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.

My darling ravishing readers, far from things quietening down since we halted all entries for the ‘Dickies’, preparations for the actual awards ceremony have proceeded at an extraordinary pace. I just hope that we - and they - don’t ‘peak’ too soon...

Daddy finally came to his senses and apologised for his appalling behaviour towards me. However, one is under no illusions that he did it out of guilt. Apparently Mummy threatened to cut off not only his cognac supply but any ‘conjugal relations’ too, which quite frankly dahhhlings, was waaaaayyyy too much personal information from Mummy that one most definitely did NOT need to know or hear!

I mean come on, who on earth needs to know about their parents’ sex lives; the thought of them ‘bumping uglies’, getting all ‘hot and heavy’ actually triggered a panic attack, resulting in one spending an entire afternoon breathing deeply into a paper bag whilst trying to get hold of one’s life coach.

When I did finally reach him, I was so angry that, in between simultaneously ranting and hyperventilating, I threatened to pull his retainer for poor service. When one pays for a platinum service, one expects it to be solid like the metal itself. Thankfully, BlueMoonRiver - formerly known as Gerald before he went to live with Shamans in the Amazon - had the good sense to hot foot it to our estate pretty pronto, armed with one of his special tinctures and his ‘healing hands’, to get me over this little episode - both physically and mentally.

Anyhow, I digress...

Back to Daddy and his half-ar$ed apology. In an attempt to make amends - tho more like trying to get back into Mummy’s good books and her Janet Regers… - he had a sizable peace offering. He would generously allow me to use our country estate to host my beloved Dickies.

Oh how I danced around the room, laughing and squealing like a small child who has just been told she’s off to Disneyland. Well move on over Mickey, there’s a new ‘Grand Fromage’ in town and this one is ready to host, quite possibly, the most spectacular, outrageous awards ceremony EVER!

There wasn’t a moment to lose as preparations went into full swing, so to speak... Maria, my trusted maid and confidante, was drafted in to help with the astronomical task that one was faced with. These awards had to rival the Oscars in splendour and fabulousness. It would be the talk of the town. And let’s face it, a HUGE British stately pile has infinitely more charm than the Union Station in LAX, unless of course you’re an avid trainspotter!

But before I could go ‘full steam ahead’, I had to set a date; what with this pandemic business and lockdown etc, this was a tricky situation, so one scheduled a Zoom call with Boris Johnson himself. Daddy still has his connections, not least via his godson who used to ‘fag’* for Boris in their school days, so he knows plenty of useful goss and where the bodies are buried, so to speak! *good luck to our international readers looking up this very British public school reference!

Notwithstanding our low-level manipulation and machinations, Boris has always had a (not so) soft spot for me, and, being quite the ladies man, never passes up an opportunity to flirt with me: a single, well-connected, thoroughbred bombshell! He was at his most charming - I’m guessing the novelty of fatherhood and his latest baby mother has already faded… - the exhausted lamb tried his very best to advise when would be the optimum time to host the event.

However, I can confirm that his bumbling demeanor is absolutely NOT for show, as he didn’t have the slightest clue and got so muddled up on the ‘what, where, when’, etc was or wasn’t allowed, that he had to go away and have his Private Secretary email me the correct details.

Now his Private Secretary’s reply was just as confusing as the conversation with Boris himself. Daddy had to forward it to the family lawyers who pored over the details, before coming back to me with a timeline from late June to early July.

Now one has to keep that date under wraps as we don’t want any old riff raff popping up at the Dickies, as it’s invitation only and we don’t want the paparazzi - or vultures as Daddy has oh-so-affectionately named them - climbing over the gates and hiding in trees trying to capture the perfect shot of the rich, (en)titled and (in)famous with their pants down. The lengths some people will go to. So to speak...

With the date finally in place it was time to start the real planning, so I could really let my imagination run riot. There would be a huge marquee which would make the Beckhams’ Full Length & Fabulous party look like it was being hosted in a Wendy house; therefore it would be prudent to call in the big guns and party planners to make sure Dickies were over the top in opulence - now THAT would show Vicky how to really ‘do posh’ properly.

Now Daddy hasn’t mentioned anything about setting and sticking to a budget, and has given one complete carte blanche. He can rant and rave to his heart’s content when the final bills come in, but for now, one is pressing ahead with some outrageously expensive and indulgent plans.

This is my moment to shine and perhaps add another string to one’s bow?! I hear party planners command lots of money and this could become quite a lucrative little sideline for some extra pocket money for when one is finally allowed to travel without requiring a PhD in logistics! Have you seen all those rules and traffic light systems?

But back to the party planning, and what will be the hardest task of all - the guest list. And this my darlings is where I have to leave you as this is going to take all of one’s brain power, and boy what power have I discovered?!?

This is my one and only chance to create *the* new hot list and anyone who is anyone is going to want to be a big part of this. There is but only one criteria for the male members, so to speak. They need to be well-endowed - financially and/or physically. And we shall be insisting upon proof!

One finally has the ability to make or break reputations, not that I haven’t done that in the past, however, this time I have completely legitimate reasons and ones which won't end up with Daddy and the family lawyers trying to keep me out of court. Again!

So farewell my ravishing readers and be sure to catch up with me next month so I can update you on the awards ceremony of the century.

Toodle pip,

 

xx

**Note for Team Heaven gals**

You’ll be delighted to learn that this little project has totally taken my mind off the ginger one who shall not be named; and after hearing some of his recent utterances, I’d go so far as to say that I dodged a bullet there dahhhlings. Onwards and upwards sweeties, onwards and upwards!!