Butch Boy

Something a little bit different this week – me and football. Well, I say different, I was just helping the boys out, the England squad that is, our boys. I was putting a few goal celebrations together for them; I did a few little routines and if any of our boys do one of my little jigs, or their interpretation of, when they score a goal, £1,000 goes towards providing clean water in African schools, and that’s great, isn’t it? It’s all sponsored by Coca Cola. Check it out via this link.

But of course I wasn’t going to do it quietly – why would I, why should I? I had Kate Walsh down from Live From Studio 5, putting her through her paces with a couple of the little combinations, which was great fun; she’s very cute.

But all I could see in my peripheral vision was Gordon How Hot Do You Look Smart in his white knee-length shorts (I think it’s synthetic silk they wear, isn’t it?).

I was modelling a nice pair of – well, I suppose you could almost call them batty-riders, they’d go down great in a dance hall. I wasn’t quite sure if I’d nailed it for the football look, but you know what, hey-ho!

Anyway, back to my Gordon – oh, he’s not mine at all, is he? He affectionately likes to call me Louise – I just call him GG, and no, it’s not for Gay Gordon (I wish), it’s for Gorgeous Gordon. We spent a wonderful hour together knocking out some moves, and ending up with him insisting he wanted to jump on my back for a shot. I was like, shot, darling? You’ve scored! Goal!

Anyway, after getting myself all unnecessary and overheated, I jumped straight in a cab and went over to the Sun office. My GG doesn’t only have his own spread every day in the Sun, he’s now branched out and has his own radio show, on which I was a guest. I thought it was going to be just me and GG, but no, there I was, pushed into a room with four shirts and ties, talking about hair removal and body maintenance.

Honestly, put those straight boys in a room with a gay and they wanna know why you’re looking so good – their words, not mine. So I told them how it is. You can have download it and have a listen yourself here.

We finished the radio chat and I had a little visit at the Bizarre office, where Gordon presented me with a massive horn. Mmmm. And an England flag. We had a little game of darts, a few snapshots, and that was me done – a lovely trip to the Sun.

Talking about sun, as I do, I could have done with some yesterday. So, the whole day it was looking like rain but no rain. The moment I stepped out of my car – well, it wasn’t my car at all, it wasn’t my Hyundai i10, it was one of those big Mercedes with blacked out windows and a big driver – pitter patter, pitter patter, bigger pitter patters, bigger pitter patters, now it was pissing down.

Where was I, you’re asking? I was at Top Gear, watching the track getting wetter and wetter. Shit! How was I going to be the Top Queer in those conditions - the fact that my outfit was getting ruined in the rain was bad enough. Not too far in the distance I saw a gazebo – is that what you call them? Or is that just a posh word for a tent? Anyway, I made a bee-line straight for it, where the lads were. Peter Jones - you know, the very tall one. Honestly, I had my neck aching, I had to keep looking up so far; the gerbil, or is it the hamster? I’m not sure; and Bill Bailey.

For some reason, as I made my approach, Jeremy Clarkson made his escape. He wanted to play cat and dog again, like we did on Jonathon Ross. Now, I’m not going to spoil my Top Gear moment – well, actually, there was more than one moment, there were moments. I’m going to let you see it when it’s aired on June 27, and decide for yourself if I’m the Top Queer.

All I’m going to say is that I was spectacular! I did spin off the track a couple of times, and the Stig did ask me if I was frightened, because we were going so fast; and no, I wasn’t - I was just doing some lovely off-track choreography. I did nearly kill a cameraman, but hey! Boys and toys!

Now, about me! Don’t worry, don’t believe all you read. I’m exclusive to no-one, apart from my husband, that is. And as for being handcuffed, they’d have to be more than golden, darling; they’d have to be diamond-encrusted. To all my beautiful Twitterers and Facebookers, Pineapple will still be involved in the new show, and no, I’m not opening a rival dance school; so no need to worry.

Just think of the new show as an extension of what you’ve already seen. It’s going to be fabulous, bigger and better. And don’t we all love things that grow? I do!

Running Ragged

Now, I know when I left you I said things should be running more regularly, but they’re not. They’re just not! Nothing seems regular any more – you could set your watch by me being so punctual at dropping the kids off every morning at the pool. When I say I haven’t got time to shit, I mean it; but I’m not complaining.

