8.30 in the Morning. Time to wake up. Eggs benedict for room 907, s'il vous plaît. I jump out of bed to the shower and daub myself in my favorite perfume with the great Glenn Miller playing in the back. The Côte d'Azur smiles at me and wishes me a safe trip, for long and exciting months of Fashions Weeks around the globe are approaching full of thrilling proposals. From the frenetic Big Apple, next stop is always my beloved London, just after is flaring Milan, and finally Paris, which closes the circle with the most special and beautiful dreams of design. It is there, when the City of Lights alienates, when I can finally think of going home. I can already see the green fields and get grey mist from the window upon landing. Personally, I have always preferred to surround myself with people like Hosni, who always carries me from the airport and throughout this short time is able to portray the most insanely wonderful stories about the people he has taken in that taxi. The first thing I always do when I get to London is to call my friends to check how are they doing. I like to invite them to a good restaurant with great service where mannered affectations are no substitutes for dishes prepared by a loving cook and honest ingredients. Nights with them always fly by, and when we are having our last cocktail I look at them, smile and think of all the good times and the adventures together that will come. I guess I love taking care of them so much, and that's why they call me MISTER NICE.