Glammed up for a swanky do at Tower Bridge the other night. All low-cut red frock and big smile, about right for the location which happens to have one of the best views of London.
Naturellement, I was snapped by the paparazzi - but when I look at the pics what's this? Lots of guys in grey suits! Get to page four before even a glance at moi. Surely something wrong? I thought myself the rose among thorns, even if a bit past first bloom, but really!
Some of the boys were very pretty, but many were hardly what you might term, stiff competition. One featured very regularly, so I pointed him out to teenage son who remarked: "That's Beckham isn't it?" WHAT!!! I could've had my pic taken with the best looking bloke on the planet - and muffed it! Nooo, this could not be happening!
Thankfully it wasn't. He was a looky-likey. A paid jobsworth like me. Phew! Even I can pass on that one. Need to sharpen up or wear specs or Johnnie D may be in the room and I will fail to schmooze. I would never, never, get over it.
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