The night Steven Fry lost my glasses

So I get begged to go to some party my friend is doing, he offers me a lift in his Range so i'm like ' OK FINE!'

It's at 1 Portland Place, the isolated Church which is incredible for all kinds of functions.

This happened to be Damien Hurst's arty-farty-party.

All I knew was there was glow sticks and cocktails so I went wild.

After about 5o free cocktails, or there about, I spotted Steven Fry across the room and made my move.

Forgetting that I had been playing around with glow sticks and had essentially dressed myself in them, head to toe, I nonchalantly walked over and said hello to a mutual friend of ours who then introduced me to 'Steven'. I played along as if i didn't know who he was, asking for him to repeat his name because I 'didn't hear' (i'm a dick, I know).

During this short awquard conversation, we managed to exchange glasses, as he liked mine and I liked his.

Damien Hurst was incredibly late to his own party and I made some bad joke about him being

'busy at home encrusting his balls in diamonds'.

Unbeknown to me, him and Steven are BFFLs.

At this moment, as Steven is basically trying to edge away from me, Damien bursts in with a horde of paparazzi following him, and comes straight to Steven, his BFFL, and me.

He may have wanted to ignore my existence but the fact that I was dressed as a glowing beacon made this impossible.

So he did the opposite, spinning me round and admiring my efforts saying I was like 'one of his artworks'.

The doors are being forced shut to keep out the paparazzi but they scream for one more photo,

so Damien grabs me and Steven for one last shot.

This was in the metro the next day.

But I hope never to see that photo again.

ANYWAY, in all this ruckus I duck out and run to the dance floor for a full and crazy boogey with a friend. Eventually, as I begin thinking it's time to leave I realise that I can't actually see....

I run back to where I had met Steven in the reception area but he obviously wasn't there anymore, he could have easily been somewhere else in the building and I maybe could have found him. But try reasoning that to a drunk girl.

Instead, all hope was lost and I stumbled home blind.

My mother the next day demanded we call Steven Fry's PA but I didn't think this was such a good idea.

RIP Missoni ( or commonly misread as Mussolini (?!)) glasses