Month: January 2011

Just tottered (well was driven) home from a busy, busy day at work. I’m loving having a normal job. (I do Promotions & Relations…mixed in with a dollop of accounts for Xercise4less..a new budget chain gym in the Yorkshire area.) It’s really kept me sane during my time of preggoness and let me tell you…it’ s been non-stop! I’m loving it. I juggle this with a world of showbusiness. Blog writing, book writing, cosmetic line running and ‘on the telly’ stuffage. I took a year out in order to have a bambino and a long term boyfriend. Cupid…as always…. granted me with both. (He spent years tossing me Ultimate losers. Then when he actually cut me some slack and gave me my share of ‘ Happily ever after’…he bundled it all on me at once…with a ‘There you go bitch. Let’s see how you like it!) I love love. But i don’t like Cupid. However, saying that, what we do have in common right now, is the fact that we both wear a nappy. Mine is to prevent unfortunate preggo vagina dribble. His is because he’s a gorgeous…fucking weirdo.

I’m currently easing into the end of my ‘year out’ of showbizzy shenaningans and i’m already lucky enough to have been invited back into ‘the club.’ I’m apparently a future face to watch out for. I do actually believe that and because things keep accidentally going my way. I do have a plan. I do. Like really! Now, i’m juggling a day job, a showbizzy job, writing, makeup lining, being a proper girlfriend and a soon to be MOTHER and all at the same time. To look into my life from across the way, it kinda seems hot and hectic. However, luckily, i’m a Glamour puss who can handle anything. The busier I am. The better i feel. And Dollies…i can do it ALL in heels, tits, with a heart and a shimmie that could make the most disturbed human being want to tango. *Cheer here.* (Oh fuck it…just give me cash.)

I’m at the glass kitchen table, thumbing through ‘Confessions of an heiress,’ with a kitten by my side, a gym class timetable, my *bump* and Pete darting about around me, (who i believe seems quite horny.) He’s making us a chicken dinner and every so often turns to me, gives me the most passionate of kisses, then suggests something sexy. (Apparently, if i ‘put out’ now, the baby will arrive. I’m dying to be a mum…so i might just reach for the nipple tassles. Or i might just not and instead *trump* the national anthem.) Chicken must make him horny? But he is half black. Which pretty much explains that theory. (I can’t belive how hard i’m working. I called ‘selfish’ today for actually wanting to take the WHOLE DAY off work, to have the baby. lol) GOD, i wish see would hurry up and arrive. I really am going to have to resort to squats and i don’t squat for anything. Not even diamonds. All i can smell is a thick cloud of garlic. It’s actually delicious. Maybe i will ‘put out?’ He does have a great bum. Infact no. He’s just told me that our baby will be a ‘symbol of our sex.’ Erm..doesn’t he mean ‘love?‘ [One second.] No..he definitely meant sex. I replied with a ‘What do you mean? You think she’ll be slaggy?’ And he responded with a ‘No…we made her, y’know created her from our sex.’ He needs to back away from the chicken. His hormones are getting the better of him. However i shouldn’t complain. People have made a lot worse from their sex…like a delicious mountain of herpes. I’ll take ‘Baby Glamour puss’ over that ANY day! *Checks crotch-forgets she can’t see it.*

Talking about herpes. When i get spotted out and about. People will stop me and tell me everything about their life. I do love this, because i have a keen interest in people, the world and jiggery pokery. Plus, i am honoured that others read my blog. (EVERY continent of the world much! *Boast-Boast.*) Yet because people read about my life on a daily, they feel like they know me…and they do. Therefore they feel comfortable enough to tell me EVERYTHING about theirs. When i say ‘everything’…i simply mean that they all want to inform me that they have an std. I’m not even joking. I promise you, that within the last 3 days, four different people, have randomly stopped me in town, adored me, congratulated me on my *bump,* then told me they have sores on their crotch. I obviously bring out the best in people. I really do love being Me. I wish you could all live it for a day.

Other than that, work and love. I’m currently being inundated with messages from you all. I’m super glad that you’re all excited about the birth of another Wunna. I’m excited too! I just hope see comes out with her elbows tucked IN for obvious *ouchie* much reasons. Pete and I now have everything ready. All we need is the baby. I CANNOT even describe how happy i feel. Having a daughter will really make a giant difference in my life. A wonderful difference. I’m utterly commited to such a task. Well done me! I mean, before now…all i  seemed to be commited to was gin. (I’m still sad that Pete wouldn’t let me name her after booze, or a stripper.) I’m really pulled myself together and it’s actually amazing how well you do, with work, money, love and life..when you finally *zip* up and become less messy. I’m now proud of who i am. I always was. Yet now i’m even prouder. *Wiggle-Wink.*

I’m managed to eat my dinenr between my blogging and i’ve just realized that there’s thi total weirdo on Twitter (@PerryM1tchell) who keeps tweeting really pervy things to all random kitty cats. Today he tweeted ‘…could you give me any tips to last longer when i’m masturbating?’ Erm..how about i’m 9 months pregnant, so ‘no.’ I mean honey…if you’re a boy and you actually need willy wanky tips, then there really, truely is zero hope for your sexual future. Wait until you have to play with real life girls. It’ll get far more complicated, trust me. If you can’t master ‘phase one,’ of the art of rumpy pumpy…you’ll only get as far as ‘blow up doll’ and even she’ll come to life and spit you out. (Well hopefully? I’ve heard blow up dolls are terribly whorey. They just want to be loved. 🙂 )

I must go now and enjoy good old ‘love’ with my ‘handsome’..with Cornettos. I’m working ALL week, so if my baby girl decides to ‘plonk’ out…lets hope see waits til the weekend. I’m waiting for a call from Nina at ITV2 and i’ve almost done my entire book! If i’ve learnt anything over the last year. It’s to not let other people make YOU do all the hard work to get noticed, only to think that they can jump on your pretty diamond encrusted boat of popularity and in order to get ahead. Do your own *work it-own it*…You’ll feel better about it in the end!

Well today’s been a big hit. I’ve enjoyed beef and chai tea with loved ones. Boasted about how my Loverboy is going to be on the telly (lol) and topped all of that off with a distinct feeling of preggoness. I’ve never felt so pregnant, by border collies and young children who sing-a-long  merrily to ‘Twinkle-Twinkle little star.’ I’m definitely about to *pop* and any time now really. I can just feel it. Therefore in a moment of panic, i’ve packed my hospital bag…which is pink & leopard print. Woohoo! In it, contains infant sized bear outfits for humans that wish to poke out of my vagina. The funny thing about it, is that when you hold them up…it makes people go ‘awww.’ I love the fact that the only thing that makes me now act moderately responsible is *panic.* It’s definitely a progression from the delicious art of rum.

I’m now not at all terrified about the whole ‘having a baby’ thing. I feel highly at ease and because Pete keeps telling me how much he loves me. It’s like when you’ve fallen over as a child and your mum ‘kisses it better.’ For some reason you just feel better. It’s all because it never really hurt. You just needed to know that someone, somewhere cared.

