The bad news is the ceremony will be held at The Dorchester in October. October! Four weeks today to be precise.
I have been googling ‘Drop A Tonne of Weight in 28 Days’, but short of swallowing a tapeworm, I’ve resigned myself to looking more like Bella Emberg from the Roly Polys (see left) than Cara Delevingne’s frumpy cousin.
Steroids, fatigue and a complete sense of inertia have conspired to pack on the weight over the last two years. I hold my hands up (hang on, let me just put my Cheezy Puffs down), it’s my fault too. When your whole world is falling apart, what’s a box or two of Maltesers going to add to it? And that lovely creamy Greek yoghurt with added honey just sweetens the bitter pill.
The phrase ‘I have nothing to wear’ has never been more apt. Problem number one – flat shoes – how to look suitably glamorous in them? Even if I could squeeze myself into a beguiling little cocktail number, surely the effect would be ruined without even a tiny heel?
A friend helpfully suggested I should forget all about wearing a dress and choose a smart trouser suit instead. And invest in a head-to-toe Spanx bodysuit. And have one of those miracle weight-loss treatments three hours before, where you get wrapped up in clingfilm and covered in towels. Hmm. I would quite possibly faint from MS heat intolerance and spend the ceremony lying comatose across three chairs in the nearest A&E.
Problem number two – how to look glam in a trouser suit without looking like I’m going to a job interview? Problem number three – how to not stumble/drop food down myself/smash a glass during the event. Do you think they’d mind if I took one of my plastic wine glasses along? And a bib?
You can see why I’m a bit worried. And not only that, when I asked The Teenager what he’d be wearing, he mumbled, ‘hoodie, innit, but don’t stress, I’ll wear my smart trainers’. Ye gods.