Some things about Fashion Week will never change. I can confidently predict that, as you read this, on London Fashion Week's busiest day, I will be shivering in the austere bowels of some dank warehouse in EC48 or thereabouts, waiting for a show to start. I will enjoy hearing hundreds of bits of true or utterly fabricated gossip from my fellow front-rowers. I will enjoy reconnecting with friends I haven't seen since the last round of shows and we will all swear that this time we will definitely find the time to actually see each other before the next round. (We won't). Also, I will probably see a man wearing hotpants, heels and a pineapple hat.