Monday: Meet Guinevere, one of my assistants, for a skinny soya frapuccino, a staring contest with a Danish and a whole host of insincere compliments. We’re concerned about the photoshoot. Mario Testino has sent his regrets that he’s unavailable. After a quick Google, we find a guy called Marionetto de Testosterone. They won’t know the difference.

Tuesday: Meeting about West End launch party. No-one can agree which club to host it at. Someone suggests Maya. The girl next to me objects: ‘Wasn’t Charlotte Church papped there last week?’ We quickly change to Movida.

Wednesday: Model scouting. Twelve hours walking around Oxford searching for beautiful people. Slim pickings. Puffa jackets make it annoyingly hard to evaluate lingerie models. In desperate attempt to find some, go to Topshop changing rooms and try peeking round curtains. After awkward confrontation with security staff am escorted out, and told I’m banned until ponchos come back into fashion.

MT20 Shoryu Advert

Thursday: Goodybag crisis. We have nothing to put in them. Call sponsorship to chase-up some leads. Two hours later get joyous text back: ‘Great news! We have a generous contribution.’ ‘Fantastic, what?’ I reply. ‘Teabags!’ ‘Gold-plated teabags?’ ‘Um, no. Just 25 teabags.’ After heavy negotiation manage to get 50 more teabags. It’s going to be a long day.

Friday: Outfits begin to arrive for the concept show. One of them has hooves. Gaga always looks fabulous in these sorts of things, but I suspect she has someone to tell her which way round you’re supposed to wear them. After trying one outfit as top, skirt and scarf, we decide it’s probably meant to be a hat.

Saturday: Rung up by Cherwell person. He seems slightly miffed that I haven’t written him the article I promised. He points out the deadline was 48 hours ago. ‘Dahling,’ I reply, ‘I do hemlines, not deadlines.’ He doesn’t seem to think this is an acceptable response.

Caroline Davies is Marketing Director of Oxford Fashion Week