Blowing My Own Horn

What a triumph, bring on the fanfare! God knows, I deserve it. Now you know I wouldn't normally blow my own trumpet, or have anyone blow it for me. Well, depending who it is, darling! But I must admit the O2 was truly a huge challenge, which I thought we would never get through.

As you know, all of us here at the wonderful world of Pineapple have real jobs. Hold on, Laura has just given me a bemused look; I think I just read her mind. What the look says is, we all have real jobs and you just fart around giving us more to do. It’s o.k., she has just given me one of her beautiful big smiles to tell me how much she loves me, that her life wouldn't be worth living without me, and she couldn't get through the job if I wasn't by her side. Which is great; because I have a whole load of emails I've got to ask her to write for me when I finish this blog.

Back to the O2, back to me. As you all know from my previous blogs, there was minimal rehearsal and in fact there was none for me. What we did have was a run through for the acts, so they knew which order they were going in, and if the dancers needed a costume change, how much time they would need before they got back on stage.

But for me, being the thread to their ripped cloth, having to sew each act together and make it seamless, there ended up being no time to iron out the creases. Being the true professional, I didn’t scream, I didn’t shout, I just took a deep breath and did not release it until Friday morning at 8.30, when I arrived at the O2.

It was the first time I got to see the set; there were mirror balls the size of small galaxies swinging from the ceiling (I haven’t seen balls that big swinging from the ceiling in a long time). Straight away, I knew I was going to be fabulous! With my reflection spinning in those balls millions of times, how could we fail? Big balls and me: a show made in heaven!

The rest of the cast started to arrive: Andrew, PDG, and Wizard Sleeve - I know, pretty disgusting isn’t it? I only just found out what it means. If you don’t know what it means, look it up - nothing that can’t be fixed by those designer vagina surgeons that are out there now. There really is someone for everything nowadays, it’s pretty amazing, and I do love it. Anyway it’s far too early for me to be talking about vaginas, not really my area of expertise, and I’ve only just eaten my porridge.

Then I heard the shrill tones of Trisha! Oh, it’s all too much! But hold on, was I seeing things? Could it get any worse? It was DVD! And I don’t mean a disc you slip into your player. No, ladies and gentlemen, it was no other than David Van Day. Yes! Some of you younger ones might know him from I’m A Celebrity, Never Let Him Out Of There (Please), or some of us more mature crowd (but still looking bloody good) will remember him as part of the dynamic duo Dollar. Mind you, not worth a bloody cent nowadays.

Get me to my dressing room, I needed to centre myself and focus on the day ahead. First things first, costumes out! Well, I say costumes; see I thought it would be better if I supplied my own wardrobe. I needed to be comfortable and feel at home. So, every low cut v neck tee shirt I possessed was at hand, along with a couple of pairs of knee-high socks, because they look great with heels, don’t ask me why. Do ask me why, actually. It’s because I can; the heels that is. I can walk in them, I can high kick in them, and I look bloody good in them, so I thought, why not? Two pairs of shorts, one small and white, one very tight in red leather; I say leather, they’re pleather. That’s pretend leather to anyone who doesn’t know, but they look like leather from a distance; one pink gym-slip dress; one silver cat-suit, zip up front; two blond wigs, and a buoy. And I don’t mean a living, breathing boy, well not as part of the costume; I mean the ones that can save your life in the sea - you know the red things that bob up and down.

I’m not going to take you through the dress rehearsal; it was a disaster, absolute disaster. People coming on and off at the wrong time, sets getting stuck on the stage, stage hands with halitosis and bad b.o. and me, having to link it all together, totally unscripted of course. Because apparently, so I’m told, my genius is my quick wit and my sense of humour; and believe me, it was needed. They do say a bad dress run, a great show, but this was a calamitous disaster! With only one hour to go before the doors opened I really was questioning whether we should have just kept the show as we originally agreed, to something small and intimate, just for family and friends who really would be forgiving and love us, whatever disaster we would deliver.

But that wasn’t the case, and the show must go on. So I told everyone how fabulous they were, that the show was going to be a triumph and a success, that we were wonderful, talented people, and we could do this, if we all believed! I could almost hear myself speaking in an American accent and telling everyone that God loves them. God help me, because I was truly lying. Oh, and of course I didn’t knock on Trisha’s door; give me some credit!

Before I knew it, there I was wearing my costume, having my mic fitted in my dressing room, along with a few friends. I’m not naming names - Emma Bunton; Jade Jones; Antony Cotton; Jason Gardiner, to name but a few. But the most important of them all, was my beautiful husband, Leto.

No time for them to tell me how fabulous I was going to be and not to worry, it was going to be amazing. It was show time - Lights, Camera, Action - an hour and a half of pure entertainment! Everyone WAS fabulous and truly pulled it out of the bag. I can’t remember a thing, but I was told that, yes, I was genius, and the show was a huge success.

We did it! Yeah! Way to go! Sorry, it’s that American voice in my head again. Everyone was elated and brimming with self-adoration, but not me, I didn’t have time. Being the true professional that I am I couldn’t go to the after show party with celebrities and big wig producers; no, it was straight home for me. I had a script to learn on Saturday for my small, featured cameo in the first of hopefully many feature films; which, may I add, was another success.

I filmed this on Sunday morning alongside Mandy Moore who was absolutely charming, I loved her. She’s another NBF.

Oh! So I presume you all watched Celebrity Juice on Thursday? I had a fun time, as those of you who watched it could see. I loved my little sketch with Keith Lemon; I can be butch when I try! Talking of butch, so yesterday afternoon (Monday) I did a nude shoot! Yes! Well, all apart from a pineapple in front of my bits and pieces; it was for Cosmo magazine.

There are a few celebrities who have done it, because that’s what I am now, apparently, a celeb! It’s to raise awareness for a very important issue, testicular cancer. Yes, for all you boys who are reading this; get in a hot bath and check your balls! They should feel nice and smooth. Any kind of lumps or swelling, don’t wait ‘til it’s too late, get them checked! Oh dear, look at me getting all serious about balls. Or if not, just email me and I’ll come round and check them! Your choice!

So that was Monday, and all everyone needs to do today is go out and buy Heat magazine, which has a nice 4 page spread with me and the rugby players I told you about.





And also get More magazine, so you can read the interview with me and the fabulous Alan Carr. What are you still doing reading? You should already be up by now, running to the shop to buy the magazines.

Oh, and don’t forget the Sun as well, my dad just rang me to tell me that I’m in it today. Honestly, this is so much fun, I’m pissing my pants; it’s too funny that everyone is showing such interest in me! And honestly, if I have to sleep with another journalist! It’s killing me!

Love and kisses,

Louie

P.S. Grazia Grazia for the fantastico article in this week's issue!