So where are we? I left you at Jonathon, didn’t I, spraying his set with my scent. After that, I had a lovely weekend with my husband; we didn’t do anything, oh, apart from trying to get my wardrobe sorted. This is the thing you see, I learned from Miss Bunton – you can never wear the same outfit twice, not if you’re on TV. Someone will pick up on it, and I’m not having that.

Hence my shopping trips, my very big shopping trips, to Top Man and Hennes. Now listen, is that a blatant plug? Yes, it is, and I’ll tell you why! One thing I learned from Pat, my mum, is to get some discount or for nothing if you can. Actually, when we were kids we would go to every wedding with the tags still in, because every item of clothing would go straight back for that money back guarantee with the receipt.

So if anyone from these stores reads my blog, can I have some stuff for free please? Yes, my popularity seems to be rising, but I am most definitely not rich. And I spent £500 in Top Man – don’t get me wrong, they did give me a 15% discount – but free would be better, thanks!

Moving on: Monday morning, Lorraine Kelly - well, I’m loving her! But, to tell the truth, I was more excited about getting a sniff of Ben Shepherd, after I saw him running around that football pitch with his Calvin Kleins for some charity thing. He’d make me always want to rise early in the morning to watch him, if you know what I mean. Well, I got more than a sniff; when he came out of the studio he made a beeline straight for me, telling me how he loves the show and how funny I am. All I was thinking about was those solid thighs under that well-tailored suit. We took a photo together, where I got closer than I needed to, but hey, I’m never one to miss an opportunity! Oh, and another thing; I can’t believe Ben is leaving, and Adrian Chiles is coming in! Well, I suppose it means I’ll be sleeping in, in the mornings. I won’t be rising for that one!



Back to Lorraine, I had a wonderful interview with her – well, she didn’t really get a word in. Like I said before, I’m a morning person; I’m good in the mornings. There was one thing I wasn’t happy with though. As I’m sure all GMTV viewers have noticed, they’ve had a revamp in the last few months, and changed their colour scheme. There’s quite a lot of orange, actually. Well, I say orange, her rug was filthy! I would say it was more brown than orange. There were crisps on it, dirty old footprints, tea stains, and Christ knows what else. Kim and Aggie would have had a field day. I mentioned it to her; I said, you need to sort your rug out Lorraine. So next time I go on, I’m sure I could keep myself busy on my hands and knees the whole show, just cleaning her rug. Because she said she wanted me back, not just for one of those quick five minutes, she said for the whole show. So that’s Lorraine and her dirty rug.

Monday evening, shirt, starched and pressed, and cardigan on, off to ‘This Week’ for my political debut. I wasn’t really bothered about it, I can hold my own; until I sat in the Green Room when I arrived and was introduced to Will Self. Now, I know Will; well, not personally, but because I am an avid viewer of ‘Question Time’ on Thursday nights, and then I follow through to ‘This Week’.

Incidentally, I must say, I wasn’t on with Dianne Abbott, and I’m quite glad that I wasn’t. I mean, she seems a lovely woman, but I don’t know if I could cope with her constantly closing her eyes and looking up to the ceiling when she talks. She’d make me think I hadn’t got the right outfit on, or something.

Anyway, back to Will; so, I’m sitting there and he’s in conversation, not with me. Well, he’s going on about – I don’t know what he was going on about; the words he was using! I’m sure you couldn’t fit them in the alphabet. I did have the urge to go 5, 6, 7, 8, and do a jump split, to try and match him, but I thought, no, there’s a time and a place, and this wasn’t it.

The truth of it is, it’s always the time, but the room was that small, and Will Self is about 7 foot 10. ‘Mr Spence, we’re ready for you now in the studio!’ In my mind I was thinking, are you, are you really? Before you could say flick, ball, change, I was on their very hard sofa, talking politics. Get a load of me, telling Ken Livingstone and Michael Portillo who I think should run the country, and why! If you want to see me being sort of serious, you can watch it on iPlayer – just fast forward to me, it’s the best bit of the show, I think. (Well, I would, wouldn’t I?) I’m near the end.

