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Scouse bird with a vodka dependency and an acute sense of social observation. Always self deprecating, always blunt. Follow me on twitter WARNING: Non-scousers may not understand language of this blog.
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Friday, 8 March 2013

Under the hammered

Last Saturday night a few friends and I attended a charity ball in aid of the Dental Mavericks at the Hilton as volunteers helping out with running the auction etc. I’d found out Chris Maloney was gonna be there and already I’d envisaged us in a mad scrap like the scene out of Bridget Jones when Colin Firth and Hugh Grant go through a window. I’m not dramatic honest.

Anyway we got there early for the briefing, CM my arch-nemesis came in and started introducing himself to everyone, I made sure I was otherwise engaged tweeting etc. Soz lad, without telling you who I am there’s no way in good conscience I could shake your hand. Besides I might catch gobshite-itis. No one needs a dose of that on a Saturday night.

After all the glam, rich people went in for their dinner, we were sat about in the bar having a couple of drinks and a bit of food while we waited for our cue later on for the auction. Gotta get these people nice and drunk before you hold an auction. Advice I should have heeded. Having not eaten all day, a couple of glasses of wine had gone straight to me head, so it wasn’t the wisest time to head over to ‘just take a look’ at the silent auction of signed photographs. I spotted a signed Audrey Hepburn picture which would look amazing in my make up room alongside Marilyn Monroe & Ingrid Bergman so I thought “Okay, it’s gonna be expensive BUT it’s for charity, and I do love her, and I’ve just paid off my credit card and most importantly, I’m drunk. I’ll bid say £150, everyone’s happy.” I filled in my details for the super posh man who was running it and then he handed me over the bidding card and said “Just put your maximum bid there.” It was only then that I flew into a blind panic when I saw the reserve price was £700. Oh god, I can’t back out now, the man is dead posh and I’m at a posh ball, he’ll know I’m poor and a fraud and he’ll judge me and look on me with pity! I best put £701 and hope all these rich people outbid me. I deffo won’t win. As we all know, alcohol mixes well with most things, except decisions.

I heard no more about it and relieved at my lucky escape I later egged me mate on as she bid up to a grand to go on Rossie’s breakfast show on Radio City but got outbid at the last minute. She’s starting up her own business at the mo and I’m pretty sure she would have been getting divorced if she’d won.

Anyway back to us sitting in the bar. We were perched on a couch thing eating our steak when who should walk past, back from (I assume) a ciggy break but dun dun dun, my arch-nemesis CM. “Oh haven’t you’s got a table?” The shame! No we’re volunteering for charity actually, we’re not loaded or getting paid to be here. My mate told him who I actually was and he just looked at me an went “But WHHHYYY??”

Me: Cos ur horrible.

I then went onto explain the contents of my other blog about CM explaining my beef with him and obviously went into actual details.

He said “Well alls I can do is apologise for my actions, I must have been going through a bad period in my life. But I’m not gonna stand here justifying myself to you.”

“Sound. Best of luck.” And carried on eating my steak. What an anticlimax, I wanted drinks thrown an all sorts. It was like an awkward scene from Desperate Scousewives. Am I convinced? Hmmm not sure. But as far as I’m concerned he apologised for the offence caused to me personally so that’s that.

Other highlights of the night included:
• meeting Atomic Kitten which was more emotional for me mate cos he’s a die hard fan of Kerry Katona, loves the bones of her.
• Wearing a necklace containing John Lennon’s DNA. Felt pretty damn scouse after that.

So anyway, Monday rolled around and I was in work, typing away, minding my own business when I got a phonecall.

“Hi, you attended an event on Saturday night?”
“You’ve won a signed photograph of Audrey Hepburn.”

Oh shit. Fuck. Twat. I burst out laughing down the phone to her and said “Oh my god I am in so much trouble, me fella is gonna kill me” I had to think quickly, I got my diary out and started organising delivery for the day I knew he’d be at work and I’d be home. I’ll just hang it up in the make up room, he’s not very observant, he’ll never even notice. It’s my credit card, I don’t get statements, no one has to die here.

I quickly started googling Audrey Hepburn photos to see how much I could flog it for on ebay…turns out I could maybe actually make a profit on it if I ever decided to sell. In the end I’ve decided to keep it cos I love her loads. I had to break it to me fella this morning and I’ve sold the situation to him by sayin it’s like investing in shares, it’ll increase in value, plus it’s all for charity! He’s not speaking to me now though. Oops.

Could be worse babe, it could’ve been shoes. Again.


Scouse Bird