Other than all that and my weave taking over the land again. I really am kinda wondering how tv networks are now going to document my baby’s birth? I mean, how are they going to know when i’m about to toddle off into labour, unless there’s a cameraman on standby? Pete’s not going to beable to emergency film it, due to him commiting to fainting and the fact that i do actually want HIM to be in the film..with him being ‘Daddy’ and all that jiggly. We’re very much in love right now and it’s feeling ever so lovely. It’s exactly how I always wanted to feel when i imagined ‘becoming a mum.’ Fair enough, i have just thrown a mild ‘paddy’ because he wouldn’t help me figure out what to do with a baby bottle? The only bottles i know are filled with booze and thrown against brick walls in celebration. I need help. Then i got my hormones together, enjoyed the fact that I have a pink-leopard print hospital bag and thought fuck it…i have bear baby clothes. I pretty much rock! Both our mums are on standby incase i decide to have a baby. Infact, we even have mums, who aren’t our mums on standby…which is something i love very very much. We have tremendous support. (God, my waters better not break whilst i’m at work. There’s nothing more awful to Me, than being a Glamour Puss, who has liquid thundering it’s way out of my *whoop-dee,* in a forceful, unstoppable manner.) I’ll stand there, pretend it’s not happening, probably fake laugh, then ask everyone if they fancy a cuppa tea? I don’t get what i’m  supposed to take to the hospital with me??? I’ve so far opted with a faux fur and nappies.

Anyway this boy i used to date, ‘Lashes‘ has been calling, texting and inboxing me. He knows i was filming in London in his neck of the woods on Thursday and for some reason wants me to talk to him, or meet up with him or whatever. I’m 9 months pregnant, completely working and in love with my ‘handsome.’ I feel like ‘Lashes’ had his chance and blew it. (Oh the joys of blowing it.) Meeting up with me once a week, bonking and letting me buy you bacon sandwiches isn’t a proper relationship. It’s breakfast! Then wanting to argue with me over nothingness, to the point where i am forced to throw you out of my appartment…to me…isn’t joy. I’m not a thrower. I don’t have the butch arms for it.

 I’ve now found true love, the real kind and everything. We’re about to have a baby. We’ve  never felt so in love and when i’m mad, Petey does cute things like places his glasses on wonky and does boz eyes at me,  in order to make me smile. ‘Lashes‘ used to go on about how many chicks apparently wanted him, after an argument. And that my dolls, is the difference between the two gents! One wants to make me happy. The other wanted to make me feel jealous. Make sure you choose your partner wisely. I’m happy with what i have and where i am in life. It’s a very exciting time really and i can’t wait for the ‘oochie-ouchie’ labour circus to begin. I’m very lucky.

I’m at work all day tomorrow…dicey time really to be working i know. But i’m a girl who plays with fire. It has often gotten me into trouble. However like my mother says, i’ve done a lot of silly and impulsive things in my life, yet this baby is the best ‘silly..impulsive ‘thing i’ve done. Excited Face. ‘*Does lippy.* I’m bringing  a life into the world. My very own ‘IT’ girl! How marvellous can Wunna Land get! It’s insanity, dipped in glitter. It’s everything I ever wanted.

Okay my lovely licks of lovage. I’m feeling a distinct lack of inspiration right now, due to mind blank, it being midnight and grapes. I hate them in prunets. I want fed to me in jacuzzis, by hot men in togas. I think i need to go to bed…which means i have to do my hair. 🙂  A glamour puss always does her hair before bed.

I’ve had a crazy amount of blog hits today and i pretty much have YOU to thank for that. All i can say is stay tuned? I have a bambino coming into the world rather soon…so life is gonna get ‘kitty cat’ hectic.

Had the best nights sleep ever. It’s been my first ever ‘not have to wake up for anything important’ morning in ages, so i’ve thoroughly enjoyed every moment of my lay in. Then i confidently looked at my reflection in  my Blackberry torch (thinking that i was one hot mama of ‘hubba hubba,’) only to TERRIFY myself completely with dolly *shock.* HAHA. I had no face on and my weave has pretty much made the executive decision to have a mind of it’s own. But not a hot slutty ‘ooh look at me’ mind of it’s own. More of a  ‘Oh no you didn’t’ kinda of anger seemed to be an appropriate lable for this kind of art. (One eyelash was hanging off. 🙂 Therefore i did a quick roll over and ‘big spoon’ on Loverboy..with an ‘I love you.‘ (He replied with a *grunt* and a ‘Can you make me a chai tea latte?’) Then in my ‘Carry On’ movie galore, i cupped my preggo boobies in my own baby monkey hands and with giant sized frilly knickers on and a ‘ooh‘ face of clumsiness. (I enjoy that now my bum is preggo fat. I don’t hide it. I simply decorate it with pink & lemon frils.) I tottered as fast as I could to the bathroom and in 3.4 minutes, managed to groom my entire being back to looking like the delicious Queen of Greatness. I have the routine down now! It all ended with a wink and a wiggle and let me let you my dollies of dip factory, you know you’re a true Glamour Puss, when you’ve somehow ended up with a Kitten in you hand. (The hospital claims that one can take entertainment with them, so they’re not bored during labour. I’m assuming that means I can take kittens, hot greek god-like slaves, Katie Price,  farmyard animals and a couple of the Backstreet boys to sing me lip sync’d love songs? Infact, no! Cut the farmyard animals. I can’t think of anything worse than having my legs in stirrups at ten to two, being told to *push* and seeing the face of a Billy goat gruff. Infact no. I’d rather see a billy goat gruff, than that blond one from the Backstreet boys warbling down the scales, doing  joyous air punches to happy music. Oh whatever…i’ll just take Katie Price. 🙂

I’m really back to my usual naughty self today. I’m filled with a cheeky mischief, that always ends with someone other than myself accidentally crying. 🙂 I’m getting flashbacks of @Wazza giving himself a wedgey at ‘The Counting House’ and then pulling down his pants to perfom a black girl booty dance to the ‘Thong song,’ and i’m having to cross my legs tightly in order for the baby, to refrain from falling out of my vagina. All last night she tried to *urge* her way downwards again. I pretty much spanked my bump and told her not to even THINK about such nonsense, when i didn’t have my face on yet. When will she learn. Then Loverboy turned to me, after I tended to weeing by a litter tray and commited to the most lovely bit of romance by saying ‘I’m really glad i found you. I LOVE being with you. I’m sooo in love. You really are my everything.’ He had totally had the rest of that foiled topped red wine. I loved it. Remind me to buy more. (He’s actually always like that with me. That’s why i keep him around. Lol)

Last night on Twitter i was bantering on about how amazing my baby clothes were from H&M! They do the coolest stuff for newborns. Then @StephenHampton (who won the BFF show in America) tweeted me with a ‘…H&M’s baby clothes are sooo cute! The boy stuff reminds me of my closet just shrunk. haha. Hope you’re good, sexy. xoxo’ I actually said the exact same thing about the girls stuff whilst i was dollying around the place, proving that great minds, who are raised on the telly briefly and totally in the Hilton manner…think alike. I learnt a lot from watching Paris, when she was off camera and around people who were agonizing screaming at her with utter adoration. I loved it. It was eye opening. My mind pressed ‘record button’ and now I have an even greater understanding of how things work and how i want to work. Infact, so far..i’m doing well. Proving that being ‘second best’ (well i was 5th in line BBF) can get you very far. *Purr…wiggle…where’s my tiara* (Hang on let me just finish my bicker with Loverboy about the use of spectacles….He thinks i should have them, due to all of my blogging and reading and texting. I think glasses should only be used when you’re trying to work the  ‘slutty secretary’ look and not really ever for actual sight. Often ‘seeing’ is over-rated. I’m all for seeing what you want to see and making the rest up.)