It’s non-stop. Tuesday, I filmed my lastminute.com commercial, which was quite an experience, may I add. It was all filmed secretly, and I was jumping out on people, terrorising them with high kicks and pirouettes. I was at Waterloo, Clapham Junction, Dirty Dancing, down a pissy alley with the Avenue Q puppets. And I almost got arrested for jumping in the fountain at Trafalgar Square, where, may I add, the security called the police.




I had to run through Trafalgar Square, sopping wet, to the Trafalgar Hotel, which is very nice. Well, the toilets are very nice, because that’s where I ended up waiting for someone to bring me dry clothes. And waiting, and waiting. Yes, ten minutes I was waiting, standing naked in a public loo; and can you all take into consideration that I am a so-called celebrity now. I think not! I haven’t seen many celebrities standing there cupping their cock and balls in a public loo when I’ve gone for a piss. Have you?

Wednesday. I don’t mean to make this blog sound like diary entries of the week, but I’m not going to lie to you all, I’m short on time. So, yeah I am doing it like a diary, so just deal with it. Maybe you can, it’s just me, I know - I don’t like to rush things. Typical, isn’t it? I’m talking about not having time, and I’m wasting my time telling you I haven’t got time. Hang on; I just want to get Caleb to slap me. Great, I’m slapped, and I’m back on track.

One thing to say - Google. Yes, I got invited to Google. The Queen has been, you know. No, I know you’re all thinking, we know you’ve been; no, I mean the real HRH, mother of Charles and Andrew, and that cob. Well, she doesn’t look like a thoroughbred, does she? Anyway, it was amazing! They were telling me what my demographics are. Oh, I know! Apparently I’m 49/51, (that’s men and women, who are logging in to me. Did I say in to me? I meant on to me), and many other things.

There was a lovely geek there, his words, not mine - Chewy. I don’t know, there’s something quite sexy, isn’t there, about intelligence. Anything I need, I can chomp on Chewy, and I will.

MTV – Yes, I got my own show! No, don’t get excited; well, it is my own show, but it’s only a one-off. I had a fun day filming with a very MTV crew. I’m not going to tell you anymore about this. Like I said, I’m on a tight schedule - tighter than my butt cheeks were in ’89. And they were tight in ’89, all that ballet training, I’m telling you. Crack walnuts? I could have done a coconut.



The MTV show is called ‘Louie’s Just Dance’, and it will be on Saturday 15th May at 4pm on VH1 and Sunday 16th May at 11am on Viva. So do watch, let me know what you think. I had fun!



I’m now on Monday – yes, thanks, I had a great weekend - off to ITV to watch An Audience with Michael Bublé. I’ve watched Michael Bublé – he was bloody fantastic, I’m sorry. No, I’m not sorry at all. No going back and forth, no ‘can we go back and do this again’, a true professional and a real showman. He actually made my groin twinge. He didn’t come back to the after show party, but I was mingling with them all. Check out the pics. I don’t need to name them, from the Nolans through to the Willoughby.

Talking of Willoughby, I can’t get away from her on the circuit at the moment. I saw her at the press night of Sweet Charity with the gorgeous Tamsin Outhwaite, who was fabulous, may I add. And you can’t beat Stephen Mear for choreography; if you want to see a bit of real musical theatre, I suggest you go and see this, sweet, Sweet Charity.





Oh, there goes my phone - it’s my car. Oh yes, I get sent cars! I’m off to Attitude’s Sweet 16 birthday. It should be fun, full of gorgeous gays and girls. I’ll let you know how it goes in the next blog.

Toodle-oo. Toodle-oo! Toodle-oo then! X

Oh, What a Life, But I Love It!

Sorry it’s been so long but really, wait til you hear what’s been going on – it’s been glitz and glamour, with a bit of drama. Nothing like me then!

Right here we go – I’m going to start right where I left you. I left you on my birthday, didn’t I? Almost putting Inteflora out of business with all the hanging baskets and bouquets of flowers I received.

Now, my birthday was on Tuesday, wasn’t it? So, Thursday night, just a little something personal with close friends at Chinawhite; well, you see, my friend Charlotte does a night there on Thursdays. When she said, would I like to come down on my birthday, I can have 20 people free to eat plus wine, I jumped at it like a drag queen would at a free pair of fishnets.

