From the bottom of my tote, I pull out a felt bag containing a brand-new pair of Jimmy Choo designer heels. Removing layers of tissue paper, I place the shoes lovingly on the floor in front of me. They are, without doubt, the finest things I’ve ever owned. Silver metallic nappa leather, one hundred millimetres high at the heel, closed back with elegant straps of silver-inlaid crystals that crisscross over the foot and across the toes: these shoes were a rare splurge of luxury, purchased by me at the end-of-year sale at Selfridges last weekend. I have them with me today because my plan is to have them gently worn in, stumble-free and blister-proof, before the big reveal on Valentine’s Day. I’m hoping to lose a Christmas pound or two before I shop for a dress.

Removing my winter boots and black woolly socks, I slip my bare feet into ultimate designer luxury.

‘Va-va-voom,’ Poppy croons at my first, tentative steps.

‘Why, thank you, Poppy,’ I reply, practising my walk over the concrete floor. The heels are thinner and higher than I’ve ever worn. ‘That is the plan. A bit of va-va-voom.’

‘For the show today?’ Poppy appears confused, as well she might be.

‘No, for Valentine’s Day, for a do at Jordan’s work,’ I say. ‘I thought it best to wear them in first.’ My left ankle takes a small dive, but I recover neatly. ‘It seems only sensible…’

On February 14, the advertising agency where Jordan works is hosting a Sweetheart’s Valentine’s Day Ball, sponsored by clients in the businesses of selling jewellery, chocolates, perfumes and the like: gifts that lovers like to exchange on the day. Although Jordan hasn’t mentioned it – it is absurd how little we communicate these days – an invitation appeared on our kitchen table last Friday, prompting my shopping spree while he was working at his office on some big commercial shoot. I have exactly five weeks to perfect my shimmy in these heels. Presently, I’m walking like a drunk on stilts.

If Poppy finds it unromantic that I’ll be spending Valentine’s Day with my boyfriend’s colleagues, she doesn’t say.

‘I need to tell you something that happened on set last night,’ she says instead. ‘Something bad…’ Smiling awkwardly, Poppy reveals a diamanté stuck to her front tooth.

Today, she’s wearing black overalls cut off into short shorts over white woollen tights, with a white top, a pink bolero jacket and Doc Marten boots imprinted with panda bear motifs. Her make-up is a hybrid of Dita von Teese and Tinker Bell: heavy eyeliner, rosy cheeks and sparkles galore. Her lips are cherubic with nothing but Vaseline smear.

There is a funny odour on set. I smelled it the moment I entered.

We begin filming in roughly an hour. The crew will arrive at any moment.

The stench is dank and salty, with a hint of bleach.