The seats at Burberry’s show this evening, held in Soho’s Maker’s House, had a copy of Virginia Woolf’s Orlando on them. Orlando, for the literary philistines amongst us, is a novel about an Elizabethan nobleman who traverses time, changing between man and woman as he goes. As you do. Now, no mid-catwalk gender swapping was in evidence here, though Burberry’s men’s and women’s collections did share the runway, but it was most certainly a rattle through time – a sort of period drama, rip off your britches, romp, if you will. And like Orlando, it began with a nip back to Elizabethan times – courtesy of those ruffled collars and frilly necklines, and a kind of rich excess of volume and cloth, before morphing into what we’d describe as louche Victorian gentlewoman – roomy shirts that were elongated at the cuff, bookish sleeveless sweaters, decadent Nancy Lancaster-inspired prints. And the humble trench coat? Well, this time it came complete with puffed mutton sleeves, or wide lapels that draped across the chest. Luckily, for those particular pieces, we didn’t need to violently snatch them off the model’s backs after the show (it’s frowned upon, apparently) because the whole collection is available for purchase, right now. Which makes it this season. Or something. Fuck, are we already behind?