Over the last few days, I have been mostly decorating. My boudoir has been in bad need of a make-over for some time, what with the bumpy walls, flaky radiator and much abused carpet that has, over the years, generously soaked up all sorts of spillages from red wine to red nail varnish. My odd-job man du jour is Tyrone – a cheery type who drinks Tick Tock and throws in the odd bit of jazz-funkateering in between nailing down my wayward toilet bowl (fat people are now welcome to come over and evacuate with impunity) and filling my cracks. I am Tyrone’s ‘decorator’s mate’ but apparently, if this was the real world, I would have been kicked off the job by now for aggressive rollering and my inability to paint in a straight line. Tyrone says this is the first time he has ever gone home from a job with paint on the inside of his underpants – and apparently it’s my fault. I protested vigorously at this but later, I did notice a ladybird in the back garden sporting a sage green, matt vinyl head. My slapdash technique in skirting board sandpapering has also led me to spray blood up Tyrone’s freshly painted wall – good job I’m not a hand model. Continuing on a make-over theme, this morning, I had my Supernova Hydrating Matis Facial – 45 minutes of lying flat on my back in a room the size of a coffin while some eejit with a diploma in nonsense slaps pungent ungents all over my face then massages them into my upper bosoms (funny sort of ‘facial’ if you ask me). The highlight of the treatment was when she put the kettle on and steamed me wide open. I’ve never been so clean!