Darlings. I’ve abandoned you. But there is a reason for this, quite a sensible one, I’m sure you’ll agree. I decided that to fully live up to my moniker of Ms Shelebridee I had to start acting more like one. I was inspired. And it’s all Mariah Carey’s fault.

I realised that to be a real star I must stop – absolutely stop – actually doing anything at all. Just like her. I wanted an entourage. Entourage equals power, and that, darlings, is something that’s been severely lacking in Ms Shelebridee’s life for a while now. I wanted to be my own very mini-Mariah, right here in my own little corner of West London.

But it didn’t work. It was the tooth-brushing that did it.

I had recruited Gay Boy Number One as my assistant in this noble aim. Ms Shelebridee couldn’t quite afford any new staff, but luckily he thought this would be fantastic fun. So he carried me down the stairs at The Cow in Notting Hill which got us a few raised eyebrows, and he spoke on my behalf during a shopping trip down Sloane Street, while insisting no-one actually look me in the eye. GBNO even guided me around Waitrose and carried all my shopping home, but when I broached the subject of tooth-brushing, the Tiffany rattle was thrown out of the designer buggy.

No matter how much I stamped my feet and tossed my professionally blow-dried hair GBNO refused to brush my teeth for me. Even after I told him that Mariah Carey probably had her teeth brushed, he wouldn’t budge. While he said he’d brush Mariah’s teeth – mine, apparently, aren’t quite the same thing.

Truly, truly hurt I was. I even managed to ruin my new blow-dry. GBNO and I haven’t rowed like that since I said the Sticky and Sweet tour was boring. But true stardom is dependent on such frivolity. If he wouldn’t brush my teeth then the whole noble project had to be sent straight to the recycling bin. Mariah just wouldn’t approve if we tried to do this by halves. Sigh. Maybe in my next life I can develop a true entourage, without having to put up with Gay Boy Number One’s petulance. And if thinks he’s going to be my plus one to the Strictly Final, he’s got another thing coming.

Tags: mariah carey, ms shelebridee, teeth

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

Turns out that it was’t actually, well, you know, it.

More a case of, This Isn’t It but here’s a little something to keep them all in a glove-brandishing, tear-stained collective catharsis for just that little bit longer. But of course, ‘It’ is for the fans and that gives us all licence to speak entirely in vapid cliche for, like, ever.

Those of us fortunate enough to have been invited to the premiere weren’t just given the usual run-of-the-mill chance to get all spangled up to watch a movie; no, we were there to offer support. Now this, I’m sure you will agree, is infinitely more promising.

And challenging. It’s saying something by dressing up and turning up. A whole new perspective. So totally my kind of night.

And you can imagine the conundrum. For us. Showing Support. I mean, the smile-to-pout ratio had to be seriously calculated beforehand. But what to wear? Now that really is it, so to speak.

I think I just about managed to get the balance right. I had a few throw-back eighties touches to a largely black-on-black outfit. The dress said demure, not wanting too much attention on myself, while highlighting my frankly fantastic breasts. While I did smile I think I also managed to pull off thoughtful and maybe even hints of sadness, but not too sad.

I need the fans to know I appreciate, I really do, the chance to publicly show support.

They looked so happy. The fans. Delirious. Like we were all part of something. Together. It was almost emotional. See what I mean about the vapid cliche? It’s impossible to entirely throw off its cashmere-padded shackles.

What’s that? What did I think of the film? Oh I didn’t stick around for that.

Tags: film, MJ, ms shelebridee