My (half) naked ambition!

Smiling, I twirled in front of the mirror. The skirt was a perfect fit. Black lace billowed out around me like a mini meringue. Best of all there were no rolls of fat cascading over the waist, and the ballerina style hid my jelly belly under metres of tulle.

'I'll get it,' I thought, triumphant. It wasn't just that it was only £25. In this skirt, I felt smaller than my size 16 without going on a diet or wearing Spanx pants.

But as I slipped out of the skirt, I realised why it was so comfortable. It had an elasticated waist.
I hadn't worn one of those since having my baby two-and-a-half years before. Though thanks to my love of rioja wine and ricotta and spinach cannelloni my bump is now bigger than when I was pregnant.

'Oh well, no one will know,' I thought. 'I'll make sure I wear a top that covers the elasticated waist.' And at least I wouldn't have to worry about my new favourite outfit being too tight after a massive blow out.

So I paid for it and hung it in my wardrobe, ready for its first outing. Less than a week later, I was asked to try out for some freelance work at Sky magazine.

'I need something impressive to wear,' I wailed. Working among so many high-powered men and high-heeled women meant I needed to look smart and steely.

Then I remembered my ballerina skirt. 'That's perfect,' I thought, mentally accessorising it with a black top, giant jewellery and ankle boots.

So I felt super-charged as I marched through the publishing room on my first day, ready to rub (padded) shoulders with media executives. My skirt swished as I strode past the rows of desks towards the Head of Publishing.

I smiled, confident that for once I looked more like a serious journalist than a slummy mummy.
And then – as if in slow motion – I felt a draft and gasped as the elastic in my waistband pinged and my brand new skirt slid to the floor, exposing my giant Bridget Jones-style pants.

My cheeks burned. 'Oh no,' I shrieked as the entire room fell silent and everyone stopped to stare. I wanted to cry, or throw myself out of the nearest window in shame.

But I did what any self-respecting woman standing half-naked in a room full of 50 strangers with her tight gusset hanging out would do. I bent down, picked up my skirt, and gave my biggest grin.

'I'm here about the job,' I said, to a gob-smacked secretary. And do you know what – I got it! I didn't know if it was out of sympathy or because I was game for a laugh, but at least I styled it out. I also learnt a valuable lesson – always carry a safety pin in case I become a fashion disasterista!

My Pet Shame!

His eyes were wide and pleading as he gazed up at me. 'Please can we have a dog?' my eight-year-old son begged. 'I'll take it for walks and let him into my bath.'

I shook my head. 'Not now, love,' I said. 'Me and your dad are too busy.' My son's green eyes filled with tears but he was too brave to cry.

'Maybe later in the year,' I said, knowing I'd put it off then too. It wasn't that I didn't like dogs. I loved them – as long as they were small, fluffy and belonged to someone else.

'Puppies are too much hard work,' I sighed to my husband that night. 'Besides we live in a top floor flat.' What would we do if the dog was suddenly desperate for the loo – put him in the lift with a key fob to let himself in and out of the building? Or bungee-jump him off the balcony?

'He'll just have to wait for a pet,' I decided. 'I don't have the time.'

I was already juggling my son, two-year-old girl, my job and a chef husband. He couldn't help me as he was always run off his feet cooking up a storm.

'Can you pick up some ingredients for me after work?' he asked. 'I want to cook something special tomorrow.'

He'd forgotten to get them and we were expecting eight friends over for dinner the next day.

I scribbled down a long list of what he wanted  - cheese, flour, butter, tarragon, and – eek! - a lobster. I pulled a face.

I'm vegetarian and had never eaten a crustacean. The only thing I wanted in my house that came from a shell was a pearl. Not Larry the lobster who'd have to suffer to make my mates a tasty supper.

'Never mind, it'll be frozen,' I told myself as I drove to the beach front store the next day. 

'I'll just get them to put it in a bag and not think about it.'

So I bounded into the fish shop, eager to get my errand over and done with. 'A lobster please,' I said. 'My husband's ordered it.' 

The man smiled. 'Follow me,' he said, heading towards some water tanks.

Confused, I trailed behind, then froze. There, swimming around blissfully unaware of their fate, were half a dozen live lobsters. 'Pick one,' the shop keeper said.

I swallowed, scared. This wasn't some shopping expedition. I was on lobster death row and had been given the job as judge, jury and executioner. 

How could I choose which ones lived and which one died? 

