Office Party

Tonight after work, the girls and I trotted off to Claridges Bar for drinks, in order to get the festive season under way. My new androgynous Norwegian au pair is more than capable of marching the munchkins up the stairs to bed. I kissed their sweet noses when they were snoring in their beds upon my return tonight.

I love Claridges, their Christmas tree is divine, and there is nothing nicer than a bottle of Dom on my generous expenses account to launch the festive season. The totty out on the town at the moment are virtually skeletal - bless them, they appear almost frail from hunger. It was like an advertisement for 'Save the Children'. I do envy their eastern European accents, bee stung lips and flawless pale young skin though. They lounged around the bar, indifferent to the delights of the complementary nibbles on offer, what is all that about, size zero? It really is not that attractive. I just adore those cheese puff straw thingumabobs, and their spiced cashews are to die for. The olives are the size of plums - I kid you not. If only I had been feeling well enough to graze on them...pah!

I love the way the chap in the black jacket always procures a table from no-where for us, even when the place seems 'as full as an egg' as my brother-in-law would say. Oh the joys of a company credit card behind the bar. That commands attention from the bar staff - a nice touch.

Liza has just been to New York shopping with her man, and was sporting (as usual) a pair of amazing new Laboutin heels - 'they are not available in this country yet sweetie', poker straight ebony hair and smokey eyed Nars make-up. How does she always, always, always manage to look so demure? I can't ever manage 'demure', but I am a natural at 'matronly'.

Lydia has the elegance of a sleek Siamese cat, decades of ballet lessons ensure that she can even blow her nose gracefully, and Trudie? She is the most cultured woman I know, opera music always playing in her office, fresh coffee in the Alessi cafetiere on her desk, while she checks out her shares online.

Even though I continue to waste away, and am currently bordering on slim, I still manage to look like a sack of potatoes - but substantially less well groomed. My Boden attire is more 'mumsey' than glamorous. If I wear even a slight touch of glitter eye pencil I look like 'Cilla' from Coronation Street. The catalogue shopping just has to stop.

I am thoroughly depressed. I think I shall cancel the expensive public schools and find myself a personal shopper at Selfridges, and a personal trainer at the Hurlingham. Full-steam ahead for the Dulwich Village Infants; Court Lane Gardens here we come.

I am so looking forward to the new year. I shall never look matronly again!