I’m thumbing through an OK and Heat Magazine whilst i’m writing all this. Not for inspirtaion. ( I mean, I have an entire life of sin to refer back to for that.God i was naughty, doing my 20’s in Hollywood. Yet i will say, i was always ‘bouji’ naughty. Everything was dipped in a champagne glitter of gunge.) Anyway, i’m looking through the mags and realizing that almost every celebrity couple is trying to be the next ‘Katie & Peter.’ Bizarre innit. It’s almost like they don’t think to even be themselves..which would work much better. ‘Katie & Peter’ are, well were ‘Katie & Peter.’ Like ‘The Beckhams’ are ‘The Beckhams.’  The Osbournes are The Osbournes and Katy Perry dipped with Russell..are ‘The Brands.’ What works for them is that they ARE them!! If you attempt to BE just like one of the above couples in a personality or ‘look’ sense, then you’ll always be a filed under ‘just a rubbish version.’ I don’t get why people don’t figure out what’s great about themselves? What’s uniquely raw to them and then totally work it. But ah dee-dummage. The cycle of fame will go on. (May i have a slice please? 🙂 )

Okay, today i have a lovely family Sunday dinner, with Pete’s parents…’The Wattis’ family. I haven’t been for ages due to being a ‘Wunna,’ therefore it’ll be nice to have a bit of beef and carrots with the family that has warmly opened their arms to me. It’s really ace, because everyone at the table is near enough a different race. Pete’s parents are both white, they adopted Pete..(who is half black, half white.) Ruth, their youngest daughter is half white/half Indian. Her boyfriend is James..who’s likes computer games and is white…from Pontefract. Mark their eldest, is half black and half white and he has 2 children…one 3 and one 4. I’m 100% burmese and with a black, white, burmese baby in my belly….and we all love Yorkshire puddings. His parents ever so lovingly adopted 4 children of mixed race, making his family a delicious dabble of yumminess. We’re like the BNP’s nightmare. Lol. The Wunna’s are all just Burmese. We keep it simple and diamond encrusted with pork dumplings.

Anyway, i must totter off and make more tea, before my daily groom. My BBF baby could actually be born on Paris Hiltons birthday. Or even @Wazza’s birthday. Right now according to the experts…(and i do mean medical people, not drunks) my little girl is waaay ahead of herself and on her way out sooner than her due date. Having the birth filmed is gonna be really difficult, because how will they know when i’m going to *pop* and be ready to document all the action? Helllo ‘Baby Diaries!’ We love you ITV2.  I’m sure it’ll all work out. (My eyes kill now.) I’m madly in love with Loverboy. I’m staring at him from the kitchen and my heart couldn’t beat any faster!

YOU LOVE IT!

I woke up at 6.34am, on Thursday January 27th 2011, next to my Petey (aka ‘Loverboy’) who hadn’t slept all night, due to nerves, excitment and a delicious sense of the ‘unknown.’ Now, Pete is a boy who can sleep through a messy orgy, by an erupting volcano. That night he couldn’t sleep and for the first time, in a looong time…even I got a little excited! We quietly looked at each other. It was still dawn. We were naked, happy and on our way to an adventure. We jumped out of bed, he tumbled dried the dress that i wanted to wear and flipping shrunk it. (‘Pete you’ve turned the only dress that I can FIT INTO, into an ass out dress! UGH!!!’) There was mild grumpiness. Then he shrunk my second option. There was more mild grumpiness, as i bronzed my cheeks over the sink in the bathroom and re-thought a ‘dress’ option. (A Glamour puss will always be a problem solver, in a time of panic. Even if she needs to solve ti with bronzing powder..or gin.)

Anyway long story short…half an hour later we BOTH looked ‘clap your hands’ sexy, packed a bag (it’s ace being ‘Preggo’ because you can pack as much as possible and others will always feel obliged to carry it,) then we quick stepped out of the appartment, kissed the kitten and rushed to Pontefract Monkhill station to begin our journey to London where we were asked to film a pre-recorded interview for the BBC, about our backgrounds, life, love, race, ideas, wishes, dreams and most importantly our baby!! I had the most AMAZING DAY, right from the beginning. We first journied to Leeds,with nothing but utter love and laughter in our hearts and with eyes of mischief. Then we boarded our 9.05am train from Leeds to Kings Cross, courteousy of the BBC (thankyou VERY much, we appreciate it deeply,) whilst holding hands with sheer excitement running through our bodies and got comfy in Coach C, filled to the brim with ‘ooh laa.’ (I love holding hands with someone when they feel just as excited as you. It’s kinda like a woozy feeling of ‘adventure‘…an energy that is passed from one body to the other and back again, until you can longer take it. It’s so ‘Wunna.‘)

Okay, so i’m quite well travelled. An indepedant Pussy cat of ‘Everywhere.’ I’ve frolocked all over the world, in hot pink heels and orange, with an infectious ‘Follow me…‘ armed with a cocktail and a fluffy bag of ‘What will be.’ Pete..is an ever gentle and extremely loving Yorkshire man. He hasn’t been on a big train to London since he was a kid. Don’t get me wrong. He adores an adventure. Yet has never had the opportunity to truely tango that delicious path. I’m the perfect kitty cat for anyone who fancies an good clean adventure to grab hands with. You can’t be around me too long without me giving you some kind of tale to tell. (FYI, I adore that about Me. Holla!)

I’ve never felt soo happy on an early morning train ride than i did that morning. Pete’s face was adorable. Like I really felt like i had made his day. I mean, we were sat at a table opposite a disgustingly rude, *grunty* faced man, who kept whispering the words ‘Mutha fucker’ every 3 minutes and i didn’t even care? One look at how happy I had made my ‘Handsome‘ feel, filled me with this weird irrepressible satisfaction. I can’t even describe it for some reason? Just seeing how excited he was to be on a big comfy train, on an adventure to London was bizarrely amazing. He was like a little kid…all excited about walking up to the buffet coach and buying us bacon sandwiches and ordering us coffee and simply just being with me. I’d never felt so in love with him. There’s an innocence about Pete, that I love. But what i love most is the fact that he looks at me, like i’m the girl that has changed his life…and i don’t mean with riches. I mean…simply by loving him. He sees the playful innocence in ME and brings nothing but the best out of ‘Chrissie Wunna.’ (God, i’m filling up just telling you this. Lol. But we’ve saved each others lives. He’s the guy that made me believe in true love again…and that..along with fun…is what makes the world go around, be you in nipple tassles or not! FYI, I’m always in nipple tassles and YOU LOVE IT!)

Okay, so we arrive at Kings Cross at 11.34am. Do our wee’s. Then jump into a taxi to 45 Grange Rd, in Bermondsey, to a home that from the outside you wouldn’t think to look twice at. Yet from the inside is the most marvellous house you have ever laid eyes upon. It truely was divine. A massive delicious, built upward mansion type of warm walled, spiral staircased delight of a home. Lots of doors leading to secret rooms. The house was like a world of it’s own. After being met by Nicola and Andrea, from the BBC, who bought both Pete and I lunch and prepped us for our filmed interview with George Alagiah, over chai tea lattes and bagels. We walked, in the nippy cold back to the home from a trendy cafe and into the home of marvel…where we were to film for the next 3 hours!

We’d already had a great morning. We’d had everyone truely look after us and fuss over us and lets be honest we all love that. I’d been quite confident all day. I’m used to babbling along infront of a camera. Infact, i feel more comfortable babbling on, infront of a camera, than i do in plain old room of of no ‘look at me.’ (TRAGICAL!) Pete was sooo nervous. He couldn’t even eat, talk, breath. You name it. He thought he just couldn’t handle it. (I knew he could! 😉 )

Filmed interviews about your life, can be rather daunting. Well the not knowing what you will be asked. However, like i said, there is NEVER  wrong answer. Your life isn’t a quiz. It’s your LIFE! It’s actually ALL we have. Therefore being given the opportunity to talk about yourself openly, honestly, comedically, or emotionally , for the nation to view….is a wonderful thing. Words are very powerful and anytime i get to pass on my story, views and my knowledge to others, on a rather large scale, i simply deem as WONDERFUL. Pete was handed this opportunity, due to being utterly interesting… and he was terrified. He was scared because he’s not used to opening up, infront of the world and telling his story. He didn’t know what we would be asked and he suffered from the ‘what will they all think of me‘ syndrome. But what Pete has over everyone is the fact that when he interviews…he is extremely REAL. He’s raw. It’s honest. I’m inmy comfort zone during thes moments. Therefore i have time to decorate myself in a tragically comedic manner, in order to at least do the ‘honest, real and raw,’ with laughter.

