What a pity: tickets for the show weren't on sale! What a luck: recently married friend of mine was a reporter for a national tabloid...

Since the only people who check photo cards carefully are controllers in trains and buses, I had no problems entering the Ritz lounge with my friend's press ID and a semi-professional Minolta hanging on my neck. The tabloid proved to be highly respectable: I was given a token for sector two, row one (!), and seat number 13. Not bad: sector one - right on another side of podium - was reserved for royals, showbiz stars and fashion gurus, and besides I always considered 13 my lucky number.

Show was brilliant. Nice and indeed very tall models - the Mayfair's speciality - passed so close, I could touch their magnificent legs, but I pretended to make shots and expected for something more...

I already had a plan (two actually) how to approach Breta after the show when I felt something wrong. All models came out to podium followed by couturier, a petit Italian lady looking ridiculously small next to these young goddesses who were forced to bend down to kiss and hug her.

Then, a host joined them and declared with foolish smile on his lips, 'Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to announce cancellation of wedding dress walk due to a model illness.' Light breeze of disappointment grew up and gradually faded out. But the host was still there. 'However, ladies and gentlemen, I have good news too. I'm proud to announce that Mayfair celebrate their tens birthday and are happy to invite all their friends to mark the jubilee tonight. Would you please proceed to the restaurant next door and have cocktails and dinner as a compliment.'

As everyone moved towards the doors, he added, 'And please, dear guests, keep your tokens for a while.'

Well, I thought, it's probably not a last chance to see Breta in person. Hope, she will get well soon. And now I was gonna to drink and eat as much as I could to compensate a purchase of tie.

I performed very well. All that I consumed that night should have cost at least 10 times more than my expensive tie. You can say whatever you want about rich people; the only thing I know for sure is they don't starve.

Just when I filled my stomach and therefore fulfilled my pledge, a short guy in shiny tuxedo, with his head bold as a knee came to the mic, coughed politely and said, 'Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. My name is whatever, I'm The Mayfair's executive director, and I have actually quite a few reasons to celebrate tonight. First, it is the jubilee of the agency. Another one, my hometown football team just won 2:1.'

Listeners applauded reluctantly, and he continued. 'And the third reason is, their old rivals, a neighbour town's club lost 1:3.'

'What the hell he's talking about?' I heard somebody's whisper.

'Hope, you didn't fell asleep yet,' the bold head smiled. 'The matter is we have got a pleasant surprise for you tonight. In a week time, our models go for a fortnight trip to Japan, and one of you will have an opportunity to join them. And The Mayfair will be happy to take care of all expenses including return flight in first class cabin, transfers, accommodation in a five-star hotel in one of Tokyo top hotels, all you will like to eat and drink in the hotel's bars and restaurants plus use of fitting centre et cetera et cetera.'

Audience awoke immediately.

'And furthermore, to make your trip even more memorable, Mayfair give you pocket money - five thousand pounds per person.'

Already excited listeners excited even more.

'Did I mention all listed applied for two - a winner of our lottery and whoever he or she would like to take alone'? He was obviously enjoying the reaction: his last words drowned in ovation.

'Now would you please have a look at your tokens? Do you remember the football scores I mentioned? It's 2:1 and 1:3. Therefore a person whose token is for sector 2 row 1 and seat 13 is our winner tonight!'

They all were watching at their tokens vigorously, but l always knew, 13 was MY lucky number.

What l didn't know thought is which way my friend reporter would gonna choose to execute me.