The horrendous Christmas photoshoot

If you've read my blog lately gorgeous people then you'd have known I had a photoshoot yesterday. This was in my own home *horror* and had a Christmas theme because the magazines are all doing their Christmas issues at the moment. I know darlings, in July. Incredible isn't it?

So you might know that first of all my curtains and sofas got temporarily replaced. With something exciting? No. Just cream sofas and some burgundy velvet stuff for the windows. Then at 7am yesterday the photographer turned up with his assistant and lugged in huge amounts of equipment. Then the stylists turned up with suitcases of clothes, boxes of Christmas decorations and food and an enormous Christmas tree. A fake Christmas tree. I don't suppose anywhere has real Christmas trees ready at this time of year.

My poor home was unrecognisable as this team of people trudged through it setting everything up to look like Christmas. Then the stylist and make-up assistant started making me look like Christmas. I didn't like my Christmas look one little bit darling. The stylist had me in a scarlet cardigan. It wasn't even designer. After we'd done the shoot in the living room I looked at the pictures, "You've made me look like Lorraine Kelly," I seethed. I demanded a re-style but they wouldn't relent. They were on a one-day shoot and there was no time.

Then the caterers turned up and dropped a mozzarella and sundried tomato tart in the hallway as they came in. The photographer's assistant managed to step in it, "Sorry I just trod some flan into your carpet." Flan? Who says flan these days?

A large already cooked turkey was left in the kitchen for the Christmas feast shoot. No one had banked on Dolce our labradoodle getting hold of it. The food stylist nearly collapsed on my kitchen floor when he saw what had happened. There were actually tears in his eyes. After some work the turkey became a turkey crown although I think everyone was agreed it was not a classy look.

To be honest darlings, it got too much for me. My make-up was over the top because apparently you pile more on at Christmas, it aged me. My cardigan was depressing me and I was quite pleased when Tulip wiped her nose on it during a quick cuddle. I thought this meant I could finally take it off. "Don't worry about the snail trails, we'll photoshop them out," said the picture editor. Damn.

I took a brief break on my terrace to have a much needed cigarette. The lovely terrace which has a row of bay trees in terracotta pots along it. As I lit my cigarette and took a deep drag, something caught my eye. The photographer's assistant. Peeing into one of my bay tree pots. "Oi! What are you doing? That was a present from Alan Titchmarsh!" I screamed. He mumbled something about none of the toilets being free. I carried on screaming at him, probably something along the lines of what would he have done if he had needed a shit, etc. The photographer ran out and tried to calm things down.

By this point I wanted everyone out of my house. I ripped the scarlet Lorraine Kelly cardigan off and threw it at the Christmas tree. I ranted and raged for ten minutes. Then when I calmed down I put the cardigan back on, they re-did my make-up and hair and we shot the glass of champagne and fireplace pictures. After all, I am a professional darlings.

In the end it was as stressful as real Christmas. And I really can't be doing with two Christmases a year. Next time a magazine wants me for a Christmas issue I'll be otherwise engaged. Unless they pay me seven figures.