It comes to the time to film. We’re all chilling in the giant and beautiful fushcia painted dining room, at a gorgeous wooden table, surrounded by these amazing ‘old and new’ works of arty design. There were old fashioned antique pinball slot machines hammered into the wall, amongst very modern knives and art. Loved the fuschia pinked walls. ADORED the 3 glistening chandeliers above us. It even smelt cozy! I’m still feeling all brave and primping my hair do in the giant mirror, whilst everyone ‘awwed‘ at my *bumpy.* (Awww!! Love it!) Pete was pulling a diva over the outfit he wanted to wear. (Lol.) The out of nowhere and from a little stoney staircase Fatima (the producer of the show) and news reader George Alagiah..came sauntering into our fuschia, with happy faces of calm.

I got scared! Hhaha,. Typical really. I was just so nervous and kinda star struck. George is one of those gents, that once you get to know, you can’t help but be in utter ‘awe’ of. He’s amazing. You’d think that a news reader was very stiff and very intimidating. Yet George was the exact opposite. He knew about the both of us already. He had a GREAT cheeky sense of humour. He laughed at my rubbish jokes..was sort of like a brief Father figure to Pete. They had a really immediate relationship with one another. George picked out his shirt for him and they bantered about life and his story, before filming around the giant wooden table…in a really ‘down to earth-known each other for ages’ kind of manner. I really loved it. Infact, I’ve never met anyone that i liked that much, within minutes of knowing them.

Pete..at this point was ridiculously confident and not at all nervous now. He was all *swagga* and really found his ‘brave’ shoes. I was now terrifed. HAHAHAHA. I’M AN IDIOT!! I mean, as soon as George arrived, who Pete is a huge fan of, he felt all at ease, like life was okay. I there, like the a Burmese chub-fest in the corner, in my grey pinny, with a human in my belly, watching the  camera men, lighting people and producers, tell the ‘stand in,‘ where to  sit…in fear of what we were going to be asked!

It finally got to crunch time. We ventured to the kitchen. We got into our positions. George sauntered to his mark..then it was ‘lights, camera, action’ and our interview began! [Breathe Here!] As soon as we began Pete got terrified again. I could feel his arm clutching onto my side in terror. This weirdly made ME feel BRAVE! Lol. Don’t ask? When people are scared around me, i bizarrely feel the need to be super brave in order to make them feel comfortable. the interview began with me. George was amazinnd remarkably sexy! I’m not joking there’s an ‘ooh laa’ about that man when he’s infront of you. A magic.

3 straight hours later of talking about our life, love, background and mainly our baby. (Which we both loved.) I’m not going to tell you what was asked, or what was said. You’ll have to watch and find out. But i WILL  tell you how amazingly positive the whole thing is. We *oozed* love and well dolls,  it’s wonderful. I actually think we  make pretty decent role models for other couples in Britain.

Pete was sooo moving, that he even made the producers choke up and add a whole new section to the show. Yes, there were ‘almost’ teary moments, when Pete talked about his adoption etc… But that’s what makes a good interview and a great interviewer. I remember looking up at Pete and seeing him well up. The whole interview was  so happy, so honest, so real and so positive. It felt amazing and made me realize how much i already LOVE my upcoming daughter…(her birth is truely making babywaves of greatness.) Then Pete and I looked at each other when the whole interview was over and after i told George he was in charge of babysitting our bambino, when she arrives. You can always trust a news reader. Especially one that was maybe going to get flown to South Africa in a couple hours to interview a very poorly Nelson Mandela..after interviewing plain old ‘Chrissie & Peter.’ Lol. I loved that! I laughed and told George over a kitchen counter how amazing his life is and how funny it is to be being interviewed by a man who is just popping off to chitter chatter with  good old ‘Mandela,’ next. A.M.A.Z.I.N.G! How did this all happen??

Long story short. Pete and George had more quality time and compared phones. Then as the crew, producers and Nicola, were thanking us for doing it. George told us to go back to the hotel and have one of those lovely ‘relaxing’ evenings. He was adamant about it. I looked, smiled and said, ‘Don’t be telling Pete that! Last time we relaxed…this (pointed at bump) happened!!!’ We all gave out a hearty Wunna chuckle, then a driver took Pete and i back to our paid for Hotel. Room 508.

We couldn’t even believe what had happened to us. Our love and the birth of our child is being celebrated. It’s amazing! We jumped back onto the comfiest hotel bed ever, tired to contemplate what had just happened…(one of the pillows had a maroon sash buttoned around it, with a label that read ‘Firm’ and the other pillow read ‘soft.‘) Then we freshened up…i mean whatever we’re in London for the night, we might as well have fun. Relaxing, at almost 9 months preggo can wait. 🙂 Then Pete’s big sister Sharon met us at the hotel and we all walked to dinner, to a nearby resturant called ‘The Loft.’ Delicious food. Freezing night. Both Pete and I looked at each other that night in bed and well we had never felt so in love. I think it’s the doing of the adventure together and having the day being asked about our relationship. It really made us feel so close..

To be continued…my burger and fries just arrived!

 

George Alagiah interviewing, Peter Wattis & Chrissie Wunna… and our upcoming baby! 🙂 On your telly very shortly!  Excited! Thankyou BBC very very much! Love it!

 

Holy Moly! I’ve just returned home after a looong day of tottering around Doncaster (the town that birthed Me,) thinking that i may have last minute baby buys to ‘Monkey grabba- Please Pay Here’ much….in my ‘almost’ 9 months victory of pregnancy. (If none of that makes sense. Don’t fret. I’m exhausted. When it doesn’t make sense, you’re truely feeling the glorious spirit of being ‘Chrissie Wunna.‘) *Add lippy here.*

Before I cleverly tell you all about my trip down to London, the BBC filming, the deliciousness of all that went on and the enjoying every moment of life with my Loverboy, between fuschia walls, under chandeliers. Let me invite you into my present and let you know that not only did i NOT have any last minute baby buys to ‘cha-cha’ ching,’ meaning that everything i did purchase was wonderfully wasteful, for a floozy who intends to be saving all her hard earned pennies, for her ‘arriving in 2, maybe 3 weeks’ bambino. But I trekked up town, down town, around town, across town, forwards, backwards and everything in between…ALL ON FOOT and with bags of shopping. I HAD NO HELP!!! Not even my faux fur, made me happy. It only made me hot. (AND in the ‘ooh it’s a bit sweaty‘ sense, instead of the ‘you want me, but you can’t have me-jiggly boobied’ sense .) It’s devastating! *Totally eating grapes, to keep me chilled.*

I’m almost 9 months pregnant and for the first time in a looong time, i’m finally feeling it and actually finally believing that i have been taking things a bit too far. I mean, yeah there’s being active. But fuck that! I’ve been rocketting forward, on all four cyclinders, winking, pouting and pretty much running my motor through life, like there’s no tomorrow. Today is THE DAY, that  i’ve actually *paused* in a moment of utter exhaustion, to the merry point where my kitty cat body, really could NOT take ANY more of my ‘I think i’m invincible’ pokery. I looked around me, in the middle of Doncaster town centre. Breathed. Waved at a few Wunna fans, who I let touch my *bump* and thought, ‘Yeah…i kinda really need a sit down…..a bit of a nestle.’ Now, I can take on ANYTHING..with a Va Voomage that could turn the hardest heart into a mushy melt fest of ‘Love me, Love me Wunna.’ But right now…and at 3 weeks away from being the full 9 months ‘sooo having a baby ‘ pregnant. I think I just need a rest. I’ve worked fulltime, non-stop and in all areas of my life. Maybe i need to realize or just listen to others, when they tell me that I’m not a weaker being, if i simply have a weeks break before i *squeeze* out a my ‘better be little’ baby?

