Greetings and salutations my ravishing readers!

I am honoured and thrilled to be the travel correspondent for the global phenomenon that is emmaheaven.com. My name is Lady Perdita Fitzwilliam Tudor-Croft, Perdy to friends, Ditsy D to family and Dirty Dita to my unsavoury exes, but you can all call me Lady P.

Just two words my ravishing readers: Bloody Boris! I mean how could he do this to me? He promised me faithfully that the lockdown would end in June, so that my beloved Dickies awards could go ahead as planned, and then he suddenly changed his mind. I thought changing one’s mind was only a female prerogative?! Pah!

HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME?

Well one is a little ashamed to confess that all this chaos and confusion tipped me ever so slightly over the edge; or, if one is being totally truthful and transparent, I actually flew into an almighty rage and meltdown, which resulted in me getting carted off to The Priory, and the Dickies being postponed. Again!

I was suffering enough already as I’d only just turned down tickets to Wimbledon to concentrate on the Dickies. ‘What a balls up’ doesn’t even begin to describe my anguish! And don’t even get me started on the football crowds at the Euros...

I’ll briefly take you back to where this sorry tale began, and how Bloody Boris blew my whole world apart! Tho not quite as much as he’d have liked me to have blown his...

You may think I’m being a tad dramatic, but rest assured my lovelies, any gal in my position would feel my pain, frustration, and totally understand my heartbreaking dilemma.

The latest news filtered in via a trickle, then an overwhelming flood, revelling in more doom and gloom stories, each one trying to outdo the other, and taking fearmongering to a whole new level.

Within an hour of scouring all the reputable news outlets, one was suffering from palpitations and breathing into any bag one could find, even *gasp* a BAG FOR LIFE!! Sheer embarrassment, good manners and decency prevent me from naming which supermarket THAT was from!

My despair was growing by the minute; with tears streaming down my face I decided to ask Mummy and Daddy for advice.

Mummy was all soothing words, hugs and cooing kisses; whereas Daddy (predictably) behaved like a smug, self-satisfied know-it-all, who relished being right - he couldn’t stop himself from repeating numerous times that he told me this would happen and that Boris couldn’t be trusted. No bloody politicians could, blah, blah, bloody blah!

Yes you’ve guessed it, he went into a full-blown ‘Daddy rant’, complete with foul language, which only made my palpitations worse, sending me into a blind panic and headlong into the drinks cabinet. I’m sorry to say my ravishing readers, that this situation was headed only one way! To the bottom. The bottom of a glass. Rock bloody bottom!!

Whilst languishing and surveying the remains of several empty bottles, feeling as though my social life and social status were ebbing and evaporating faster than one’s recent ice sculpture, I had a lightbulb moment; as the idea grew and gained momentum I called for Maria to help me navigate the iPad, as left to one’s own devices could prove rather tricky. It’s never wise to be let loose on the internet whilst intoxicated.

I carefully briefed Maria as to what one was searching for. Eureka! She soon found it, and with express delivery too by those wonderful folk at FedEx.

The following day my prized possession was delivered, in plain wrapping, with only the words ‘Pork Haystack’ visible...

I eagerly unwrapped it, to reveal my shiny new Boris Voodoo doll, complete with large pins. And lots of them! Oh goody, I’ll show bloody Boris who’s boss. In the fabulous words of Beyonce...Who run the world? Girls!

Heading, or should I say tottering to my private wing, with ice bucket in hand, one began the voodoo ritual with gusto.

The loud chanting must have disturbed the entire household as Mummy and Daddy soon came barging through the door to be met with a sight they probably thought they’d never see (again), especially after the small fortune they’d spent on my enforced stint at finishing school...

A drunken daughter sprawled out on a rug, clutching a half empty bottle in one hand whilst trying to stick pins into a portly, scruffy blonde voodoo doll with the other, chanting “bollocks to Boris” at the top of her voice.

In an attempt to keep up appearances, they did what any self-respecting parent of their social standing would do...they bundled me into the back of the car and deposited me at The Priory to dry out, to calm down, and to “come to your bloody senses”, as Daddy so sympathetically and eloquently put it!

After a few days I was successfully dried out and MANY therapy sessions later, which involved me taking responsibility for my actions, along with a new found understanding that turning Bloody Boris into a voodoo doll whilst ‘sticking it to him’ with pins was silly, dangerous and destructive to my mental health. Apparently, it wouldn’t have worked anyway as it’s all a load of hocus pocus...

Hmmmm. Judge and jury are still out on that one. I have to disagree, but I knew that keeping schtum on that point would be best if I were to stand any chance of being let out in time to enjoy the remains of our British summer. However, I did hear via one’s trusted gal pals that Boris had suffered terrible tummy pains over that weekend and was confined to barracks! Oh dear. What a shame! Hocus pocus my ar$e or should one say ‘my shapely derriere’…but that’s karma for you!

One returned home the following week contrite, but still more than a little miffed that one’s parents had gone quite so over the top!

I mean, come on, it was only a little scarecrow doll, a few pins, a little bit of chanting, and several bottles of Daddy’s finest booze. What harm could it do? It’s not as if they are teetotal? Daddy is six parts p*ssed most of the day and nobody says anything to him. Sheesh! Talk about double standards, never mind double measures!

You can only imagine what they would have done to me had they seen the email sitting in my outbox, ready to be sent to my darling, talented ex...Mr Cruise, begging him to reprise his role from the film Collateral? I know he’s only an actor playing the part of an assassin, but surely he researched the part thoroughly, picking up some vital and valuable inside information? Non?

Anyhow, I digress…

So to cut a long story short, one got exceedingly drunk, acted terribly silly and unladylike, got punished, said sorry, and is now ready to put the whole debacle behind me to continue afresh with the re-organisation of the Dickies.

They are now taking place a month later than planned, but thankfully everyone is so understanding and accommodating - tho with a dearth of any other events to go to, do they have much choice?! I’m under no illusions! Other than one day I hope my prince will come - ginger or otherwise…

So for now, it’s all hands to the pump, so to speak, and full steam ahead. Delighted to report that one is a happy Dita once more.

I shall bid you au revoir until next month!

Toodle pip,

xx

***Note to Team Heaven***

During my little sojourn to the Priory, one became rather captivated by the football. I don’t know if it was the sight of those suave Italians - one does have a not-so-little soft spot for an Italian, and I’m not talking about gelato...or maybe it was the sight of so many chaps, including two Harrys, on bended knee*. This incurable romantic can’t help but dream can she?

*Daddy has since robustly corrected me about the significance of the ‘bended knee’, shaking his head, and wringing his hands, lamenting how much he has spent, nay squandered, on my education.

“It’s not all froth, frocks, fairytales and frivolity you know Dita. Get your head out of the clouds, and your feet back on the ground”. He stormed off muttering something about me needing to study REAL ‘International & Current Affairs’ if I were to captivate any discerning chap’s hand, heart AND mind. Apparently reading gossip magazines and society pages don’t count!

As I learnt at the Priory, I guess it’s all about finding and achieving balance. Darling gals, please feel free to send me high-brow reading recommendations - not only to broaden my knowledge, but to bring me back down to earth with far less of a bump than Daddy ever would! He really should be careful what he wishes for. Between us, we’ll show him! Nobody puts Dita in a corner. Or the Priory!