I've had a little bit of an accident

I haven’t got round to blogging about my stressful incident last week. Darlings, I was in a car crash. Shocking isn’t it? Don’t worry though, I’m okay.


For my last birthday Rock Star bought me a Range Rover. Don’t got me wrong, I love it but it’s huge sweetie. And sometimes when you’re driving a huge car it’s hard to judge how big it is. Most of the time I have a driver but now and again I like to drive myself somewhere.

Last week I drove Jagger down to Pineapple Dance Studios and watched his class. He was so wonderful I cried. Then it was time to drive back again and I was almost home when I had my crash. On my street the cars have to double park and it’s quite narrow driving through.

I was just chatting to Jagger about what a sweetie Louie Spence is when I saw my friend, S, driving towards me in her Jag. I’ll do anything for a friend, darling, so I decided to back into a space I’d just passed.

Well I don’t know what happened next. But suddenly a wall appeared, there was a terrible crunching noise and the tyres seemed to be driving over something. Well I started screaming, S started screaming and then the owner of the house came out and started screaming too. Mayhem sweetie.

I can’t begin to repeat what the owner of the house and garden wall said to me. Completely foul language darlings. And her biggest claim to fame was being on Strictly Come Dancing a number of years ago. I was shocked she could speak to me and S like that. So I’m like, “Darling, your wall pokes out more than the others so it was bound to get in the way of a car before long and no I’m not paying for it you **** **** of a **** ****.” I don’t like swearing in front of my children but on this occasion it was necessary. Then Jagger joined in the swearing and I had to clip him round the ear.

So my Range Rover has a dent in it sweetie. The garage is charging £450 to fix it. I don’t even want to think about the gorgeous shoes I could buy for that.

How do you cope when your star has faded?

My gorgeous Rock Star is sad. He's sad most of the time darlings. It's because he was once someone who he's not any more. Yes he was an 80s pop star. He had it all. He was in a band, he was followed around by girls, he travelled the world, he had money in the bank and he could do what he wanted.

Then it turned a bit sour. Drink and drug problems, the band split and there was a court case over royalties (which he lost). Rock Star had to pay a big price for his 80s lifestyle.

But then he met me darlings! And my beautiful children Leaf and Jagger. And we went on to have two more: Gabriel and Tulip. We've had some happy times together.

Lately I've noticed Rock Star becoming distracted. He's forgetting simple things and I think he's having a sneaky drink here and there. I can see a dullness in his eyes. He talks a lot of the old days, of when he was somebody. And he's not that person any more. How do you cope when you've been so successful and you know you can't achieve that any more? That other people now have the success you once had? That you're on the pile of forgotten 80s pop stars?

I've told Rock Star he needs to find some inner fulfilment. But that doesn't work for him. He replies that Jon Bon Jovi is still popular so why can't he be?

I have no answer.

Lifestyle tips for busy mums: shopping

I hope you're ready for another instalment of my Lifestyle Tips sweet darlings. This week I'm discussing shopping. Clothes shopping and shoe shopping to be precise. I don't do any other shopping. Apart from buying a bit of art now and again.

DON'T shop with children. They wipe their greasy faces on Marc Jacobs shift dresses, pick diamantes off Jimmy Choo slingbacks and squirt Fruit Shoot on the floors of designer boutiques resulting in WAGs taking nasty tumbles. I've seen it happen sweetie. Leave children with the nanny.

Make sure shop assistants help you out. That's what they're there for. It's no use them gossiping about X Factor at the till while you're in the changing room needing to try on a different size. You're spending a huge amount of money in their shop so they should be running around for you. If the shop is likely to be busy, it may be worth phoning ahead to ask if they'll close it to other people for you.

Shopping can be exhausting darlings. Ensure you schedule in some regular breaks in gorgeous little coffee shops or find somewhere exquisite for lunch. Arrange to meet friends so you can show them what you bought. One of my favourite things about shopping is showing off my haul to a close girlfriend! Just love it sweetie.

And having written this I'm now itching to get down to Sloane Street as soon as the shops open tomorrow. I do hope you busy mums have found my tips helpful. Ciao for now lovelies! xxx

Photo

The nanny's on holiday but I'm coping

My nanny went on holiday on Tuesday darlings. Such a strange day to go on holiday isn't it? A Tuesday. Anyways. Having resigned myself to no longer having a night nanny I decided I would risk it and be nanny-free for a week. I read blogs written by so many women who do this mummy stuff all by themselves. Hats off to you sweeties. Amazing stuff.

So on Tuesday I got the children up and gave them breakfast and Gabriel threw his bowl of Cheerios on the floor and I had to go outside to have a cigarette and calm down. Then I bribed them with biscuits and put them in front of the telly. My wonderfully gorgeous friend K (actress and organic farmer) rang and invited me to lunch and said her nanny could have my kids too for the day. Problem solved! So we had a lurrrvely long lunch and a sneaky little shopping expedition.

The evening was hard though. Somehow the nanny gets Gabriel and Tulip in bed by 7pm. But by 9pm they were still wide awake and Gabriel managed to cause some serious damage to our fireplace with his Ninky Nonk. Now it won't flame properly (this is the one we have). Rock Star went into one of his rages and had to be pushed out onto the terrace while I got the children to bed. Stress darlings.