 My feet are swollen. I’m not able to go anywhere without my maternity ‘nappy‘ on. You think i’m just smiling at you. Yet KNOW that i’m probably trickling out puddles of ‘whoopsie’ with every *giggle* I make. (Totally sexy! #BEME.) I really can’t bend too far down, (who would want to anyway?) Or walk up a million flights of steps, with a skip, a wink and a glittery shower of charisma. (Unless, i’m getting paid ofcourse. 🙂 ) My belly has dropped. I’m getting my practice contractions. My mother had both my brother and I when she was 38 weeks pregnant. (I’m 37!) And more than anything…i just need a day of complete rest.

Doncaster was fine today! Once again, everyone stopped me to talk about my *bump.* I love that. I feel the love and support that everyone’s giving me. Hence why i’m marching forward with ‘Mummy‘ strength and a  cheeky smile, in my slanted eyes. My *bumps* getting a lot of positive attention and it’s great because it makes you feel like you’re not going it alone. I’m not going it alone anyway. I have Petey and parents and friends …and hairstylists. 🙂 Yet the outside support, from people who don’t need to care, has been really amazing. It’s the thing that’s made me feel fit and kitty cat invincible. Especially the love, that i’ve had at work! (OMG, i’ve eaten the entire prunet of grapes!! Now on to the rice crackers, i guess? *Sips imaginary absinthe.* )

Now, i don’t want you to think i’m all grumbly and moany. I’m the exact opposite! Really happy, excited and grateful. I’m still filled with that Glamour pussy *joy-joy.* I mean, it’s the most AMAZING time in my life EVER an i’m not at all stupid enough to not ENJOY every moment of it. I’ve lived my whole life celebrating my (often poor) behaviour. Why would i quit now that i’m actually doing things right!!! I’m truely loving it and i couldn’t be any more champagne bubbly. Yeah…my feet hurt. I’ve worn leopard print heels all my life. I get the pain. This IS the BIGGEST thing i HAVE or WILL ever do and i know that i’m a very lucky kitty cat to actually get the bring life into the world. I don’t take any of it for granted. I thank my lucky stars everyday, to be blessed with my ‘arriving anytime innit’ little bambino. 😉

All i’m gonna say is (before i right my blog about the BBC interview..after more rice crackers and more imaganry booze.) You know life is greatness, when you’re almost 9 months pregnant, draaaagging your exhausted booty across a town centre, in your faux fur and giant fake lashes, with an enormous ‘totally looked like a gypo’ black BIN bag in your left hand, filled with a pink- leopard print hospital bag on wheels, whilst picking up three pairs of grandad trousers from a beautiful old fashioned tailors, that seemed to be cranking out ‘Don’t cha’ from it’s stereo system by a bunch of busy market stalls and having a young 7 year old boy, decide to pretend ‘shoot’ you, with a big black ‘made out of balloon’ penis, as you go up an escalator, next to a man that’s telling you to ‘cheer up love.’ (There was a clown in the Frenchgate center today, making balloon animals for the good folk of Doncaster. I guess, it was meant to be a sword? But it sure as hell looked like a giant willy and testicles to me? I mean, even the boy thought it was a penis! He was ‘pretend’ shooting out of it by phone shops and everything!!) I loved the man that wanted me to cheer up. He said it in a gentle loving manner. He sold potted plants for a living and couldn’t bare to see me frown. I think, i snapped out of my ‘gloom’ and got over myself. Then with a giggle shouted.. ‘But i’m on my last legs sir!’ ( I might have ended it with a *wink.* Yet i’m a Glamour puss. It’s what we do…even when preggo. Nearly battered a bunch of teenagers for not letting me sit down though. They can talk about their 17 year old crush and bad hair standing. I’m a preggo with a bin bag. I need to recoup and find my virginity!! )

I then got bored of sitting down, when they let me. Ofcourse…! So i ungracefully staggered…(it wasn’t at all ungraceful, i just want you to feel better about YOUR strut) and bought 2 bags of the most ADORABLE, ‘YOU WILL DIE WHEN YOU SEE IT’ baby clothes from H&M!! They really do commit to being deliciously ‘Chrissie Wunna’ cutsie. Even the boy stuff was cute!!

Anyway everything i purchased had ears attached to it. I told you, my child…who’s already booked her first ‘on the telly’ experience…WILL BE a bear for her initial months on this earth AND plonked in ‘Hello Kitty’ most days..with bows. Lots of ‘too big for her’ bows! Even Pete’s got into the ‘everything must have bows’ thing. He’s worse than I am. He’s ‘Daddy of the Year’ and he’s not even ever drunk! (Well apart from the fact that I can see an almost empty bottle of ‘red’ on the kitchen counter…with foil manipulated over the top of it? He must have got sauced up, during my shopping trip. HAHAHA. I’m that great a preggo. I’ve let him drink through the whole entire thing. That statement may sound weird, but i know plenty of preggo’s who don’t! It’s funny because when you let a boy do whatever he wants. He no longer finds the fun it in anymore and doesn’t!) Can’t wait till i can have a wine! 3 weeks!!! Woohoo!

Today’s the day i pretty much thought my waters were about to break, by the cookie stand at Sainsburys. I’ve been working all day. Minding my own dolly business. Feeling mildly fatigued, due to a 6am wake up call from the little girl that I have living in my belly. (The weirdest shit was happening. Not only was my belly kicking and a screaming….but i actually felt her and once again *URGE* her way down my vagina. Pleasant. I woke up in a cold sweat. I’m in the jolly stage where i’m having nightmares about the whole labour. I tried to roll over to cuddle Pete. But my fattiness wouldn’t let me. UGH!)

Anyway, back to the jibber jabber. Worked all day. Felt great. Got told that i looked like i was about to ‘drop,’ had staplers thrown at my *bump* by gents named Adam and was infromed by a chica who i usually label ‘Barbie’ that it wa probably against the law for me to be working, in the state that i’m in.

After all that and being impressed by a pair of stress testicles, whilst being told my Gwen Stefani ‘harujuku’ perfume Doll, looked like she was sat on a dildo…i then ventured to the supermarket to purchase a little foodie love. (I need my preggo snacks. I’m craving coconut chunks and…well i can’t remember whatelse? But whatever…they never have what i want, when i want it. I ended up buying everyone else snacks..then it happened. I had Tracker bars and grapes in my hand and as i tottered to the ‘Freshly baked goods’ section…i felt like my vagina was about to commit to a watery…but lovely explosion. You have never seen me cross my legs as tight in my life. I daren’t even move.

I finally found the courage to do some creepy, crossed legged waddle to the nearest bathroom…in fear that i might fly into labour infront of everyone…by cookies. However, luckily i had just pissed myself. 🙂 Yep, definitely replusive…but hilarious, when preggo. I’m so sexy now, that i have lost control of my bowels…and by white chocolate cookies.

