12:00pm Armed with our golden ticket to meet the air-head heiress, we took our place in the queue with 150 crazy fans all desperate to make the most of their two minute time slot with the blonde bimbo. We, unlike most, had not already braved an early start the day before to be one of the first to buy her new perfume, Can Can, and a get a pass to meet her. So, unlike many of the people there, we were not hardcore fans, most of whom had come armed with an array of PH paraphernalia - including posters and a choice selection of her failed albums and films - ready for her to sign.
1:00pm An hour of waiting in a cramped, over-heated room we were not only losing our patience but also our will to live. As if to abate our need for a Hilton, PH’s parents were thrown into the lion’s den. Millionaires Kathy and Rick Hilton sauntered amongst the star-hunting desperados waiting in the back room, awkwardly posing for pictures. Looking like something out of Dallas, the coffered pair thrust forced smiles and waves to the drones of fans before moving back into the main hall, on the ground floor where we were due to meet Paris.
1:15pm A flurry of raised voices and frantic camera flashes indicated that PH had arrived, and somehow the hour of sweaty queuing we had endured seemed insignificant. “Thank you every one for coming down, I’m so happy to be here in the UK, and honoured to be in my favourite city in the world, in my favourite store in the world to promote my new fragrance… I love you all!” Paris was then manhandled into a chair where a team of hairstylists and make-up artists frantically attended to her face, as if the effort of repeating this rehearsed speech had exhausted her.
1.30pm Fifteen minutes later, and our wait was finally over. A militant team of PR people snatched our belongings and informed us of the delicate rules that we were to obey: “She can sign one thing, and one thing only, and you’re allowed one picture. Just a few minutes at a time with her please, as there are a lot of people. You must write your name on a post-it note so she knows how to spell your name. Enjoy your time with her.” Just like that were thrust into meeting PH. Sat behind a table with promotional material scattered around her, up-close PH was sporting the kind of heavy make-up that could only be applied with an air-brush and a trowel, caught off guard we threw a Mr. Paparazzi mug into her hands and she signed it was a sweet smile. “Is this for you to drink your tea in, that’s so sweet” she giggled. So, did she actually love London? “Yeah I do,” she answered in her trademark high-pitched tones: “I love to party here, London’s great for that. I’ve loved doing this whole tour.” One signed mug, a few hurried words, and an forced smile for a photograph later we were beginning to ask her about her next album and whether she was due to do a musical collaboration with her boyfriend Benji when her PR people quickly ushered us away from her, pushing us up the escalator above and away from her, just like it had never happened at all. Much like her new perfume our time with her was short-lasting and sickly sweet, leaving us with more questions than answers. Could one person really be that stupid, and how was it humanly possible to apply that much make-up? All that we know for certain is that you can expect to find one signed mug on eBay very soon.