'The oldest,' I mumbled, horrified. I couldn't kill a baby. 'This one's the biggest.' he said, plunging his hand into the pool and picking up a giant lobster, its pincers already tied.

I shuddered. He was already cuffed, and about to be put to death, ready for my family to scoff. Guilt tore through me.

'I'm so sorry,' I whispered as the man covered the lobster in wet tissue – to keep him alive during the journey!- and handed him to me in a box. 

I was too shocked to speak, so silently paid then carried the lobster, in his cardboard coffin, to my car. 

Carefully, I drove home, avoiding every bump. The lobster's end was going to be bad enough. The least I could do was make his final journey comfortable.

My husband had told me to put the lobster in the fridge, but I'd assumed it would be dead. Now, it was too cruel. So back home, I did what every decent vegetarian would do – and run a bath. Then I placed Larry the lobster in it for his last ever swim.

Just then my husband arrived home with our children. 'Oh look,' my son said, excited, when he spotted me kneeling next to the tub.

I waited for him to talk about how he'd like his supper served – with garlic bread or chips.  Instead he gave me a cuddle. 'Thanks,' he smiled. 'How did you know I wanted a lobster as a pet?' That made both me and his dad very crabby!

Mummy dearest!

Spoil your mum with one of these gorgeous gifts or leave this page open on your screen saver as a giant hint! Gifts clockwise...

The Love Bug Bear £13.50 available at Build-A-Bear Workshops nationwide or www.buildabear.co.uk
Connock London’s Kukui Oil Candle (£36.80, 252g) www.connocklondon.com
Front Cover Cosmetics Rainbow Eyes Reborn £15.75 at Boots nationwide call 0845 070 8090 and www.boots.com
VO5 Heat defence Two-way Rotatable Tong £24.99 available at Tesco online and Boots online
Let's Get Busy Notebook by Mini Moderns £5 www.minimoderns.com
Mad Beauty Rosey Bath Confetti as before
Cream tulip Jewllery Hanger £8.99 from The Range stores nationwide or online www.therange.co.uk
Mad Beauty Glitter Essential Make Up Bag  £4.99  www.madbeauty.com
Godiva chocolates as before

Mum's the word - the ultimate gift guide

Show your mum you care with this fabulous wish list...

Clockwise
POSH Graffiti Mummy Floral sign 5cm £15 www.emilyreadettbayley.com
Dartington perfume bottle £65 www.dartington.co.uk
Sheer Cover eyeshadow and lip pallette – part of an entire set £29.99 www.sheercover.co.uk/beauty
all for eve lipstick in Eve Red £10.50 available www.allforeve.co.uk, Debenhams, John Lewis, Harrods and Harvey Nichols
Rivka gemstone earrings – £38.25 www.qvcuk.com
Elizabeth Arden perfume – part of  Elizabeth Arden Travel Set - 4 x 10ml perfumes RRP £22.50 but £10.60 Dealtastic.co.uk
Mavala nail varnish in 397 Sweet £3.95 available John Lewis and Debenhams
Transformulas Hydration Gold 30ml £55.95 www.transformulas.com or call 08451133888
Chanel Coco Mademoiselle perfume 35ml £55 From www.theperfumeshop.com or The Perfume shop stores nationwide
Spaceform Poppy Love small frame Glass £18 www.spaceform.com 020 7622 2227
Mad Beauty Rosey Bath Confetti  – £3.99  www.madbeauty.com
Godiva Limited Edition Truffles Dessert Collection £24 www.godiva.be or call 0207 734 8113

I'm on a McDiet!

My children were hurtling towards me, their arms outstretched, their blonde curly hair flying.


'Maammmmaaaaaa,' the pair of them screeched, almost knocking me over as they slammed into me.


I laughed, happy they'd waited up as I was working late.


'I couldn't go to bed without giving you a cuddle,' my eight-year-old son said, trying to put his arms around me. They only got as far as round my sides.


I breathed in, while he grappled with my jelly belly. It was no use. Try as he might, his arms just weren't long enough to reach around my rapidly expanding girth. 'Your tummy's fat,' he said, disappointed. 'You'll have to cuddle me instead.'


So I sat down, trying to ignore my fat stomach cascading down. 'Goody,' my two-year-old girl screamed, jumping into my lap. 'A bouncy castle.'


My entire body wobbled as she leapt up and down, giggling. 'Stop that,' my husband chastised her. 'You'll make Mamma sick.'


But it wasn't the sight of my little girl bouncing on my blubber that did that though – it was the sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror that night.