Long story short. I’m fine. I’m probably about to go on maternity leave…for my own safety. I’ve been at my Mothers rummaging around for old family photos, whilst tumble drying and tripping over kittens. I’ve tending to swearing a lot, and then passin gout on my Mums bed, with my hands on my bare bump, whilst Loverboy went out on the piss for a couple hours with friends.

An hour later he came to pick me up. We then went to his parents home, as HE then rummaged for old family photos. He took ages though. Loverboy’s waaay slower than i am. Lots of daudling goes on in his world. My worlds full of direct feist.

Now we’re both home, i’m in pyjamas, with fake tan dripping off me. I should be in bed. I have to get up early in the morning. (7am.) OUCHY! The BBC have paid for both Pete and I to venture down to London tomorrow to film an interview with them…and it’s an all dayer.

We’ll actually be staying over in London that evening…as filming will take all day. We’re a little nervous. But as long as i don’t wee myself by cookies, we’ll be fine. (Why am i getting a Flashback of being in a Star Trek studio, that had a bed in it..in LA, with a family i didn’t know??? They were Google earthing my home? I stayed over that night?)

Back on Friday afternoon! In London. Love ya Dolls. Bye! x

That’s IT!! I’m am TIRED, infact no…exhausted of being a fatty. This last stage of ‘preggoness’ (even though i am a ‘Preggo-hontas’) is beyond me. I have 4 weeks ‘if that’ left of waddling around like a slaggy looking pig and i’m over it. I’m a true spirited puss of ‘Glamour.’ I don’t do outfits. Outfits do ME! However, now i’m borderline *frump-fest*….and really restricted in my own clothes, let alone my own skin. I feel unhealthy and to make it worse, i don’t have the keys to Loverboy’s pad. If i’m tottering to his, whilst he’s still a working. I have to play this game of ‘hunt’ in order to let myself in. When you’re thin and nimble and agile and kitten like. The game of ‘hunt’ ain’t too tedious. But when you’re almost 10 stone, with a human in your belly, in work clothes, with shopping bags, having to feel up a wheely bin, in order to retrieve a set of keys, IN THE DARK,  that your ‘Handsome’ has cleverly placed in a fricking ‘Loyd Grossman’ bolognese sauce jar. UNDER THE FUCKING COMMUNAL WHEELY BINS!! (Like is he insane?) You really do get a tad bit narked off. I’ve just been scavanging around by bins, in diamante earrings and eyelashes, on my flipping hands and knees, after having to instruct a taxi driver how to find places, in the dark, with a bag of rice cakes in my hand. Now, i’m the most laid back, playful, pussycat of ‘ah nevermind-with a giggle.’ But this has pissed me OFF! Yeah, Pete’s been good to me and all that jazz hands. Yet, sometimes he really is messy minded. Like he doesn’t think! Of all the places, he could’ve hid them and knowing that i’m 8 months pregnant, after a looong day at work. Why on earth would you think to put them there??? He’s said after i called him in anger…‘I didn’t put them too far back..so that you could bend down and reach them!’ WTF!!! He put them under, the lowest thing he could’ve possibly FOUND. I mean, i could’ve dug a human hole in the ground and still not of been able to *bend* my preggo arse far enough under , to *reach* it. I’m not even gonna go on about the fact that i had to peek under bins….because i’ll explode and right now i don’t think it’ll be glitter, that’ll shoot out of my ‘Lady Part.’

Anyway, enough of that. Great day at work. Got the time i needed to rejunvenate. I love the new office and i’m really excited about having a daughter, in a few weeks time. I found ‘floaties’ in my coffee and had people stop traffic for me, in order to cross. (I hate crossing roads. The process terrifies me.) Anyway, the good news is Louisa in the travel dept, of the BBC scheduled and booked Pete and I’s train tickets and overnight hotel stay, for Thursday. We’ll be travelling to London and pretty much going to a certain indoor location to do a big interview. They’ve been kind enough to pay for everything and really take good care of ‘The Preggo.’ (Well the interview is pretty much mainly about my *bump.* Plus our backgrounds, our love, our live and our past.) Therefore i’m excited. Pete’ll be nervous. I’m more nervous of the ‘travel’ part. The interview part is my forte. I could ramble on for England, Africa, Asia and yo’ Mama.

We’ll film the interview all day Thursday and then be staying over at a nearby hotel that night, to travel back to jolly old Yorkshire on Friday morning. I’ve never been in London with Loverboy before? It’ll feel bizarre. I mean, i know London like the back of my hand. I’ve lived there and sinned in every corner of it, with laughter, a wide eyed innocent and sequins. Pete hasn’t ventured to the capital too much. (We’re really different aren’t we?) But he’s up for an adventure always. Yet the fact that our adventures always end up with us being on the telly, terrifies him. Loverboy cares very much about how others percieve him. I don’t. I love being ‘Chrissie Wunna’ and most people who are mildly disturbed by me at the first meet, usually end up liking me in the end. (It’s that old Wunna charm innit.) We’re just people telling our story and that’s what i like to do best. *Wink-Pout.* The funny thing is, that it’s quite a serious interview and i’m not a very serious kinda girl. I’m an ITV2 hoochie, flooze of ‘fun time.’ Therefore, it’ll be hilarious to watch me fall. (Ungracefully…and whilst being overweight for the nation to see! 🙂 )

My bambino is beginning to stir a lot of inside attention. There’s a *buzz* about her. It’s bizarre. All i know, is that out of everything i’ve ever done and i’ve lived Hollywood BIG. This little bit of *bump* is biggest i’ve EVER done and WILL do. It’s also the most magical and the most important thing to me. Do i want it documented. Yeah, sure as hell I do. (Which reminds me, I need to email Nina at ITV2 about the whole ‘Baby Diaries’ thing. Dont let me forget.)

I feel much happier now i’ve blogged it all out. I believe it’s shower time for me! Today, I had a boy call my upstairs phone, whilst he was a downstairs phone…He put on hold, where i heard nothing but lovely soothing music of classique. Then immediately after the music cut off…he came on the line and said..‘Oh and Wunna…You’re FAT!’ HAHAHA. I Loved it. That’s what friends are for! Brought a giggle to my wiggle. UGH! I want my waist line back! If you find it, package it up (with my virginity) and boomerang that bitch, right back at me!

I love you kittens. I’m reading ALL of your messages. My friend Ali has just had her boobs done. I’ve just this second read a Tweet from her to Me, stating that she wants me to hurry up and have my baby, so that my boobs can meet her boobs. I’m sure it’ll be fun. They can have cups of tea and everything and i can teach her how to make them manipluate the weaker being. 🙂 Not that she needs any lessons. (‘Ooh Chrissie look. These are my shoes. I only wear them for sex!’) Lol. God even my face is jumbo now. Loverboy said that he really misses slutty sex with me. But whatever, i just don’t feel sexy right now and fellas when a girl just aint feeling it…you can’t make us reach for the nipple tassles. (Well unless you’re really rich or…. Jack the Ripper?)

Ps/ Loverboy actually said something really lovely to me last night. We were laid in bed at half past midnight, enjoying that peace you have before one of you falls asleep. There was quiet and then he looked at me and said, ‘…it only seems like yesterday, when i remember seeing you in my Mum’s kitchen, in your lemon jogging bottoms & that top you used to wear. You were 4 months pregnant and I felt like we had sooo long to go before we were even nearly there. Now, we’re laid in bed…4 weeks away from being parents. *A Quiet Moment Happened Here.*I guess, what i’m trying to say is….. i love you.’ (I’ve never felt more loved by a boy before. But mainly i’ve never trusted a boy, the way i trust him. I smiled, rolled onto my right and then switched the night stand light off.)