Tick tock tick tock – that’s my brain by the way – which twenty people am I going to invite? Have I got 20 people I can invite? I mean, I have a lot of acquaintances – well, now I’ve got thousands of them, but you know, true friends. Yes, I have. I’ve got them all in mind. Well, actually I only got to 18 but that’s fine, it’s quality not quantity, so they say; it’s girth not length - that’s what takes your breath away! No one wants to be annoyed or poked do they? I’m going way off course here, sorry, 18 friends.

Well, of course they all turned up, and we had a fabulous dinner; three courses, no-one skipped a course. Mind you, I did tell them it was for free. I haven’t seen so much wine go so quickly, not a spirit or beer in sight. I’ll tell you why that is, they would have had to pay for them, because I wasn’t going to!

As you can see, all of my friends are like-minded - if it’s free, rinse it; in fact, ring it out. After dinner, we moved on to a lovely private room with our own dj and a few celebrities. I’m not going to name-drop; I’m really not going to this time. If you didn’t see the Sun on Saturday 10th April, where not only was I heavily featured in pictures from my glorious birthday evening, it was in this very issue that I had my first PAGE. Yes! PAGE. Not a column, not a couple of meaningless words, but a whole PAGE!

Jeremy Clarkson was on holiday; not for long though. I don’t think he’ll be taking another day off in his life, not with me racing up his rear, revving my engine like I was in a Bugatti Veyron. What I’m trying to say is, I think it was pretty amazing - I never thought I’d be writing a page for the Sun. I didn’t even get put in for English at school; in fact, I didn’t get put in for any exams. No, I’m lying - I was going to do my art exam, until I got kicked out of the class for telling the teacher she had halitosis. Lucky I didn’t continue, telling her about her greasy hair, and that she stank of piss! I’d have been kicked out of school! And, considering my dad had taken out a second mortgage to send me there (this was when I was at Italia Conti stage school), I think I would have been homeless at a very young age.

Anyway I’m rambling again, aren’t I? I’m going off course, can someone stop me doing this? Right, so that was my birthday dinner party on Thursday 8th of April. 9th, 10th and 11th, getting myself ready for my lastminute.com free holiday! Yes, you did read right, Free! Well, not exactly free; it’s a bit like, you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours. I wouldn’t normally bother with backs, but hey! So, this is how it works - I get to go on their website, lastminute.com that is, and choose any holiday in the world, regardless of the price. Yes, I can see you all thinking, St Lucia, Bahamas, Thailand, just Paradise! Well, in fact, for me it’s my worse nightmare. I’ll tell you why - I hate flying, but you’ve got to live your life, you’ve got to get through your fears. And I did mention it was free, didn’t I?

So, this is how I dealt with it. I needed to go to the closest place that was going to be hot - it was one of the Canaries. Now, my first choice was going to be Gran Canaria, because it’s very gay-friendly. I’ve never been, but apparently it is.

Unfortunately, they weren’t flying on the days I needed to fly, which was Sunday to Sunday, because I had to be back – this is where the scratching comes in – to do a viral commercial for lastminute.com, for the free holiday.

So it ended up being Tenerife. I picked the most expensive hotel I could find, which was the Gran Hotel Bahia del Duque; I just called it Hotel Ducky! After palpitating during the whole flight, yes, 4 hours of palpitations, God knows I needed that holiday, if nothing, just to get over the palpitations. But, I must say, it was totally worth it.

The hotel was beautiful, we had a lovely sea view room (we being me and my husband), champagne, and strawberries that had been dipped in chocolate on arrival, drapes over the bed, and a bath deep enough to drown in.



Although I wasn’t keen on the disability bar on the wall, I would have made it more of a design feature, rather than your classic bar-on-wall. It could have doubled up as a soap dish. No, I suppose that would be a bit dangerous, wouldn’t it? Imagine that, grabbing for your disability bar, slipping on the soap, knocking yourself out and drowning. That wouldn’t be much of a holiday, would it?