My once-attractive curves were now buried under layers of spare tyres. My stomach alone could keep an entire fleet of Ice Truckers' super-lorries going for three years without a single puncture.


'I have to lose weight,' I wailed. My wardrobe was crammed with never-worn clothes I'd bought to 'diet into.'


I had every size in there from a size 12 to a 16 – and now they were more than a snug fit.
'No more pasta, pizza or red wine for me,' I vowed. My husband pulled a face. He's a chef, and can whip up a three-course meal easier than I can cremate beans on toast.


'Don't be silly, just go to the gym,' he said. But that would mean showing off my fat in all its Lycra-clad glory. I'd have to go down at least two dress sizes before I could venture anywhere near a cross-trainer.


So I told everyone I was off the booze, fizzy drinks chocolate, crisps, rich creamy sauces, roast potatoes and - my favourite – calorie-laden mozzarella cheese.


'Don't tempt me,' I told the children, ordering them to eat their sweets in their bedrooms or when I was out.


I dug out my trainers – with the label still in tact – and picked up a form to join the gym.


'I'll be a new woman soon,' I announced, reading the lists of classes available. Combat aerobics, kick boxing, Boot camp – things had changed during the decades since I'd done a mum's bums and tums class. 


Getting fit sounded like anger management nowadays. Maybe I could cut the rage along with a double chin.


So on Monday morning I was raring to go. My gym kit was ready – all I had to do was drop the kids off at school.


All the way there I silently chanted as I drove. 'I will not eat junk,' I told myself. 'I will get thin.' By the time I'd finished the school run I couldn't think of anything other than food.


'Be good,' I thought as I neared our house. Then I swerved off the road right into a drive-thru. 'An egg McMuffin, three hash browns and an orange juice,' please I told the tannoy. 'And make it quick. I'm on a McDiet.'

Oscar Winner Colin Firth - enough to make a girl stammer!

Twisting my spaghetti on my fork, I glanced up and froze. 'L-l-l-ook,' I managed to gasp to my friend.


There, sitting just four feet away from us, on the next table, was Colin Firth. Mr Darcy himself! Though today he was wearing jeans and a beige jumper instead of britches and a ruffled shirt.

'OMG!' my friend spluttered, pasta flying everywhere. 'Is it really him?'

This was an intimate Italian restaurant. He was within touching distance. Of course, it was him. I could even smell his classic aftershave. And he was so gorgeous it was enough to make a girl stammer.

Feeling brave, I smiled at Colin. He grinned back. My friend looked as if she was going to burst into tears. 'Stop it,' I hissed, desperate to act as if I lunched with A-list stars all the time.

But she had real tears in her eyes now. 'I love him,' she declared, staring doe-eyed and open mouthed at him. Colin was talking to a director-type, probably about his next movie role.

But I couldn't hear over my friend's sighs, and frantic phone calls telling everyone she'd ever met in a stage whisper: 'I'm sitting next to Colin Firth.'

He tried to pretend he hadn't heard her or noticed every other woman in the restaurant staring. None of them touched their food. They were looking at something far tastier - their tongues lolling out. When my friend got out her mobile to take pictures as he tucked into his ice cream, I knew it was time to leave. 'Bye Colin,' she said, standing over him and waving. He politely nodded while I practically dragged her away.

It was only an hour of gazing at the man who's now won an Oscar for his spell-binding performance in The King's Speech but it was enough.

I now know why researchers recently found 50 per cent of women would happily ditch their other half on to go on a date with a celebrity. Luckily I've never seen Mr Darcy dining nearby since or my hubby would be left home alone!

Veg out on holiday while your kids eat 5 a day!

She was unrecognisable. Mashed banana oozed between her fingers and under her nails. Dollops of hoummous hung from her nose, while shredded carrot decorated her hair.

Usually, I'd be reaching for a wet wipe to clean up my two-year-old Anais and she'd be heading for the naughty step for wearing instead of eating her dinner.

But today I smiled as she was given a sticker for being top of the class. 'Well done,' I said as Anais tucked into her 'work' – a hand-decorated rice cake and a courgette and hoummous sandwich.

Both had been carefully crafted without any help from me, thousands of miles away from her nursery. We were in the Los Jameos Playa hotel, in Lanzarote, where kids can learn to eat their five a day while on holiday.

The all-inclusive four star, part of the luxurious Seaside Hotels chain, has joined forces with Mange Tout to develop fun food school classes.

So while I took in the swimming pools, spa and Wellness centre, Anais did arts, crafts, games and songs with Mange Tout founder Lucy Thomas to encourage her to get excited about fruit and vegetables. Yes, I was getting brown, while she was getting healthy!

