Echo retreated to the Pulliplove house after the end of an explosive affair with the "love of her life". She locked herself in the guest bedroom and wept for a fortnight before emerging, tearstained, in a pure silk kimono dressing gown asking for chocolate ice cream. Since then, when not at work, Echo has lain on the chaise longue, pouring her heart out to anyone who'll listen. Her throwaway promises to "end it all" have not yet materialised, thank goodness, although Bunny did rather mercilessly left her David Mellor cook's knife in a prominent position following a particularly long and angst-ridden exposition of woe.
Top model. Echo flies around the world first class to exotic photoshoot locations and strolls up and down catwalks from New York to Milan while pondering the fleeting and ultimately meaningless nature of life. She gets paid wadloads for her unique aura of melancholy existentialism.
Food? When she can bring herself to eat, Echo might nibble on a lettuce leaf. (Or console herself with large tubs of cookie dough ice cream.)
Torch ballads, mainly - "All by myself", "Total Eclipse of the Heart", anything by Dionne Warwick...
Vintage chic, balm tissues, Balinese spa retreats, medidating, Paris, espresso, being chatted up by pretty waiters, handmade jewellery.
High street copies of her designer freebies, flying "coach",
Echo is too Filled With Woe to have a proper crush just yet, although she laps up attention from male admirers whenever and wherever...
Echo is actually quite relieved that her Great Love dumped her - he didn't have much of a brain and his feet were terribly smelly. She's considering a rebound relationship with one of her male model admirers, although she has been casting longing glances at a local cabinet-maker - "so wonderful with his hands..."