Posh parties, awards ceremonies, and real life...

I've been to a few 'do's this year. In March, it was the Romantic Novelists' Association Awards in London, at a very swish venue indeed. Hosted by Prue Leith and attended by all kinds of literati luminaries, I was lucky enough to not only go along for the fun times, but to win the Contemporary Romance of the Year Award for Summer at the Comfort Food Cafe. And I even saw Ed Sheeran at Euston Station!

In July, it was the HarperCollins Summer Party in the garden of the V&A Museum - a genuinely star-studded event with the likes of David Walliams, Jeremy Paxman, Barbara Taylor-Bradford and even some random members of Blue! The highlight for me was meeting up with all my lovely author friends, and even making some new ones.

Both bashes were very, very glam - which means of course I had a complete 'what-the-hell-am-I-going-to-wear-and-how-do-I-lose-three-stone-in-a-week' type meltdowns. 'Cause, you know, I'm female, and that kind of thing never seems to go away. To put it into less glamorous context, after both parties, I found myself alone in a hotel room, pretty drunk, eating pork pies and Monster Munch that I'd tucked away for later - my London hotel equivalent of getting a kebab on the way home!

The contrast between these kinds of events an real life is astonishing. In real life, I go weeks on end without wearing make-up. I'm often slouching around with no bra on - come on, we all know it's more comfy! I can go days on end without talking to anyone outside my family. I wear crappy clothes, covered in dog hair, and my daily life is dominated by school runs and keeping everyone kitted out with clean pants and PE kits. I worry about money, about my kids, about my health, about the fact that the plug in the bath is clogged up...about everything, in fact. I'm sure I'm not alone in this.

The glamour lasts until the train pulls back into Liverpool - but at least I do occasionally get some glamour! Roll on the Christmas party...