Call myself a journalist? I always, always forget the interesting details...ok, so she was wearing a brown trilby cocked down over one eye, a deep chocolate jumper with wide sleeves and white stitching on the neck and cuffs, jeans and black boots. I think her leg does give her trouble, because several times she moved about uncomfortably, although she doesn't complain. I always remember Anne Fine, the novelist, saying to me about mastectomy that, "I'd rather lose a breast than one of anything else."
Also, in that way celebrities do, she had a couple of guys with her, who just seem to be people who are around her. One, Michael, a lawyer living in Los Angeles, and his partner, a beefier redder-necked American, who's a celebrity make-up artist - both guys transformed into vegetarians by Heather apparently, and Michael said his cholesterol's gone down thirty points since going vegetarian, while his partner said he sticks with it because he feels much better, more energetic in the mornings.
Earlier that day she said she had an unpleasant thing in Starbucks' - a journalist taking photos of Heather's notes over her shoulder with a mobile phone; another woman in the cafe alerted Heather to what was going on. But this night we are in a yogafied, peaceful bit of London, Triyoga - that most beautiful of places to take a yoga class - is just across the road, nobody knows we're here, and in this nearly empty restaurant there were no paparazzi, no journalists (apart from me) and nobody in the restaurant obtrusively recognising Heather.