Poor old Alexandre Boulais. Alexandre who? All right, not a national name in his own right – but he certainly holds down an interesting job. Make that an impossible job. His brief is to ensure that the name of his boss – the legendary couturier Paco Rabanne – is constantly in the news. But only in respect of positive publicity, thank you very much. Unfortunately for Monsieur Boulais, however, Monsieur Rabanne has an agenda all of his own. Which is why the able young press officer decided to sit in during my interview with the colourful 68 year old Spanish born mystic, dadaist, architect, astrologer, vegetarian, author and perfumer. For make no mistake – Paco Rabanne is all of these things too.

"I would be grateful", Alexandre whispered in Fawlty Toweresque tone, "if you would not mention the Mir space station in your article. There has been such a hoo-hah about it – its been rather damaging for the house of Rabanne, you know." This was something of a bombshell to drop at the eleventh hour and might well have been a rather difficult promise to keep. Fortunately it was a case of ‘Paco to the rescue’ – for barely five minutes had elapsed before he brought the subject up himself. Whereupon Alexandre Boulais rolled his eyes upwards and to the ceiling. Not only has he heard it all before, apparently, he knew all too well that once Paco Rabanne is in full flow there is little that he or anyone else can do to stop him. Nor was I about to try.

Fascinated by the occult since the age of seven, when he claims his body left on an astral journey one night to fly among the stars, Rabanne publicly predicted the destruction of Paris on August 11^th of last year. The Russian space station would fall on the Chateau de Vincennes accordingly to his interpretation of the prophecies of Nostradamus. "When the moon goes into eclipse", he said at the time, "when we suddenly see the Mir space station break up and start to fall to the earth in flames, then they’ll listen to me." And whereupon he made sure that he was out of town on that particular day.

"All right, all right, I admit I made a mistake", Paco Rabanne told me in his Paris office last week, "and I went out of my way to apologise publicly. Everyone is entitled to make a mistake, aren’t they? It was a mad thing for me to have done. It was just that ever since I came to Paris at the age of 17 I have heard images of people screaming and being burned alive. This haunted me for 50 years. I was puzzled by this imagery and read all the books about prophecy – all of which said that Paris is going to disappear in flames. I just felt compelled to speak out."

Of course it was a mistake on my part to have come with a list of prepared questions. For having dealt with astral travel and the Mir space satellite, he immediately moves on to describe his past lives and experience of reincarnation. But since it is all delivered with such conviction and a unique zest for life which shines out and touches you through dancing eyes and a bright white head of hair and beard – who is going to stop him? Not me. Nor, evidently, the good Monsieur Boulais.

It is all delivered at such a lightening pace that it is truly difficult to comprehend: Rabanne will have you believe that he came from the planet Altair to found Atlantis; that he was the prophet Daniel in 3000 BC; that he was a High Priest in Ancient Egypt – and ‘twas he who assassinated Tutankhamun. Only to be reincarnated as a prostitute in the eighteenth century. And just to confuse you entirely he throws in the information that he was born in 1934. For the 78,000^th time, that is. Not to mention the fact that he is also a medium.

But help! Now he is turning his attention to me. ‘Where are you from? What are your origins? Alexandre, mon ami – why aren’t you helping me?

"Look at you", Paco Rabanne says, "you have big ears. You are an interior man, a thoughtful person. Your face isn’t innocent, you know, nothing is. It says who you are. I can place you. Both here and in previous lives."

