I imagine you're all desperate to know how the election campaign is rolling along for this Cocktail Girl? Well, last night, when apparently I should have been watching TB sweat profusely on Question Time (really Mr Blair, some Botox in the armpits could make all the difference!) I drank martinis in a v fashionable bar in the company of a delicious celebrity of some note, who is quite clearly teetering on the verge of falling insanely in love with me - which I call a far more useful deployment of my time. Really, I'm not at sure that cocktails and politics mix.
Fans of the Cocktail Girl will remember I briefly considered launching myself into the political arena, before realising that that sort of thing is dreadfully ageing and offers remarkably little in the way of opportunities to wear full length Swarovski crystal encrusted gowns slashed decadently high, to reveal matching knickers. Admittedly, I had a moment with my local Conservative candidate, who buzzed at the entry phone on The Haven (my West London pied a terre) late last week. 'You want to talk to me about WHAT? Darling, you ARE funny!' I said, before asking him if he'd be a love and pop over the road to Mr Pinky's corner shop and buy me some Neurofen and ciggies. (He wouldn't.) And I briefly mistook an early episode of Newsnight's The Student House for Big Brother 6. (I still think a live feed from their shower could have pepped the whole thing up enormously.) But really, that's pretty much that. And until certain wives start giving serious thought to the kind of fashion non-statements they're making (can we say 'Jackie Kennedy,' ladies?) it looks very much like it'll be staying that way. Apathy's this season's black, no?
