SATURDAY NIGHT...

The nights are drawing in and the pages of the calendar will soon turn from green to gold but there's Strictly! X Factor! Thai Sweet Chilli Flavoured crisps and dips! Sofa! Heaven!

Now that the world's two favourite programmes are back, fighting for ratings and keeping our channel-flipping thumbs happily occupied, there's only one place to be on a Saturday night. Rejoice and celebrate.

Our old friends Brucie, Tess, Simon, Cheryl, Louis and that girl with the wonky nose are back so no need to feel lonely or afraid if you don't have a date. He'd only talk all the way through it or demand to watch the football instead, and some things - like bars of Green & Black's Dark Organic Cherry Chocolate chomped in front of trash TV - are far better enjoyed alone.

The Wedding in Marbella turned out to be a bit chavvy, in case you were wondering. Despite the beautiful setting, with a ceremony on the fringes of a sunset beach, the company left something to be desired (salvaged at the 11th hour by some cool people on my table).

The first person I set eyes on when I arrived was Paul Danan. And I thought this was meant to be a "Celebrity" wedding!! I was also teamed up with the most boring man on the planet but in case he's reading this, I better say: "Oh no I wasn't!" (then you can say: "Oh yes you was!")

I downed a couple of kir royales in quick succession in an attempt to make the other guests look marginally more attractive. I then embarked on a side-splittingly misguided toyboy moment. Unable to accept the fact that amongst a blur of middle-aged faces I was just another one of the same, I attempted to claw back some of my personality by making eyes at the very bloke who'd filled me with dread on arrival: Paul Danan.

I vaguely remember lurching up to him, telling him I was losing the will to live and demanding that he entertain me. How embarrassing was that? More so, because although he rose to the occasion and promised to comply with my instruction, even suggesting we head off down the beach to search for stranded dolphins, he swiftly disappeared into the crowd never to be seen again!

The expression: No Fool Like An Old Fool was obviously invented for a reason. Shame that night the reason was me!

On returning from sunnier climes, I found a proper old-fashioned letter amid my post. You don't get many of them to the pound nowadays. It had been forwarded by my publishers and contained a 5-page hand-written missive from a man I did not know, whose address began 'H M Prison...'

I'll tell you all about it next time...

OH ME OF LITTLE FAITH!

Well not only did he NOT cancel, he arrived with all guns blazing... or at least the Big Gun that mattered. I was ambivalent about how to handle this. Does one slide between the sheets with ex-lovers who've become friends just because one of you is horny? I guess it depends on the amount of alcohol consumed and I was stone cold sober at the time.

It did, however, put to rest something that had been bothering me since the last visit from Beautiful Cherokee. On that occasion, we talked for five hours and then he went home. Much as I enjoyed the social intercourse, his departure left me slightly miffed. I was saddened to think he no longer fancied me. By way of explanation, however, he told me that he had grown to like and respect me so much, it didn't seemed appropriate to have sex any more! Shucks! Does one not have sex with people one likes and respects?

As of today, I am the mother of a 40-year old. How in hell that happened, G-d only knows - I remember giving birth to her like it was yesterday. I've long since stopped worrying about numbers though, and I no longer lie about my age and the ages of my children. It's all out there, loud and proud.

We had a fabulous party,and she ended the day bedecked with new diamonds - a pendant from her husband, a ring from me and a bracelet from her father. My 11-year old granddaughter Tatiana sang 'Hotel California' well worthy of Simon Cowell's approval and we all joined in the line "...we haven't had that spirit here since 1969..." because that was the year of the birthday girl's birth.

The only thing she found disconcerting was the fact that when her newborn third daughter Xenia celebrates her 40th birthday, she will be 80! And I'll be 103! Or dead!

For the next two weeks, I shall be in Andalucia immersed in writing my second novel - working title: The One and Lonely.

I have a showbiz wedding in Marbella to attend in between. If it's worth blogging about, I'll let you know.