Bafta Schmafta

I haven't been holed up in a Beverley Hills mansion but I have been coughing and spluttering with this flu/consumption/bronchitis/tonsillitis/sinusitis that's been going around. I feel like I've had a sprinkling of each thrown in a blender and then doused over me with a good helping of old-fashioned cold thrown in. But I don't like to moan...

In fact I would have been too ill to attend the Oscars so it's a good job the Lovely Boyfriend's film was only up for a Bafta. Or rather he was, as a producer. Ah yes, the Baftas. I was going to say it seem like a long distant memory now but as I've bored the liver out of everyone I know with tales of how I stalked Mickey Rourke then it's actually quite fresh.

Oh how the other half lives... if you're a nominee you get free this, free that, goody bags, suits, haircuts and the list goes on. The party starts on the night before the ceremony with a nominees party at Asprey the Jewellers. And yes, Sharon Stone and Mickey Rourke do actually turn up. As do Rufus Wainwright, Dev Patel and a host of others. What fun we had discovering our new favourite drink - a cocktail made with Chivas Regal and some other stuff I can barely remember now. This is where I first pounced on Mickey Rourke and declared him the winner of the best actor Bafta. Of course when I was right I had the perfect excuse to pounce on him again on the actual night of the ceremony and remind him of my premonition. By the end of the night he was to be found backing away saying to the LB "you have to live with her"... But what do I care. the photos were taken by then and we'd had our fill of spying on Sharon, Meryl and Goldie. If Daniel Craig had swanned past one more time it was getting boring. Incidentally I'm taller than James Bond. I love that fact.

Despite not winning, we had a blast and think that everyone should get the chance to walk down that red carpet at least once. I even got a big smiley hello from Jonathan Ross... and then he realised he'd clearly mistaken me for someone else. Oh what a night...

The time has come...

It's not every day you can say this so I'm going to capitalise on it I'M OFF TO THE BAFTAS! I've even used the dreaded exclamation mark.

Still no wheat. But one fabulous Vivienne Westwood top and a pair of pink killer heels. What more could a girl need?

I may be reporting back from the Hollywood home of some A lister...