So, everything was perfect, the food was wonderful, beautiful beach, gradually getting myself a lovely tan, starting with my high factors – 20 on Sunday, 20 on Monday, 20 on Tuesday, 20 on Wednesday. Thursday is the day I go down to 15. I didn’t get to 15! It couldn’t have been worse. What couldn’t be worse, I hear you asking? This catastrophic disaster that happened! Yes, the erupting volcano in Iceland. I know their economy is shit, but they don’t have to bring the rest of the world down with them.

Well, to tell you the truth, the last thing on my mind was the economy. It was F***K! How am I going to get home? My flight was on Sunday, and already they were saying that flights could be cancelled for the next week. By hook or by crook, I had to be back in England. I was booked to be on Jonathan Ross with Gwyneth Paltrow, Demi Moore and Robert Downey Jr. And me! Yes, me! You can’t believe it? Honestly, when my agent told me, I almost prolapsed, I was that excited.

I was straight on the phone to the airline – well, I say straight on the phone – it took me all day. They assured me that it would all blow over and I would be on my flight on Sunday. Great! Friday morning, not wasting another moment, I got sprayed from top to bottom, not missing a nook or a cranny, with my Factor 15, and straight on the beach. I had already missed a day. This was my last day of being truly relaxed, because Saturday would be the day I start to panic about getting on the flight back. So, it would be guaranteed that I would have a disagreement with my husband, taking all my fear and anxiety out on him. Thank God he’s an angel sent from heaven. I definitely would have slapped me, or divorced me, or something. Honestly, I can be an absolute nightmare when it comes to flying.

But you know what? I found something out about myself. I was much more of a nightmare, I became a night terror, when I found out I wouldn’t be flying. Oh shit, there were no flights! I took the airline’s word that I would be fine by Sunday, I kept checking the internet, and yes, I could see no-one was flying out, but I wanted to believe her, I needed to believe her, that I would be flying out. I was supposed to be on Jonathan Ross for God’s sake!

But then I realized, I was either going to have to swim the Atlantic – well, I wouldn’t swim it, I would have been on my husband’s back, he’s a much stronger swimmer, I do the dancing - or not fulfill this amazing opportunity that arose, like a giant – sorry I’m going off again, this opportunity to be on the most prestigious chat show on British TV.

Well, for those of you who watched on Friday night, as you could see, I made it back, unlike those Hollywood A-listers, who between them I’m sure could afford to hire a private jet and get around that volcanic dust cloud, and then get a boat. I’m sure it would have been a yacht, or a luxurious speed boat, or something. But anyway, they didn’t - their loss, but my gain. Being the only original cast member on the show, I think that allows me to say that my supporting cast on the night ended up being less glamorous (as I think they would agree) than Gwyneth and Demi. Well, actually no, I’m lying there. Paul Weller looked immaculate and didn’t have a hair out of place; but as Jeremy Clarkson commented on himself, he did look as if he had just come from a day at the bank. And I have to agree with him, he did. But at least he invited me on Top Gear; I told him I want to race around that track. I mean, Simon Cowell came second, didn’t he? I’m sure I could bang him up the rear and knock him out of the way for first place. Well, I’d give it a bloody good try.

Oh, don’t let me forget, I think it goes without saying, doesn’t it, that the most important person on the show is always on the Poofs’ tee shirts, and yes, it was me, hehe. And, if that’s not the case, just let me go with it!

Before I continue about my evening with Johnny, let me just tell you how I managed to get there. Take a deep breath, and live this with me, if you dare. So, what’s going to be the quickest route home?

There were flights from Tenerife to the mainland, to Madrid, on Monday, so I’m already a day out. I’m meant to be back on Sunday. This only gets me to Madrid. Tickets bought, next step, train from Madrid to Paris, overnight sleeper. Seven hours later, still no train. The phones are down, internet site is down, I’m going to be stuck in Madrid. Fortunately, this angel of mine, yes, my husband, who at this point is either going to throw me from the sixth floor or get me from Madrid to Paris, finally gets through, not to the train company but a bus company. Yes, a bus! This won’t take 13 hours on an overnight sleeper in your own compartment. It’s going to take 20 hours. Great! I’ve never been so happy at the thought of 20 hours on a bus.

