Vanity: fair?

I have just been interviewed by Italian Vanity Fair magazine. We had the interview at my house, at my request, because I feel self-conscious doing interviews in a cafe where people can overhear.

The interview was at 10am. At 9.30am, I suddenly realised that if you do an interview in your house, it is not only you being interviewed: it is the house itself. Flurry of panic. I was, of course, not ready myself either. Thus had to do a whole series of appraisals:

- will Vanity Fair be more shocked by my not drying my hair, or by having all my laundry inc underwear on drying rack in corner of room?
- will Vanity Fair be more shocked by my not having any make-up on, or by drifts of dust and loose hair on my white-painted staircase?
- is it worse for doorbell to ring while am carrying dustpan and brush, or with only one set of lashes wearing mascara?

And so on.

But hurrah for confused cab drivers: the journalist was 15 minutes late. Thus was able to open door with styled hair and emergency-level make-up (you know what I mean: hadn't curled my eyelashes, had stretched to Touche Eclat), graciously accept apologies for tardiness, and lead journalist into gleaming house with nary a trace of laundry to be seen. It was only when I went to make the tea that I noticed the wok from yesterday's stir-fry still sitting soaking in the sink... but she'll never know about that. Except when she looks up the blog to help her with her research. Ah well.

The thing about being interviewed, you see, is that you forget: it's not just you bring interviewed, it's your house. And your blog. And your book. Maybe I should worry less about being overheard?