Yep thoroughly freaked myself out now about the whole ‘baby’ thing. It’s not the venturing into jolly old Motherhood that gets my *heebie jeebies* a juicing. It’s more the NOT KNOWING when i’ll burst open from my vagina and have a life, in the form of a little girl ease her way out. It’s the scary ‘loss of control’ thing that files me under ‘Terrified.‘ I’m acting all cool like Fonzi and pretending i’m taking everything in my kitty cat stride. But what if i’m on a train, or at work, or in the middle of the street and she decides to *pop* out? It’ll be like an over flowing flute of champagne, yet fishier. I’m 36 weeks pregnant meaning that at the end of this week, i can apparently have her happily, safely and at any time. Technically, i still have 4 weeks left. But something tells me, that my little Glamour Puss is gonna truely make her ‘Entrance’ shortly and dramatically. (*Looks at Christian Dior clutch-Feels much better.*)

I should really pack my hospital bag. Apparently i have to take music or books…plus all the other important *oogy-whatsits?* I have it all. i do. (Thanx to Mummy.) But I’m packing an ipod and then ‘Confessions of an Heiress’ by Paris Hilton and ‘My Booky Wook 2,’ by Russell Brand. Odd mixture, I know. Yet that pretty much explains me. I’m both in one juicy, slanted eyed package…but ofcourse i’m far less successful. 🙂

I think, i’m gonna go back to being ‘Ignorance is bliss’ Me and just continue pretending like it’s not really going to happen or hurt…in peach? (Y’know happy shades of ‘Bimbo.’) Well, what am i saying? I DO want it to happen. I’m excited to be a mummy. But I just..God i don’t know? (‘Hellooo panic. Nice to meet you. Oh look…you didn’t bring gin! GET OUT!!! ‘) It’s just so weird thinking knowing Pete from school, when we were tiny and now decades later, after everything i’ve been through…life…Hollywood, drama, laughter, pain, adventures..telly…be sitting here having our first ever baby. I mean maybe she won’t come out on time, early or even nearly with lippy on? You just never know. But i guess, i just need to prepared…which reminds me, I must get my eyelashes extended. 🙂 Holla!

Anyway, thankyou for letting me share this moment of utter ‘freak out’ with you. I just need to take a big mental breath and for every mum in the nation to give me advice, that i will no doubt ignore and then panic over. Hopefully, i’ll recieve some GREAT phonecall today. Ones that make you do ‘happy’ dances. I’m really not nervous for the birth at all. I’m just nervous for the not knowing EXACTLY when. I’ve grown so much from an impulsive floozy, to one of thes overly organized business woman of ‘plan much.’ Don’t worry, i’m still fun. But you know when you just want everything to be right, yet you have no control over any of it. That’s the rock i’m floating upon. It’s a fun rock. One where you feel blind and full of ‘pretending everythings fine’ anxiety. (I really want to do Labour dressed as a Cheerleader. But unfortunately, i’m gonna have to fashion crime it with a hospital, worn by everyone ‘ass out’ gown.)

*Panic! Panic! Panic! Tiara needed for comfort.* (Now, if you go back and read this out loud, but in one looong breath…that’s how terrified I feel.) Hurrah!

Welcome to my mind.

My driver’s just dropped me in the middle of nowhere and made me preggo waddle home, in the rain. Now, the preggo waddle home wasn’t too bad. I’m a trooper. I can handle a bit of the old *walk-walk.* Yet i was in peach and peach is not a colour that one galavants out in, at night…in the rain…alone….with a plastic orange Sainsbury’s carrier, coconut chunks, a belly and a crystalized Blackberry Torch. Okay, the crystalized Blackberry Torch…in black…is sexual in the rain. Yet lets face it…you just don’t drop an 8 month  preggo off in the middle of nowehere, when she has baggage, be it emotional or literal and simply because you’re a taxi driver and you no longer know where you’re going. I took it well. All smiles and pretend ‘it’s okay’s.’ I paid. I removed myself from his taxi and then tottered home…in heels. I waddled my way, all the way through the night time streets, across roads, by drunks, up hills, down hills, around slaggy corners. Then down streets, up 4 flights of stairs and there i finally was! Infront of number ’10.’ The door that i was to open and enter, in order to call an end to my day!

Today’s actually been great. I collected my lottery winnings. I enjoyed ‘alone time’ at work. (I never get time alone…not just at work. But in my life in general really.) I tied up loose ends. Got tips on how i can go into labour early. Then swayed off to dream land. The good kind where you day dream about ‘greatness,’ dolloped in your ultimate wishes and dreams. I was clutching neon pink ‘Post-it’ notes, in the shape of *hearts* as i tended to such magic. It was like i was giving myself life memos, on gummy pads. However, then i just wrote ‘DONE’ and whopped it on a pile of paperwork, as i snapped out of my glittery *mist.* (Apparently, my friend Lucy’s aunty swears down, that if you cut the grass with scissors, on your hands and knees, you’ll fall into labour. Then ‘Mummy of the year’ Lisa, told me curry, sex, lavender baths, raspberry leaf tea, castor oil and then scrubbing on your hands and knees will pretty much work. However, then she re-thought, after the word ‘scrubbing’ and sent me an upstairs email ‘Yeah, i just can’t imagine you doing that!!!’) Pete’s showing me blisters on his toes. (Romantic, i know. He’s put blue plasters on them. Niice.) I’m trying to make pre-packaged duck in plum sauce ‘happen‘ in the oven. I’ve apparently already ballsed it all up? God knows how…I just know it has something to do with ‘melting plastic?’ I find cooking really hard. Even when you’ve bought pre-packaged and cooked food. I can’t be bothered with the details of it all.I’m here to nibble and pout. Not to bake fucking cakes and boil porky dumplings. It’s not that i hate doing it, at all. I’d love to be gifted with such a talent. I just don’t seem to have the delicious patience for it. I *zone* out when i’m reading the ‘Directons’ part of the whole bonanza. I get to the words ‘Directions. Oven…..’ Then i’m narked off with it all and just want my eyelashes extended.

[One hour later & a bit of burnt plummed duck.]

Wonderful day on the whole. I’m highly work orientated right now. I can’t seem to get my mind off the ‘money making.’ I don’t know why this happened? Yet i don’t really think it’s a bad thing. Nina at ITV2 called me today. We had a lovely banter, we did, we did. Nina is in total agreement with me, when i say ‘i need to get back on the telly box please.‘ ITV2 are the peeps, who ‘discovered’ Me….in England. Therefore with a little bit of a wink and a whole lot of love. I’m hoping to be back on your telly box shortly. If my due date permits me. Today we were discussing Peaches’ new show and how i need to be on it…with my new bambino. I’m all about my ‘Baby Diaries’ right now…and simply because i’m being rather tragic and hailing from my Queeny throne of ‘Carry on.’ I’m giving birth orange…in giant lashes..a massive Miss.World weave and far too much lippy. I’m gonna be the first thing my baby girl sees. I want her to ‘get it right.’ (It’ll be hilarious trying to breast feed her with my chimp boobs. I’ve heard the breast feeding Nazi’s storm in, try to take control of your nipples. Ouchy! I’m wanting Pete to film everything…so we also have our own personal footage. But he’ll be passed out and not even out of something cool like drunkardness. The sheer fear of being in a hospital let alone watching me *squeeze* life out of my ‘Poppins’ will pretty much do him over. All i’ll be shouting is ‘I NEED MY HEAT MAGAZINE SHOT GODDAMIT!!! GET UP…NOOOOW!’