So, Monday we get a plane from Tenerife to Madrid. When we get there we’ve got a bus from Madrid to Paris, almost there, just have to get from Paris to London. 14 hours later and someone answers at Eurostar. I can only say thank God for Skype, otherwise my mobile bill would have been a small mortgage. We’d like two tickets please for Tuesday, any time from 3pm onwards. I’m sorry sir; unfortunately we have no availability until Wednesday night at 7.30pm, going from Euro Disney. That’s fine, fine, fine, fine! Book ‘em! Tickets booked, I’m going to make it! I’m going to be on Jonathan Ross!

Monday morning, taxi booked for 8am from hotel to airport, arrive at airport at 9am. Yes, I know the flight is at 11.30am and it’s an internal flight, but I didn’t want to take any chances. And thank the Lord above, if He’s there, that we did. When we went to check in, the very nice Spanish gentleman informed us that our tickets were for the next Monday. At this point I think I would have truly shit my pants if I’d eaten any solids or anything the previous day. But, as you all know, there wasn’t time for food because we spent the whole day trying to get tickets to get home.

He also informed us that the flight was full. At this point I felt a huge wave of emotion and I saw Jonathan Ross slipping away. I minced as fast as I could over to the Iberia counter and told my husband to get me on this flight, which he did, at extra cost, of course. So, everything in place, we get on flight to Madrid, get off flight in Madrid, get on tube, get to bus station, get in very long queue to collect bus tickets. In the queue, three from the front, reference number in hand, all the shutters come down! Well, as you can imagine, I break out in a cold sweat, I start palpitating, hyperventilating, and scream at my husband, what’s going on? Apparently all systems were down. I’d like you all to take note that this is 7.25pm and our bus is going at 7.45pm

For a whole five minutes, which you can imagine felt like a lifetime, nothing. Then, all of a sudden, like a scene from a West End musical, 5, 6, 7, 8, window 1, window, 2, window, 3, down to window 12, blind, blind, blind, up, up, up! We’re in business! Reference number given, tickets received, we make our way downstairs to the coaches; it’s like mass evacuation, herds of people pushing and shoving, throwing themselves on buses. Although tickets had coach numbers and seat numbers, this didn’t matter, this was war. So, without blinking an eye, believe me when I say I went high kicking and back flipping into that crowd; it was the performance of my life. I know it’s women and children first, but you know what, they weren’t on Jonathon Ross! I may have taken a few children out with a ronde de jambe kick and landed on some poor pensioner coming out of an open layout somersault, but it worked. We were on the bus, bags and all!

But, as we all know, nothing is for free; it was karma coming back around like a boomerang. There couldn’t have been a smellier couple sitting in front of us. And what with the air conditition being stuck and blowing back our way, there was no getting away from this for 20 hours. My angel of a husband tried to find some good in this, telling me they may have been traveling for days, that’s why they were unkempt and stank; but I’m sorry, their fingernails were filthy, that was ground in. That wasn’t a couple of days of traveling, that was a lifetime of dirt. Anyway, we’re on the bus, I’m en route, we’re getting closer, I will take my karma along with the air conditioning system that seems to be dripping, in fact, pouring down on me. But, you know what? We got through it.




Hurrah! Paris! A wonderful night in Paris, spent in a beautiful boutique hotel all decked out by Lacroix.



This is Tuesday night, by the way; Wednesday, we make our way to Euro Disney, spend the day there then, yes, oh, what relief, we get on the train and arrive back at London’s beautiful King’s Cross St Pancras. It never looked so good.




Thursday morning - gym, get outfit ready for Jonathan Ross! And what a night! I had so much fun; it was surreal being on that black leather sofa. Well, I don’t think it’s leather actually, I had a little sniff, I think it’s pleather! I ended up high-kicking; no back-flipping, but I did end up crawling over the set being a pussy and spraying my territory, but it was worth it. I had a ball!

I just want to say Thank You to Grazia! I really loved my ‘Style Hunt’ – I thought it looked great. And I loved the Attitude article as well, cheers guys, or gays!

