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Not that it will take long. I mean, I'm only going to throw on a pair of jeans. And maybe

quickly wash my hair, which I was going to do anyway.

And maybe do a quick face-mask.

An hour later Lissy appears at the door of my room, dressed in jeans, a tight black corset top

and her Bertie heels which I happen to know always give her a blister.

'What do you think?' she says, in the same casual voice. 'I mean, I haven't really made much

effort-'

'Neither have I,' I say, blowing on my second coat of nail polish. 'I mean, it's just a relaxed

evening out. I'm hardly even bothering with makeup.' I look up and stare at Lissy. 'Are those

false eyelashes?'

'No! I mean… yes. But you weren't supposed to notice. They're called natural look.' She goes

over to the mirror and bats her eyelids at herself worriedly. 'Are they really obvious?'

'No!' I say reassuringly, and reach for my blusher brush. When I look up again, Lissy is

staring at my shoulder.

'What's that?'

'What?' I say i

Yes, it just sticks on. I thought I'd just put it on for fun.' I reach for my halterneck top, tie it on,

and slide my feet into my pointy suede boots. I got them in a Sue Ryder shop a year ago, and

they're a bit scuffed up, but in the dark you can hardly tell.

'Do you think we look too much?' says Lissy as I go and stand next to her in front of the

mirror. 'What if they're all in jeans?'

'We're in jeans!'

'But what if they're in big thick jumpers and we look really stupid?'

Lissy is always completely paranoid about what everyone else will be wearing. When it was

her first chambers Christmas party and she didn't know whether 'black tie' meant long dresses

or just sparkly tops, she made me come and stand outside the door with about six different

outfits in carrier bags, so she could quickly change. (Of course the original dress she'd put on

was fine. I told her it would be.)

'They won't be wearing big thick jumpers,' I say. 'Come on, let's go.'

'We can't!' Lissy looks at her watch. 'It's too early.'

'Yes we can. We can be just having a quick drink on our way to another celebrity party.'

'Oh yes.' Lissy brightens. 'Cool. Let's go!'

It takes us about fifteen minutes by bus to get from Islington to Clerkenwell. Lissy leads me

down an empty road near to Smithfield Market, full of warehouses and empty office buildings.

Then we turn a corner, and then another corner, until we're standing in a small alley.

'Right,' says Lissy, standing under a street lamp and consulting a tiny scrap of paper. 'It's all

hidden away somewhere.'

'Isn't there a sign?'

'No. The whole point is, no-one except members knows where it is. You have to knock on the

right door and ask for Alexander.'

'Who's Alexander?'

'Du

Secret code! This gets cooler and cooler. As Lissy squints at an intercom set in the wall, I

look idly around. This street is completely nondescript. In fact, it's pretty shabby. Just rows of

identical doors and blanked-out windows and barely any sign of life. But just think. Hidden

behind this grim facade is the whole of London celebrity society!

'Hi, is Alexander there?' says Lissy nervously. There's a moment's silence, then as if by magic,

the door clicks open.

Oh my God. This is like Aladdin or something. Looking apprehensively at each other, we

make our way down a lit corridor pulsing with music. We come to a flat, stainless steel door,

and Lissy reaches for her key. As it opens, I quickly tug at my top and casually rearrange my

hair.

'OK,' Lissy mutters. 'Don't look. Don't stare. Just be cool.'

'All right,' I mutter back, and follow Lissy into the club. As she shows her membership card to

a girl at a desk, I stare studiously at her back, and as we walk through into a large, dim room, I

keep my eyes fixed on the beige carpet. I'm not going to gawp at the celebrities. I'm not going