Among the celebs celebrating after the Burberry show was Victoria Beckham, who almost cracked a smile. Photo: Shaun Curry, AFP/Getty Images

The evening began only a few hundred yards from London's famous Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament at Horseferry House, the impressive new corporate HQ of Burberry.

Despite being a quintessential British label (whose fortunes have been greatly revived under the designer Christopher Bailey), the posh Burberry Prorsum line has shown for ten years in Milan before coming home Tuesday to close London Fashion Week.

("Prorsum," which absolutely nobody I asked at the party was able to tell me, means "forward" in Latin and was the motto adopted by the company in 1901 to go with its charging knight logo. Watch some amazing video of the London fashion show and preparations here.)

Arriving at the party a little early (okay, ridiculously early: my coat check ticket was 0001) I managed to score a prime sofa and was soon rewarded by having Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham come and perch opposite.

Now, Mrs. B gets a bum rap. It's true she does have something of the "Blade Runner" android about her -- one of those dormant killer robots that you're terrified a hasty movement might suddenly switch on -- but for a woman who's constantly hassled for photographs by both paparazzi and civilians, last night she seemed to handle the constant pestering attention with amazingly good grace. Also, not that she ever cracks a grin in a photo, but if you talk to her in person she might actually smile at you! Wonders will never cease.

After the fabulously entertaining Burberry party (including DJ-ing by MTV personality Alexa Chung and a live performance by the Kooks) it was off to designer Jonathan Saunders, who was celebrating in a very grand former church built in 1826.

Known for his geometric patterns, this season his collection went with shimmery summer colors and day-glo brightness. (British summer clothes tend to have a cheeriness that the actual weather does not necessarily justify.)

Jonathan's party was full of desperately hip creatures who, even though they were all dressed as if they had just emerged from the crypt in the basement, looked like they were too young even to have heard of that musty literary classic, the "Twilight" series.

Fruity guests drank fruity cocktails supplied by the venerable London gin label Beefeater which, being the only option at the bar, kept the party going into the way-wee hours.

And after all, nothing says "London party" like rolling home reeking of gin.