Love is all about leaving. I am off to london again to try and get a passport after I left my bag on the train last week. Humbled by the honesty of whoever it was who found it and handed it into Lost Property, I am still paying the price for unthinking. By the time I discovered that it wasn't in my basket with my books and pens and papers, it was nearly 4.30pm. By the time I had got down on my knees on the pavement, scrabbling to find what had long gone, the lost Property Office was closing. Angels helped me and tracked it down but I couldn't get it back. I had cancelled my cards but had lost my passport as it had to be sent to the Home Office where it and my identity were destroyed. An angel called Stasia managed to get through to a passport office who have given me a 10.30am slot to try and get a new one. I am meant to be travelling to Paris tomorrow for the Chanel ad campaign. I think the moon is dragging me under. She is too close. I feel terrified as I sit on the train to London - as if I have lost my bearings entirely.