Better get back to Paco’s present life, I think, otherwise I will be in big trouble with my editor. And I choose my moment to fire away with a series of boring old predictable questions – questions which, doubtless, he has heard many times before. And I duly manage to establish that Paco Rabanne was born Francisco Rabanneda y Cuervo in San Sebastian, Spain, his mother Cristobal Balenciaga’s right-hand woman. While his family sought exile in France from Franco’s dictatorship, Paco sought a degree in Fine Arts from the Architectural Department (Beaux Arts) of the University of Paris. He then started his career designing accessories, jewellery and ties for Dior and Givenchy. In 1964, he launched his first collection ‘12 Unwearable Dresses in Contemporary Materials. His success was immediate – even though some of the dresses weighed in at over 60lbs. He was the first designer to send black models down the runway and the music, The Martian without a Master by Pierre Boulez, replaced the stuffy announcer who called out the models’ names. It was all tres sensationnel. Paco Rabanne had arrived. His clients were not mere followers of fashion – they were the style leaders of their day – Brigitte Bardot, Audrey Hepburn and Jane Fonda among them. His use of new materials and technology – replacing fabric with metal and scissors with pliers – allowed Rabanne to revolutionise fashion, Coco Chanel dubbing him the Metalworker of Fashion. As Elle fashion puts it: "Paco Rabanne deforms, works and twists materials. Mink? He braids it. Leather? He rivets it. When he knits, it’s with needles the size of broom handles; astrakhan, beaver or dralon replace balls of wool. The only thing that’s a given is an element of surprise – from aluminium chain mail in 1968 to his first concrete dress in 1995."

Far be it from me to direct the interview back towards the paranormal – but could he please be so kind as to explain what is the link between the chic world of fashion, de luxe goods and perfumery - and the Rabannian philosophy of the world. "Aha", he replies, evidently happy to be back on familiar territory, "don’t you know that the whims of fashion are never innocent?" And he proceeds to rattle off a list of what he refers to as ‘prophetic fashion’. A puffed up hairstyle? Prepare yourself for a change of political regime. Short dresses all the rage? Financial well-being is in the air. Straight dresses – sexual freedom. And so on.

"I was rather put out once", Rabanne admits. "I was in one of the Gulf States, introduced myself – only to hear ‘aha – Paco Rabanne – the perfumes man. I said certainly not – ‘l’homme de la mode’."

The truth is, though, that turnover within the House of Rabanne (the Barcelona-based Puig family took over the company in 1986) has come to be over two thirds dependent upon perfumes. Rabanne’s fragrances have been a stunning success – his Calandre launched in 1986 has consistently ranked among the world’s best sellers (currently number 3) while his Paco Rabanne pour homme took the number one spot for over a decade. Do not be lulled into thinking, however, that Rabanne’s view of the world, or worlds, has not crept into his work as a nose. Take the launch of this year’s new range Ultra Violet. Paco’s handiwork is none too difficult to detect: "Violet is the most mystical and spiritual colour in the spectrum of a rainbow. It is the very essence of the Age of Aquarius, the era of Homo Sapiens is giving way to the ear of Homo Spiritualis. We will push back inner limitations, delving ever deeper into new realism of understanding and knowledge." No one has paused to ask whether or not Rabanne’s customers would endorse such a philosophy – and who can blame them when the tills and cash desks around the world continue to ring?

And yet Rabanne will have you believe that life on earth is hell. "Its hell because we are locked into materialism, a limitation of time and space, the hell of desire, the hell of eating and drinking – that’s all hellish – and its here. Material things are Satanic."

He begins pointing to objects around his own office – a book here, a filing cabinet there – ‘these are all Satan’, he thunders.

"And that would include your own perfumes", I interject helpfully.

Alexandre Boulais stirs. But says nothing. "Yes it would."

With energy bursting from each and every cell in his being one hesitates to mention retirement. "It’s a form of accelerated death and not for me thank you." But how will the House of Rabanne cope without Rabanne himself? "I dare say that this is question which has been put at head office – but its not one with which I trouble myself unduly."

He has been on good terms with every single President of France since the 1960s. The King of Spain is a close personal friend. Yet for all of this grandeur Rabanne insists that he lives a simple life: no chateau, no flat, and few possessions – not even a car.

"There is just one thing I would like to say in conclusion", he says in Colombo detective mode. "It’s about the Mir space station. I was wrong about just one thing. The date. I should never have mentioned a precise date. But it’s not the end of the story, you know. Mark my words."