Other than all that, i’ve been working on my book. Really hoping that I have Valentines Day baby. Drinking tea out of leopard print mugs. Wanting to lose my baby weight, before i’ve even had the baby. Walked through weight lifters to get to my office. Talked to Big Brother Rodrigo. The night we went out drinking around Leeds, was the actual night i fell pregnant. They wouldn’t let him into my hotel room with his friend…due to their being too many drunks. I think he had suggested a comedic late night foursome, in my executive sweet at the ‘Park Plaza.’  (That wasn’t really gonna happen. We were just going to guzzle champagne.) But If that did happen. Pete and I wouldn’t have bonkied and well i wouldn’t be going on about my ‘Baby diaries’ at all! I’d have my face in a glittery gutter, being applauded for my own greatness. Rodrigo put absinthe in my system as i was being all accidentally fertile. My baby was born via booze, partying and reality tv tragicness! Yippppeeee!

After than (whilst we’re speaking ‘Big Brother’) Rex text me just now with a ‘Do you want to come to Runway on Friday for a Virgin records party. I have a table for us and lots of free bottles?’ He’s obviously back to party promoting…which i like. I love Rex…he’s always been good to me…and gets his willy out, whilst giving me rum. He would’ve sent that message to everyone. But regardless, i’m 8 months ‘Preggo.’ As much as i love free booze, Runway and Rex. I’m a ‘no can do.’ I reminded him of my preggo-status and all he replied with, was a ‘ha!’ (I enjoy that the thought of me pregnant humours others deeply. 🙂 )

Loverboy and I are travelling to London this week to do our filmed interview with George Aligayar. It’s about our baby, our love, our life, our races and our background. I think we’re meant to be going on Wednesday night to film Thursday. But our travel arrangements have not yet been completed. Hopefully, it’ll all get sorted in time. Mummyhood is getting really exciting. I’m enjoying the calm whilst it lasts. My day job is really aiding my sanity. I’m loving it because without it…i’d be lost in a glittery whirl of beautiful, unpunctuated madness. It keeps me earthed and safe.

I can’t wait for what life is about to dish out. I’m feeling really lucky and when i feel lucky…the good lord always sprinkles me with diamonds.

 

Thoroughly enjoying the term ‘Rotating showgirl.’ It describes me to a ‘T,’ even though i completely just stole it from ‘Dancing on Ice.‘ (Only the best Glamour Pusses take all the credit for the work of others. I do it quite frequently. Then i *wink* and you all forgive me…well something like that anyway?) Loverboy has run off to grab us a curry from ‘Abduls’ and simply because the sequins and lycra, that ITV have dosed upon us, have gotten the better of our dear sweet natures. I have no idea what I meant by that? Yet again…it works for Me. *Wiggles.* Yay to curry night! We do it every Sunday.

Okay, i’ve spent the entire day with my family, doing last minute baby purchases. After an hour and a half in ‘Mothercare.’..where the customer service is exceptional, might I add! The customer service in the Meadowhall ‘Mama’s & Papa’s’ is extremely shit!!!! They’re like proper chavvy, ‘can’t be arsed to make this experience worth your while whores of orange.‘ I’m the only whore, who’s allowed to be a tinny shade of orange. The only difference is…i’m actually pleasurable. Mothercare…The Doncaster branch, was divine. Every lovely that worked there, made every moment of my breast pad buying experience magical. I loved it. They made both my Mother and I all excited about our next chapter and were nothing but the greatest of help. ( Hang on the curry’s here. I’m gonna have to take a Kitty cat popadom break…)

[A  spicy hour later]

…i’m back. Sooo yeah..my day was spent getting all the important things ready for my upcoming bambino. Thanx to my Mother, who seems to not only be the best future Grandmother the world has ever seen, I now really do have everything. Including breast pads..which are what i’m calling ‘preggo nipple tassles.’ (Woohoo…swing’em bitches!) I’ve decided that i’m going to dress my daughter like a bear for pretty much ALL of her infant life. You really can’t help it. During her toddler years, she’ll be rocking her ‘Spice Girl- slam ya body down’ chic and by the time she’s a teen, she will have totally learnt how a Wunna’s world whirls and i believe the term ‘Mini Me’ will bloom into action…with ‘Purrs.’  (I’ve been really tragic today. I’ve spotted Gucci fur booties, with a matching hat…sprinkled with diamantes and Dollies there is NO WAY in this entire WORLD, that I will NOT be purchasing them for her!!) Now i have everything ready. Only the fun stuff is left to buy and that’s the dignity and the outfits. You’d think with Pete being a boy,  he’d be rubbish at all this ‘dolly‘ marlaky. However luckily dating a flooze like Moi, has truely educated him in my magical world of deliciousness. He’s now worse them I am. Every minute he can get, he’s online picking out appropriate bows for her hair and declining certain shades of pink that he believes just doesn’t make the cut. (But Chrissie it’s just not right?!’ ) Now, am I the Glamour Puss or is he? Am I the one who knows the shades of pink, or am I the boyfriend who just wears pink because my girlfriend wants me to ‘match..goddamit?’ To be honest, I’m very lucky to have such a wonderful ‘Baby daddy.’ He’s been nothing but the perfect amount of help and held the ‘Daddy of the Universe’ trophy way up high. The only sign above me…is neon…and reads, ‘Add Gin.’ (FYI, The food from ‘Abduls’ is to die for.)

It’s been great having a family day with The Wunnas today. We’re all excited for the upcoming bambino and we’re all excited for Me getting back to being the legend that is ‘Chrissie Wunna.‘ I’ve been in hibernation for a while and technically, I still am. But when i’m out and about again…you’ll be holding onto your tiaras and watching your walk, as my leopard print *strut* flies by! I can’t wait. Plus, this time i’ll not only be armed with Chanel..but also with a child attached to mychimp breast It’ll be so terrifying, that you will not even DARE to question it. I can’t wait to reach for my tiara again. Have you noticed how much nicer people are when you have diamonds on your head. Kittens, I’ve learnt the Hilton way, then given it my own inappropriate *twist.* Don’t think i haven’t spent the eveing looking at flat tummies and waist lines with excitement. There is nothing more exciting to an 8 month Preggo, (other than having your baby ofcourse 🙂 ) than the sheer thought of having your waist line back. Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! *Totally redoes her lippy-Pout*

Once again, everyone in town gave my *bump* huge amounts of attention. Every store i waddled into, doing one of those royal, but smiley down to earth faces, that i do, ( it’s in order to let you know that i’m a Queen, yet will still have a giggle and wiggle with you if you let me,) had a good old chitter-chatter to my *bumpy.* Infact, looking at my *bump* made the girl who worked at Waterstones decide she never wanted children ever. LOL. I can’t remember the entire conversation because i was blantantly fantasizing about dry shampoo. However,. i do remember laughing a lot and telling her how excited I was for the ‘aww the baby’s here’ part. Yet the *oochie-ouchie* part I could pass on. (‘Oh honey, you don’t have to pretend that the labour is going to be fine for me. I know it won’t. It’s everything repulsive all at the same time… to screaming and sober.’) We burst into laughter, then i waddled to the elevator with my strawberry volvic water.

I’m weirdly noticing that Loverboy is trying to make me be rather active. He’s making me clean parts of the house, have sex and eat really spicy curries. ALL OF THE TIME! He’s dying for this bambino to be ready for the whole ‘Hello World‘ thing. He thinks he’s being sly. But puleeease…i’m waay ahead of him. (Erm..even though i’ve done the cleaning, walked up flights of stairs, refused sex, but had the spicy curry…AGAIN.) I think he just wants me to *pop* her out, so he can have 2 weeks off work. I’M NOT READY!!! I don’t have the correct eyelashes on yet! 🙂 Work tomorrow! I actually can’t wait. (Aww….Pete’s kitten has just learnt to steal. )