessing over during New York Fashion Week? Well, in London, they have no idea what you’re talking about.

From our first show, Ashish - which featured a raging live performance, acrobats and gift bags packed full of makeup - to the last, there wasn’t even the slightest sign of an economic downturn. Champagne and food flowed, beer, wine and liquor, too; coffee in the mornings, water, Vitamin water, and Godiva chocolates everywhere you turned.

Gift bags popped up at almost every show - two at some like Roksanda and PPQ - totes packed with cosmetics, hair products, magazines, t-shirts and Barbies. And it felt like every single designer had an after party - including magazine and store parties, there must have been at least seven events a night.

And the photo pits, which we noticed were considerably smaller in New York this season, were huge. Not just at shows like Vivienne Westwood, but at Charles Anastase and Krystof Srozyna, too.

More importantly, no one even talked about it. Except for us of course, desperately running around asking everyone both British and American why it felt different on this side of the Atlantic. No one had an answer.

So we’ll leave it up to Paris - let the French have the final say in just how much the industry’s letting its inner turmoil reflect in its public face while we recover from London’s rollicking week-long party.

Last night’s Vivienne Westwood Red Label show was held in National Hall, a giant sports like venue complete with stadium seating.

Lily Cole sat front row while the likes of Daisy Lowe and Alice Dellal insisted on clomping their way down the concrete runway. Jourdan Dunn opened, for the second season in a row, and Jo Wood, ex-wife of Rolling Stone Ronnie Wood, closed.

The collection was inspired by school girls and their naughty head mistresses which meant loads of plaid and cleavage-inducing corsets worn with massive over-the-,knee boots made of chintz in golds and pinks, see Tanya D at left.

The clothes were classic, casual Vivienne with some pirate hats and bondage shoes thrown in for good measure. We’ll wait for Paris’ Gold Label show to really rave.