My life is so completely and utterly unfair. I am supposed to lead this life of blatant excess, big hair and good shoes and yet I am reduced to sitting here – on my sofa by myself on a weekend night – seething. There is no better word for it. Seething because, try as I might, I cannot tear myself away. I am an addict. I want to switch off and go out; show off the new, subtle Botox injections I had last week but nothing works. Nothing.

It is mesmerising. There can be no doubt about that. The drama, the fever pitch of expectation, the knife-edge of excitement. And when it happens – when I see it in all its robust glory – I get a rush. My breathing is shallow and my heart races. I can’t help it.

I’m supposed to be working my way through a list of books that will hopefully make me sound more intelligent at social gatherings, but I cannot wrench myself away from this. I’m even turning down invites, which may be a crass admission, and no-one really turns down a good invite even though they might pretend to. Dinner at Scott’s, a little private launch for a new member’s bar in Chelsea and some art gallery thing were all discarded just so I could satiate the horror of this pure, unadulterated addiction.

And now the withdrawal symptoms start. I start wondering and contemplating, my mind a tormented mass of tangled possibilities. I want to know what will happen next. Not even going through the magazines during my weekly pedicure was enough. I’m counting the days, the hours, the minutes….

I just can’t get enough of the glossiness of it. The way it bounces.

I actually think I would kill to have Cheryl Cole’s hair.

I can’t believe there’s a whole television show built up around it. Well, she is worth it.

Tags: cheryl cole, ms shelebridee