I first met the model, musician and actress Cara Delevingne at her aunt’s wedding in 2001. I remember the cute blonde bridesmaid with short hair galloping around her grandmother’s house in her white silk dress, laughing and making faces at the grown-ups, her huge blue eyes full of mischief. “You know I got drunk that day,” she says. “I was eight, what a crazy age to get drunk.”
We are sitting on the sofa of her rented Knightsbridge apartment. I say sitting, Delevingne is lying down like a contented little cat, with Alfie, her chihuahua terrier, by her side. It’s daylight outside but the curtains are drawn. She rearranges herself and looks up at the ceiling. Despite now being nearly 32, she still has an
