I’d already read about the bob. It’s been in all the magazines. That’s what happens when Victoria Beckham gets a haircut. It’s looking particularly wash’n’go casual on the morning we meet in her family’s London home. There’s a hint of make-up to enhance a healthy glow. Fifty looks good on her. She parks herself, cross-legged, in front of the fireplace in the substantial living-room. She’s barefoot because she hasn’t found shoes to suit the rather special Alaïa jeans she’s wearing, Alaïa and Balenciaga being the only exceptions she allows to the wear-her-own-brand rule. Despite it being another dreary day of this year’s misbegotten summer, it’s not noticeably chilly, but there’s a fire burning in the grate. David likes a fire in this room.
Victoria’s humour is as dry as ever. “When my trainer says to me in the morning, ‘Have you had your carbs?’ I say, ‘Well, I had half a bottle of sake that was unfiltered, which basically means there’s a bit of rice in it.’” Such drollery bodes well for the docuseries she’s two days into shooting for Netflix;…
