"Yeah" - the Meg Mathews column"

Just before Christmas, and after an extremely badly behaved girls' night out, Fran and I drove down to the Forest Mere health farm in Hampshire. After all the weeks of festive partying, we were both in need of some very high maintenance. We woke up to the sight of a beautiful lake and a healthy breakfast - what a change from the inside of a pizza box and discarded bottles. The beauty therapists thought I needed the works: I was hosed down with a high-powered jet of water, covered in seaweed, and had my skin brushed. I was also wrapped in a hot sleeping bag to sweat out all the impurities - my skin tasted of vodka - and had fab facials and massages. I was always in bed by eight (a first!), but as Fran and I were sharing a room, we would stay up til four in the morning, giggling like naughty schoolgirls. We have been friends since we met 12 years ago when we worked in Jones on King's Road. For Christmas I've bought her a gold friendship anklet with a tiny diamond, engraved with our initials. I have a sneaking suspicion that she has bought me another Fendi handbag.

We soon had to return to London because Fran was organising th designer Matthew Williamson's Christmas party, and we both wanted to go to Alexander McQueen's soiree at his new home - Lee, like me, is very prone to rescuing unwanted dogs, and I wouldn't be surprised if he has made each of them special sequined coats for the occasion.

As soon as I was back in town I had dinner at Titanic with Mel B, her husband, Jimmy, and Mel's stylist, Chris. It was Chris who gave me moral support when I was photographed for the Esquire claendar The Best of British (I'm March). I was so petrified about the shoot that Chris had to giveme reflexology through my Jimmy Choos. I don't think modelling is going to be my new career - I would rather drive a Jag than sit on its bonnet.

By the time you read this, Noel and I will have had our first Christmas alone together. There definitely won't be have been any sprouts. If all goes to plan, we'll have woken up on Christmas Eve in a well-stocked and very private log cabin in the French Alps, and spent the next few days opening presents (I gave rather a big hint about what I wanted by hiring videos of High Society and Rear Window), having snowball fights, and getting drunk. I'll let you know, but it is all likely to have by in one big blur. I must remember to pack the dark glasses. Virgin snow and a rock'n'roll lifestyle just don't mix.

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c 1998 Andrew Turner

aturner@interalpha.co.uk

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