Anyway, I think I’m up to date now, and things should be back to normal - we should be running more regularly. Just how I like it.

xxx

Sunny Monday morn'

What a beautiful start to the week! The sun is shining, I'm smiling, it makes me feel that good that I nearly fell into the splits at 8.30am, getting my instant golden syrup flavoured porridge from M and S. But hold up, wait a minute! Let's back up to last week!

Thursday morning, bright and breezy, lemon squeezy, all tits out, me and Matthew Wright. What more can I say? For those of you who were watching, I'm sure you could see how inspired he was by my low-cut v's! I gave him the bottle green one, I thought it matched his purple suit on the day. That was it - as soon as he slipped into it he couldn't stop telling me about his musical theatre escapades in his early twenties.

That's the thing, you see, when you've got it, they all want a bit! He couldn't get enough of me, a push and a shove it could have been me being his new civil partner, as he mentioned he was just entering into one. But I'm not interested, I did mine two years ago - I've got a lovely Spaniard!

I was made to feel very welcome, but I must say I was nervous about reading from the papers. It's my stage school education; we weren't interested in academics, we just wanted to sing and dance!

What happens with me you see, when I get nervous, is trapped wind! It's quite difficult sitting there for an hour and a half when it feels like you've got the dancers from the Lido doing the can-can in your stomach.

Honestly, when I left that studio I didn't need the chauffeur driven Mercedes with blacked out windows (stop me already if I'm sounding like a wanker, but I did love it!) All I needed to do was release the fart and I could have ended up in L.A. instead of the BBC studios, where I was taken straight down to my very plush dressing room, with en-suite, may I add! Honestly, it was bigger than my housing association flat!

We ran through the script for the things I needed to do. Oh, I haven't told you, this is Harry Hill now darlings, come on, keep up! For those of you who watched my debut with the fabulous Harry Hill, I sang my way around the West End of London, ending with a rap about Croydon. I think I was inspired by the residue of Jay Z, who was the previous occupant of my dressing room. I thought I was pretty ghetto fabulous, don't you?! I said to Harry, all we need now is Kate Moss, whack her in the video and we've got a number 1 single!

Because I am on first name terms with people like Harry now you see, like I'm sure I would be with Jonathan Ross if I went on his show, he would just be Jonny, or J, but I'm not going on his show. With our speech impediments we'd just end up spitting at each other all the time.

Mind you, he is leaving the Beeb, isn't he? They'll most likely ask me to do his job, you know, like for like. I know his impediment is a 'w' and mine is a 's' but it's still a speech impediment, isn't it? But I can't, I'm far too busy - I'm on reception at Pineapple. I can't be everywhere, can I? Let's just quickly jump to Friday, Angela and Friends.

Some friend she is, she weren't even there! She was in L.A. doing the Oscars! I didn't mind, I got to sit on the sofa with Jeremy Edwards, so cute, and he smelled lovely! And, yes, I fell into the splits again! Someone stop me! I'm jumping straight to Friday night now.

Around 6.30pm, I met up with my oldest friend Carmine; some of you may know him as Jake Canuso, the sexy Spanish waiter in the hit ITV show Benidorm, which is written by another good friend of mine, Derren Litten. Derren also did all the best Catherine Tate sketches. Ooh, am I name dropping? Leaving Carmine, who went on to the theatre, I then met another good friend of mine, Emma.

Did I mention that she's my best friend, Emma Bunton, Spice Girl? Why wouldn't she be, when she buys me a Rolex and a diamond-studded Cartier bracelet? I'm not complaining! No, apart from the lavish gifts (oh, did I mention the holidays to the Bahamas?) she is one of the most genuine and beautiful people with a big heart. But don't cross her! She won't forget, so I don't (and I'm sure the gifts would stop coming).

She bought me one rosé too many and left me stumbling across Waterloo bridge making my way home, where it was a toasted cheese and pickle sandwich and straight to bed for me.

Saturday and Sunday I didn't really do much apart from watch myself on Harry Hill on Saturday, watch myself on Pineapple Dance Studios on Sunday, and then caught myself again on Harry Hill straight after. Not that I was watching the repeat for me, there was just nothing else on. It's got to be better than Songs of Praise, hasn't it?

Anyway, listen, love you and leave you. I am doing a reality show! I'm just off to keep it real. Look out kids! We've only just got started!