Yesterday I was tired so I got an agency nanny in for the day. She took the children to London Zoo and I lay in bed with a migraine. Motherhood is hard work. But today I'm up early, raring to go and I've had lots of espressos. I will take the children out myself today darlings. Even if it kills me. That's a sacrifice for you. Mwah.

Lifestyle tips for busy mums: air travel

Oh dear darlings, I've been a bit remiss with my Lifestyle Tips series. I don't believe I wrote one last week. So apologies to those of you who were waiting for my next piece of thoughtful advice. Your wait's over - here it is!

This piece of advice is inspired by my recent trip to New York. Air travel is a necessary part of modern life, it has to be endured sweetie. Flying with children is hard work. It's bad enough being confined with children in the space of your own home, but being stuck in a pressurised metal tube 30,000 feet in the air with children can be torture darlings. Here are my tips:

• Although it can be tempting to watch the pennies and fly economy, believe me sweetie it's worth every extra penny to fly business class. More space is a godsend. Just a few extra quid and you make life so much easier for yourself
• Take someone with you to watch the children. You need a break: time to watch a film, enjoy a drink, read a magazine or get a bit of shut-eye. Taking your nanny is an extra cost because you have to pay for her ticket and time, but it's worth it so she can keep an eye on the children while you enjoy your flight
• A beauty bag in your hand luggage will help keep you refreshed on the flight. Personally I never fly without my Clarins Blue Orchid Oil. Make sure each bottle is under that amount of fluid you're allowed to take in your handluggage. Having your limited edition Commes des Garcons Daphne perfume confiscated from your vintage Louis Vuitton by a gruff, hairy airport security woman is painful darlings.

Well I hope you busy mums find this useful. Until next time gorgeous people! Ciao Ciao x

Did I tell you I have a book deal? Introducing my book

I've been so busy the past few days and that's because I've had endless meetings with my ghost writer. I'm writing a book you see darlings and this ghost writer is helping me. As far as I'm concerned I don't need a ghost writer, I'm fully capable of writing it all myself. But I'm a busy lady and apparently the publisher wants this ghost writing woman to do it.

I can't concentrate when I'm meeting with ghost woman. I hate to say it sweetie but she's scruffy. There she is at my kitchen table talking about plotlines and all I can think about are her split ends which need trimming and the gorgeous acrylic nails she could cover up her bitten stumps with. And so little make-up. A woman of her age needs to make an effort. Make-up free at 19 is passable, at 29 it's dodgy and at 39 it's fatal. Don't even get me started on no make-up at 49 and beyond.

I've given ghost woman numerous make overs in my head during our sessions. Maybe I should be a stylist instead of a writer?

I know you're just desperate to know what my book's about so here's a taster sweetie. It's fiction but loosely based on aspects of my life: "Fi Fi is a beautiful actress with a terrible secret. She's torn between two men she truly loves: Fabio the singer and Benjamin the actor. Fi Fi has to navigate her way through the celebrity world never really knowing if anyone is who they claim to be. And there's a wealthy media mogul who seems to have it in for her. As she battles with negative media exposure, her lovers, a shoe addiction and Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Fi Fi embarks on a path into her past which yields up a tragic family story which changes her life forever."

This is the blurb I've written myself. I don't need a scruffy ghost woman do I darlings?

I have to wear sensible shoes and it's the dog's fault

Well my lovelies I don't think I got round to explaining what happened to my dog while I was in New York. He went walkabout and no one seemed to notice he was missing for the first couple of days. Rock Star and Jagger made some half-hearted attempts to find him but it was down to me, when I was jetlagged, to finally track him down.

My dog is called Dolce and he's a labradoodle, I may have mentioned this before. He's gorgeous and cuddly and very stupid. Just like Rock Star really. I go for a certain type darlings. To cut an extremely long boring story short, I found Dolce living at the house of a former soap actor in a neighbouring street. The former soap actor seemed to be under the impression Jagger had loaned Dolce to him. I don't understand why. Anyway this former soap actor has been acting quite strangely ever since he was (prematurely in his view) written out of his soap. And because his character died there's no prospect of returning. Pesonally I think he's having a bit of a breakdown about it. But there was still no need to nick our dog.

It's quite clear Dolce doesn't consider me to be the one in charge. He doesn't think anyone's in charge and this is part of his problem according to my Dog Psychotherapist. She's suggested I start walking him myself instead of employing a dog walker. I really don't have the time, but I guess I'll do it if Dolce then realises I'm his pack leader.

But taking a dog for a walk means going for a proper walk. I don't have any shoes I can schlep around Primrose Hill in. So I've had to borrow the nanny's troggy Ugg boots. They're two sizes too big and I've had to disguise myself while wearing them because if any paps get a picture of me wearing them the papers would have a field day.

And I didn't realise stupid Ugg boots aren't waterproof. So I marched through a few puddles after we'd had those storms the other day and now they're ruined. The nanny was in tears. I gave her twenty quid to buy some new ones and she cried even more. Do you know why? The frigging ugly things cost 160 quid that's why! 160 quid!

Don't worry darlings, I've given her 160 quid. So hopefully she'll be happy again. But my sensible shoe problem remains unsolved. A friend has suggested Birkenstocks. I made a sign of the cross and ran away. I couldn't do it to myself, just couldn't do it sweetie.

Photo credit