Georgeous gets craggier and lovelier by the year whilst so many women of the same age, in and out of celebrity LaLa Land, are in despair about their changing looks.  They are injecting, sanding and slicing their faces to try to  stay young and attractive.  For who? Their ageing men?

And now a  diet food delivery company  have declared that women over a ‘certain’ age should be dead already or at least wear a balaclava back to front when they are out in public. They have disguised this bollox as a helpful list about what women should stop doing and wearing and at what age:

• Miniskirt, 35
• Boob Tube, 33
• Stilettos, 51
• Belly button piercing, 35
• Knee high boots, 47
• Trainers, 44
• Leather trousers, 34
• Leggings, 45
• Ugg boots, 45
• Swimsuit, 61
• Tight vest, 44
• See-through chiffon blouse, 40
• Long hair, 53
• Ponytail, 51

I was enjoying a la-di-dah day spa in London, courtesy of some gift vouchers, and included on my busy, busy itinerary was a facial. In small print on my treatment card it read ‘type to be advised by your fully trained therapist’. 

Amazingly,  the anti ageing facial was the one she selected.

This treatment involved me laying on a hot water bed in the dark as a young Polish girl more than earned her minimum wage by layering my face with cream,  tissue, more cream, then a bandage,  warm oats (emulsifying, purifying, radiating, nourishing, detoxifying and energising oats, NOT Ready Brek)  more bandage, and the last of the oats

Next she  turned up the temperature of the bed to near boiling point, the room thermostat to 30 plus degrees and the volume of  the Peruvian pan pipe CD  to deafeningly high and left me alone with the instruction   ”Chill, please.”  As soon as she left me alone I realised I needed  a ‘comfort stop’ - URGENTLY.

When you are at that point in your life when you are ready for an anti ageing facial the call of nature becomes a holler. So I leapt off the bed part wrapped in a towel and sporting spa issue paper knickers (the ones that that must be fitted for size on mice) I dashed across the hall.

The little lady from the Far East was coming out of the ladies as I headed in, and my oat loaded face was sliding off and the towel protecting my modesty wasn’t moving as fast as the rest of me, and  that’s how I made the poor woman swoon.

SWOON. George Clooney – did you hear that? It could have been you.

The poor guy could be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after nine years with Mad-Donna.  My guess is that she wears an animal print leotard, fishnets and stilettos in bed. She’s so super  toned  that Guy probably bruised himself every time he made contact with her on their marital mattress. I bet jimmie jams were banned in Mad-Donna Mansions and post divorce he could hardly wait to jump into a pair and hang loose.

Guy was wearing  a Cary Grant style Stripey pair, by the way, not  My Little Pony or Cupcake print ones and no teddy bears were harmed in the wearing of his jimmies.  Even Mockney Film Directors are entitled to chillax and snuggle down at home, aren’t they?

And it’s not the pj’s, it’s what’s underneath that counts. Hands up who would turn down George Clooney in pyjamas?

My Sky TV blew up ten days ago and I have been ‘without functionality’ since. This meant that a programme that lasted an hour actually took an hour to watch - I was without recording or fast forwarding or pausing - and to keep up with all the telly I am addicted to I had to watch it real time or on the ‘TV for Bats’ channel when it’s all repeated after 1am in the morning. Staying up all night to watch the Oscars is perfectly reasonable. Staying up till 3am to watch Deal or No Deal is a sign of mental instability. WHO would do that ? Er…….

So I have just had a blissful 15 minutes re-programming  my regulars: Loose Women (love to hate them), Dr Phil (love to love him), Greys Anatomy (McWonderful), Andrew Lloyd Webber is Dorothy, QVC at midnight for Today’s Special Value (can’t sleep without knowing what it is), The Good Wife (out of loyalty to George Clooney who was married to Julianna Arguiles in ER) and of course the show that thinks it’s a cheesboard - Brothers & Sisters.  And all curtsey to the Queen – Oprah.

Where were Brangelina? And Tom and Katie? And Nicole and Keith? There was a lot of sparkle missing. I felt that I made the effort, I wore a diamonique brooch on my stripey pyjamas, so why couldn’t they be there?

‘Nood’ was the dress shade trend. Or nude if you are British, which was rood if you’d  been waiting up all night for some astonishing splashes of colour.

Sarah Jessica Parker was wearing a sex game inspired dress that had a strangely placed strap around her throat and was just an orange and a plastic bag away from, well,   I don’t know but I’ve read about it…..

J Lo seemed to have an occasional table hidden under the left hand side of her oddity  dress. She could do a cover of Jake the Peg wearing it as there was plently of room for a third leg under there.. 

Melanie Griffiths had snipped a couple of stitches on top of her head so she could smile with her  (sponsored by Walls Sausages) plastic fantastic lips. 

Someone needs to tell Colin Firth that  John Frieda  Frizz-Ease is currently 3 for 2 at Superdrug. And why does he have teeth the colour of daffodils?

Claudia Winkleman chatted with her panel of experts in the Sky Studios in London. One was David Baddiel who mostly answered her inane questions with, “I can’t say, I haven’t seen the film.” And Ronnie Ancona was too fascinated by what she looked like on the studio monitors to discuss anything sensibly. She was horribly self conscious and tried hard, for five whole hours,  to be a glammapuss but didn’t get anywhere near.

Gorgeous George was there in the front row with his girlfriend. She was a bit proprietorial for my liking. It was the way she sat next to him I objected to.

I’m resting up from today in preparation for 2011.

Julian’s Eleventh Commandment decrees that furry pits, hairy legs, getting old, not dyeing grey hair and generally  ’letting yourself go’ are mortal sins – but only if you were born with a fanny. 

 His argument imploded when he claimed that David Gest, Paul McCartney and Andrew Neil all look fandabadozi with their assorted hair dye disasters. And George Clooney and Tom Jones are silver foxes. But any woman with grey hair - unless she is Julian’s mum because it really suits her – is an old dog.

Julian was a jolly and likeable misogynist.  Our verbal rut was so spirited that the presenter Stephen Nolan was able to enjoy an unscheduled cup of coffee as we slugged it out and afterwards suggested the pair of us should get our own show…down.

I have questions.

Firstly – gissa job? I could definitely do that. Although I can see the potential for conflict when the paying guest told me to get out of their bed when I was all warm and comfy womfy in there and had done all the hard work to get that way.

Secondly, perhaps the hotel  should go one step further and get celebrity lookalikes to make the bed hot, hot , hot. I’d book George Clooney and Hugh Jackman to loll on my mattress every time.

Thirdly, do they screen for lice, fleas and crabs, yellow dandruff,  belly button fluff ,nose debris and anything wet  that human bedwarmers might leave behind between the covers ?

And lastly,  do they have a bespoke service for menopausal women who require bedchillers to counteract hot flushes ?

A lot of his louche yet twinkly seen a lot, done a lot, kindly but so very  naughty appeal was stuffed into those eye bags. I’m going to bid for them on E Bay if I get a chance and use them as my HRT dispensers. 

But I CAN forgive him anything and if he’s got no eye bags for me to suck, I’ll settle for licking out his ears instead.

Did I mention I’m a bit of a fan ?