I’m on my way to a body-confidencebuilding photoshoot and, to put it in the most ladylike way possible, I’m bricking it.
Why did I think this was such a brilliant idea? I’m traipsing round the tube, lugging my wheelie suitcase behind me, praying the zip doesn’t burst and shower my fancy frocks and enormous knickers all over the Central line. I was up at the crack of dawn shaving my… legs. Oh, and just to push me over the edge into full-on despair, a stonking great zit resembling Mount Vesuvius has erupted on my chin. I pray this place has industrial strength concealer and inhibition-loosening booze. Me and my new facial squatter are going to need it.