Damage Limitation

There was nothing else for it, this morning I all but ran to Mayfair to place myself into the trusted hands of Nicky Clarke himself, in an effort to repair my shattered self esteem. The star preened, trimmed, sculpted, groomed and consulted. The senior colourist advised, blended, concocted and applied, and I am subsequently renewed, polished and considerably lighter in hair colour and bank balance. God I look stunning!

I popped into Eclipse as I tottered down Park Hall Road on my new Emma Hope wedges this evening, and severely punished James' Black American Express Card for my low morale. I have lost my appetite. I shall look amazing at Ascot this year, waif like - not a 'bingo wing' in sight. I purchased an amazing Gerard Darel strapy dress, and will wear stunning La Perla underwear beneath - deliberately exposing just a hint of expensive lace. My wonderful new Herald and Heart hat should look amazing. I can just about manage Ladies Day this year, James can hold court alone in his silly box. I couldn't give two hoots.

Oh dear. I still feel simply dreadful. Is it too early to open a bottle for the evening? I can't even bear to think of Wimbledon, and late June/early July is usually the hi-light of my entire year...(sniff).