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Sunday

In which I have an international crisis


Did I tell you about the time last summer when I got in a spot of bother on holiday in Thailand with the RS, when the Famous Actor came to my rescue?  Did I?

It all started when the RS called me inviting me to join him and his band ....

“Lizzie, darling.  It must be an age since we had a mini-break, at least 2 weeks since your last diary entry.  Look, sweetie, me and the boys are doing a short tour in the Far East, why not come and join me in Tando Bago? ”

Yippe dee doo dah, he does love me, I thought as I meticulously laid my Gucci python pencil skirt (£2,680) and YSL peasant blouse (a snip at £915) into my Louis Vuitton Damier Graphite case, slinging my Miss Dior pink lambskin clutch over my shoulder.

The holiday itself in Tatooine was heavenly, exquisite, magical, enchanting and wonderful.  Long kisses and cocktails by the pool, canoodling on the beach and in the waves just like Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster.  Bliss!

Things only started to go wrong on the journey home from Timbuktu. 

The RS flew off from Tristan da Cunha a day before me and said he would leave one of his roadies to help me pack and ensure I got home safely.

It was at Titiwawa Airport that I found myself arrested for concealing some horrendous white powder in an ancient Phoenix & Foo Dog Lion vase which the RS had sneakily concealed in my case as a present.  I should have known the drug addled love-rat was only using me!

Silly, Lizzie, silly!

Finding myself incarcerated at the Hanoi Hilton, I was incensed that I had to ditch my Swarovski crystal-encrusted peep toe Louboutins (£2,095) at the Alcatraz reception.

For 30 days and 30 nights I tried to make polite conversation with my fellow inmates on Robben Island, although they were all ghastly, Primark-clad chavettes with no understanding of social graces outside the walls of Risdon Prison.

My only saving grace was my Victoria’s Secret jewel coated “Red Hot Fantasy” undies (£15 million) with which I knew would be able to tunnel my way out of Devil’s Island.  [EDITOR:  you’re supposed to be in a women’s prison, Liz, FFS do some research on international women’s prisons!]

It was at this point that the gorgeous, heroic FA came to my rescue, chartered 3 flights to get him from his current film set to liberate me from Tenko.  [That’s more like it, Ed.]

One of the obnoxious, officious guards came and grabbed my delicate arm, while snarling “Visitor for you”.

Well, blow me down with a double duvet, if it wasn’t that foppish chap who had seen me tread the boards as Mrs Pankhurst, all those years ago, the delightful, handsome Famous Actor.

“Darling, Lizzie, I heard about your troubles and knew I had to help!”

Somehow, the charming, slightly effeminate, sweet FA with his floppy hair and bright blue eyes managed to persuade MI5, Interpol, and the Prison Governor at San Quentin that I was a totally innocent pawn in a drug-dealing rock star’s illicit sting, and that I should be freed immediately.

Honestly, it was almost as if I had been to the edge of reason and back .....

On escaping from Toblermary (and what a nightmare that was!) the FA whisked me back to Blighty, for a traditional cottage holiday sipping warm mulled wine by an open fire, toasting my freedom in the autumn glow, snowed in by the February freeze, deep in middleditch England.

“Lizzie, darling, look we’re both in our fifties, single and childless, I think we are the perfect match.  I have something important I want to ask you ....”