(Warning: this is a very cruel review and those that are easily offended would be best advised to read something else: my review of the lovely Wren Clothing line perhaps.)

I was already in a very foul mood after standing in queues and being treated like smallpox-ridden cattle at that vile joke, the Los Angeles Fashion Week, when those cruel monsters, those audacious sods, those wretched beasts, when those filthy braggarts had the impudence to seat a big fatty-fat-fat-fat next to me at the Farah Angsana show.  The very fact that the obese are even allowed to graze amongst the lithe at LAFW proves the sinking ineptitude of the organisers of the Los Angeles event as compared to their proper brethren Fashion Weeks across the globe.

"Is this some cruel joke, madam?"  I asked the bearer of that globular arse.  She looked at me with doe-eyes, big fat doe eyes.  Fatty-fat-fat-fat!

But no... No... How misguided and foolish I was.  She was not there to taunt me or harass me.  She was not there to give me bother and fill me with rage.  She was not there to suffocate or asphyxiate me.  Contrarywise!  I did not realise it when I first saw her hippopotamus rump, but that fatty-fat-fat-fat was there to save me!  Hallelujah!  I now believe in God!

When the lights went down and the music came blaring, the giant beast-of-burden stood, her ample buttocks spilling over into my face, blocking my eyes, shielding my vision from the horrible horrors of Farah Angsana's line.  I tried at first to see around her, to guide those curdling waves of flesh away from my shores, to champion low tide, and when at first I succeeded, when I first saw the ratty lace and tacky chiffon, I prayed for the floods to come!  And come they did!  Flood gates opening wide and the rumbling farts of dizzying butter legs: I beg thee, spill over mine eyes, blind me from Oz-inspired emerald greens and pleats that wrinkle my brain!  And as the ark was to Noah, her buttocks were to me.

I could not see the dull strapless tuxedo dress; I could not see the uninspired black and white corseted dress; I could not see the ill-fitted and unfinished looking black duchess satin dress; nor could I see the black and platinum jacquard dress that would have been better off as William Morris wallpaper.  Praise God!

I don't know where you are, my big fatty-fat-fat-fat saviour, but wherever you are, I want to thank you.  For without your ample ass, I surely would have killed myself on that afternoon - and would never have had the chance to warn the worlds of this miserable line.  Until we meet again, I'm terribly excited...