AlexJames: The Great Escape

It's been a while since I felt the whirlwind of the fashion world. Yesterday we were hit by a raging style storm from Italy. At the crack of dawn a lorry and a fleet of Mercedes arrived and disgorged a troupe of high fashionistas. I counted at least 13 of them, all very glamorous, all wearing jeans and trainers, apart from the photographer who was wearing an impossible kind of Wellington slipper that I instantly hankered after.

It was go, go, go from the moment they arrived. The styling team had brought so many clothes that the wardrobe department had to set up in a barn. Hair and make-up used the big lounge. I wasn't allowed in there. "Do not TOUCH! his hair, is 'perfetto'," said the photographer. The hair stylist made a move to adjust my fringe "NO! NO!" cried the photographer, "STOP! We shoot right now. I love it."

The clothes used in this kind of fashion shoot are all catwalk size. No other sizes exist. My feet have always been too big for fashion shoes. But to my surprise, I can still get into most of the other stuff. There was, though, a very tight couture waistcoat that I was struggling to fasten. The stylist took a pair of scissors and cut straight up the back, completely trashing it with one hand while fastening the buttons at the front with the other. He was a flurry of finesse, had me dressed in about two minutes. He ripped open the tacked-together breast pocket of the blazer he had been sporting over his arm while adjusting the waistcoat, and whipped a handkerchief arrangement in there, simultaneously tying a knot in an exceptionally skinny tie. The photographer had set up down by the sheep barn. A sound system had been installed and the rest of the gang were sipping smoothies. It looked like a really cool party.

Everybody was very busy, the whole time. The photographer's two assistants seemed to be working the hardest of all. He shot hundreds of frames on many different cameras, so they were reloading, labelling, changing settings, moving tripods. The photographer used to have a pet puma but now he keeps hawks in his castle in Marrakech.

Claire arrived fresh from the glamour squad looking amazing, head to toe in John Richmond, apart from the wellies. "Now I want you to kiss. Oh my God don't stop. Is Amaaazing. Quick give me my Leica. I want to shoot this right now."

We shot half-a-dozen completely different looks in less than three hours. That's really going some. It's Olympic speed. Then whoosh, they were gone as quick as they'd arrived. It felt like there was something indefinable that was missing when they'd left, like the day after Christmas or the feeling I always get when I'm leaving New York. It was like the emptiness you're filled with after waking from a really good dream. If I didn't have the pictures to prove it, I'd have thought it was.

a.james@independent.co.uk