Call this a tale of two cities; the best of times, the worst of times. Paris, London, two interviews with the same designer, separated by six months, two sheets of Perspex and a sneeze.

We begin back in January, in the City of Light, except I’m in near darkness as I pick my way across black-on-black bleachers to find my seat at the Dior menswear show. It is cold outside, yet in here, it is humid, the atmosphere electric. This is not only because Kim Jones is acknowledged as one of the most exciting designers today, but also because the artistic director of menswear for Dior numbers among his mates some of the most famous people alive. (Kanye West used to kip on Jones’ couch in his early days of visiting London, Kate Moss’ country place is his weekend retreat.) “David Beckham in the house!” I message a friend. “Alas no shameless selfie. Massive Perspex screen between us.” . . . “Kate Moss just walked past my seat” followed by “Yuk! The man behind just sneezed into my hair!!!!”