And, while there's a serious message to the Mange Tout classes -– that all children should eat healthily – former nanny Lucy serves it up with lashings of fun.

First up was explorers class where the children had to guess the name of ordinary and exotic vegetable and how they grew. 'No, carrots don't live on trees,' Lucy smiled at Anais. 'But good try.'

Then they took part in fruity Olympics, where they did kiwi and spoon races instead of the normal egg, and played grapefruit boules. My daughter nearly took a few of the audience out with her throws, but I'm thinking of putting her down for the shot-put in 2024.

Next, was a fascinating game of sink or swim – during which the children had to guess which fruit floated in a bucket of water, and which sank without a trace. Unbelievably, Anais got it right every time – an apple bobs, a carrot sinks, but how did she know? We always have ducks, not fruit and veg, to play with in the bath at home.

Each session was an hour long, and in between the children checked out the kids' swimming pool, the mini club and playground, complete with climbing frame, see-saw, swings and sand.

The hotel is only a short stroll to Puerto del Carmen and alongside Los Pocillos beach, though we had to cross a road to get to it, and it's volcanic sand, so Anais didn't believe it was real.

'Not beach,' she insisted, sticking out her lower lip.

But at two, and already incredibly girly, she did enjoy the boutique shops selling sarongs, necklaces and – result! - dolls along the seafront.

There was just enough time for, ahem, her to have a quick nap before dinner – which was amazing. Everywhere I looked chefs in their whites were grilling, chopping, baking, slicing and cooking delicious food. There were hot and cold starters, a buffet, and every imaginable dish from around the world on offer.

Unfortunately, the all-inclusive also includes wine and so there was plenty of rose, chardonnay and rioja among others for me to wash it all down. Even worse, there was a dessert section bigger than my house back home. I had one of every pudding – so at least I had a work-out the next day, sucking in my last remaining stomach muscle as I sunbathed in a bikini.

Then it was off to the kids' disco, in the hotel's El Belingo nightclub, where Anais threw a few shapes and managed to bag herself a four-year-old boyfriend, called Ned. They were inseparable all evening, but luckily he was at food school too, so they could sit holding hands over the fruit and veg the next day. They even learnt the Celery Hokey Cokey together.

Lucy ignored their budding romance while she read the children The Hungry Caterpillar. They then coloured in pictures of what the caterpillar ate before making their own creature out of courgette and carrot slices. Who would have thought veg on a matchstick (with a grape for the head) could keep a dozen children entertained for so long?

As I sipped a sangria in the sun, Anais and her new friends baked courgette cup cakes (which were surprisingly tasty if a little lop-sided), made their own fruit juice, and painted themselves while attempting to create a butterfly.

They sang, they laughed and they ate lots of fruit and vegetables, all in the shade of palm trees, without realising they were learning to appreciate eating healthily.

The truly amazing thing is that these food classes – which are just as exciting as a normal kids' club, if not more so, are being offered free during half term. The week's activities are worth £250 a child, but the hotel is providing them as part of the normal package deal.

And Anais couldn't get enough of them. Each day I'd ask if she wanted to go and play with Lucy and she couldn't wait. She even happily left the swimming pool, her absolute favourite - to join in the foodie fun.

After class, she'd rush to play tennis on the kids court there,   watch the breathtaking parrots and eagles show and then dance the night away with Ned while I sampled the local cocktails and watched, full and contented.

'More' became Anais' favourite phrase. She wanted more time in the swimming pool, more dancing each night but most importantly more fruit and veg at every meal time. Which parent doesn't want to get their kids to eat their five a day? On this fruity holiday they really do prove it's child's play.

Getting there
The price for October half term for half board accommodation at the Seaside Los Jameos Playa Hotel, including return flights (from Manchester) is from £908 per person (total price for a family, 2 adults, 2 children, is £3,632), on 22 October for 7 nights. This price includes the exclusive Mange Tout sessions. Departures from other UK airports also available.  Contact monarch at www.monarch.co.uk

General: Monarch offers a range of great value holidays, accommodation options, car hire and travel insurance. A week’s stay at the 5 diamond rates Hotel Seaside Los Jameos Playa in Playa de los Pocillos, Lanzarote, starts from £413 per person (based on a family of four sharing on a half board basis) and including Monarch flights from Birmingham, Gatwick, Luton or Manchester.  For further information or to book visit www.monarch.co.uk.