Okay, 8.01 am I stepped off a cold, gray platform, (after getting up at 5.55am) onto a Grand Central train destined to venture me to Kings Cross for around 10.05am. I found myself waiting at the train station half and hour early after insisting that it would take me at least 20 minutes to totter in 10 inch heels, to a Pontefract Monkhill station, which seemed to only be 5 minutes away to others. I began my leopard print, over lippied *totter* (big hair, big lashes, sitll with mild baby weight buldge) at 7.30am. I got there at 7.34am. I’m officially an idiot. Yet i’m cleverly disguised as ‘fucking idiot.’ I mean, yeah I was half an hour early, stood by a guy who insisted on talking to me about churches, (I can’t enter a church without bursting into flames) and in an ‘only twats wear leopard print-even if it’s grey, at 7am’ outfit. However, the hottest bit of dreamy muscle-fest did decided to stand next to me under the lonely platform shelter. Therefore it was all totally worth it. It’s only a tiny station ‘Monkhill’, therefore the hot guy, me and the old church man, were the only ones stood on Platform 2. Unfortunately for us Platfrom 1 was ram packed FILLED with other lovelies, who intended to jolly off to Leeds. They glared at the hot boy, old church man and Floozy in leopard print and wished we didn’t exist. I did what any decent girl would do and lipgloss.
I had a bacon sarnie, a coffee and wished a gentleman really didn’t sit next to me ALL the way to London. I had to do that thing where you deliberately put your giant bag on the seat next to you and look forward and a bit moody, so no-one will dare to sit next to you. (I enjoy how tragic my proceedure of thought is!) Anyway, and ofcourse that certain gent did the polite, ‘is anyone sitting here?’ (UGH! Yes! MY GIANT BAG!!!) Therefore with the most charming and most polite manner of gentleness, I enthusiastically performed the ‘oh nooo, ofcourse you can sit here sir’ (Quickly moved my bag to the floor, like I was some grateful scurrying mouse of pity) that you feel you kinda have to perfomr when forced into such a moment. And there he was….. for two whole hours. My too big for his seat, ‘train buddy.’ I hate it when that happens because i then can’t turn my train table into a beauty parlour or eat my bacon sarnie properly without feeling crammed. You can’t cram a Glamour Puss. I then had to look out the window the whole entire time and simply so he didn’t dare to talk to me. There WERE OTHER seats!! We got to Kings Cross. Busy Much! I ventured into town to find me a little reality tv lurvage.
Okay, i’m dead supersticious and all that pokery therefore I don’t want to jinx it all by telling you all the gossip. But I had a girly giggle with a Blond named Lisa and a girl who found me aimlessly tottering around soho, trying to make sure people didn’t think i give ‘happy endings..’ on any level of the phrase really. Flicked through a few magazines. Talked about the Royal Wedding. Then after squizzing from side to side slowly in an all white office at the head of a conference table with a ‘Hello boys…’ Thompy, Jonathan and I (I’ve worked with them both before on the ‘BBF’ show and ‘Peaches’ and yeah I really do think we make the perfect team of production,) went for a bit of lunch and more talking took place.
Not sure where we ended up, but it was asian lovely and there was sake, as we puzzled and muddled our way through concepts, ideas, stunts, controversy and jungle curry. We went through the ‘how, where’s and why’s’ of the situation a and I think maybe came up with a plan. Regardless I strongly believe in the Wunna Power and that bit of *wiggle-wink* i have, so with a lot of perfect planning, that looks flawlessly accidental, we’ll have a hit! I’m on it and there’s no given in.
Then I think we talked about preggo-porn between mouthfuls, how I apparently ‘always deliver’ (be it babies or reality telly fodder. ) Then we moaned about babies, how hard everything was and how I have a rather uncoventional way of raising my bambino. (Who is a star in the making by the way. Thank GOD! I’m die otherwise. ) We walked back to the office. Talked about M& M’s, massage parlours, broken lifts, cuddled and I left with a task. I guess it’s a process of convincing all the right people to believe in you.
[My mum's trying to put Ruby down for her afternoon nap. However, whenever Ruby drifts off, we label it as her 'giving in'...poor thing. LOL. Then she trumps, wants her accessories..THANK GOD...and i pretend that she misses her Dad. Ruby doesn't miss either of us. I think she can't wait 'til she's older and can move out.]
Anyway, i’ve danced around the reality telly subject quite nicely and therefore now all will go purrfectly. Next week i’m emailing my little piece of ‘wordy genius’ to Thompy for examination. If you believe hard enough everyone just goes along with it, coz they can’t be arsed to think. We’re gonna make a HIT! I’m determind to. Y’know when you’re just onto a winner. I’m one that bus. (I have great boobs today.)
Ah shit, i forgot Pete’s gonna come home all moody today and ignore me for being evil to him earlier and I don’t even have wine. Great! Why do I always get myself into these dramatical moments of tragedy? Every girl knows…check there’s bought boozer first, before you start winding him up!