My Fabulous Life Pt 1

Hanging out washing is such an unenviable task. Thank god I have someone to do it for me.

That's what I plan to say to be able to say to myself in the next few years.

I want my motto to be Vini Vino Lamborghini. Or rather; I came, I drank, Lamborghini.

Now that I am nearly 32 I have decided to live life fabulously. That's also my motto. In Vivo Fabulosa.

This fabulous will manifest itself with smoked salmon in the fridge, a mirrorball in the toilet and cupboards overflowing with Armani.

There will be no loo roll, there will be silk scarves by Salvatore Ferragamo. Wipe your bum with silk and flush it down the bog - I don't care.

I will fill the bath up with Dom Perignon and piss in it. The champagne I haven't used, I will drink from my patent leather Pradas. What we don't drink from, we bin.

Photo books from Phaidon I will buy and use as firewood in the BBQ on the terrace and on it we will create a bonfire using Chippendale desks, £50 notes and Chanel No. 5.

We'll collect civil war-weary Kalashnikovs and hang them on the wall. Our necks will glisten with diamonds sourced by bloodied 4-year-old slave children in Sierra Leone.

We'll used the skull of Emperor Bokassa as an ashtray, while we're slumped in our gold-leaf Colombostile chair vomiting into the glass of 52-year-old Macallan single malt.

In Scotch Vommo.

Bring me another slave. Paint my nails with the blood of virgins. Don't change the channel on the TV - throw it out of the window at the poor people below.

Financially poor, morally poor, aesthetically poor. In here we're so fucking beautiful.

I've just opened another pot of Sevruga because the Beluga's finished. I think I'm going to need more than just one Salvatore Ferragamo scarf. Bring it to me now.