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, one has just got back from a rather enlightening trip to Brighton, and before you ask, there wasn’t a single tantrum in sight. Not even a teeny, tiny one!

After last month’s embarrassing - and utterly futile - meltdown before actually appreciating just how much fun the fair isle of Barry would be, one thought it prudent to suspend ALL judgement, and actually wait until one had fully experienced Brighton’s eclectic delights rather than launch into a pre-emptive nuclear-level rage! I think my meditation guru would be so proud of my self-awareness and self-control…

After lots of deep heavy breathing - alone, I hasten to add - I am delighted to report that Brighton was absolutely divine. Who says domestic travel can’t be as tantalising as foreign travel? And on the plus side, one doesn’t have to endure a plethora of pricks before one can leave these shores for foreign climes - not even I could tolerate another prick, no matter how quick and painless it is! Thus one is more than content to sample the delights that the United Kingdom has to offer.

Before setting off, one consulted the all-knowing oracle, Google, to find out everything that Brighton has to offer. The list, much like one's dating life, was long, action-packed, and varied! However, one activity did leap off the page - infinity massage therapy - which promised to target any problem areas, encouraging me to treat myself and experience their infinite expertise. Oh yes, please. That was definitely right up my street and so I booked it pronto! The prospect of a good pounding and pummeling always appeals...

One’s itinerary was looking rather full and so my adventures in Brighton were about to begin…

First up on my itinerary was ice skating at The Royal Pavilion, where one was able to get in that all important dose of daily exercise and thigh toning, just in case one’s preferred nocturnal exercise wasn’t readily available…

Anyway, I digress. Or do I…?!

The setting was pretty magical, but most importantly, it gave me plenty of opportunities to ‘accidentally’ bump into some gorgeously healthy, sporty chaps, only too willing to help out and prop up a damsel in ‘distress’! Remember my darlings, this damsel has PLENTY of experience in THAT department.

All those extra acting lessons at school finally paid off! One can cry on command and has perfected the lower lip quiver, breathy voice and coy look! You may raise your eyebrows but let me tell you my darlings, these techniques - when correctly deployed - always work like a charm; and I mean ALWAYS! I can say this with absolute cast-iron confidence, because this occasion was no different, as one happened to accidentally stumble into the arms of a rather gorgeous, perfectly-proportioned male, who quite literally, swept me off my feet, straight into his arms!

Forget dancing on ice - this was first class romancing on ice! In the conversation that followed - which I shall keep to myself if you don’t mind - after all, a lady has to have some secrets and mystery, and one’s tried and tested flirting techniques need to remain top secret! Suffice to say, they did secure me a date that very evening...

Now I was all of a fluster at the prospect of a fun-filled, flirty, frivolous and - hopefully - naughty evening ahead. However, one is a professional, with a column to complete, so it was on with the show and my travel assignment.

The next stop for this Brighton Belle was a visit to the Julien Plumart Boutique to taste his amazing macarons and exquisite hand-crafted French patisserie and meringues filled with sumptuous ganache, butter cream and other delights; one was salivating at the mere sight of them, so you can only imagine my eye-rolling reaction as I tentatively tickled each perfect portion with my tongue, to savour every tantalising crumb! One’s taste buds exploded as I selectively devoured these moreish morsels without looking too deranged or swivel-eyed!

And one didn’t need the hassle of a bloated tummy before a hot date which already seemed to be crying out for sexy underwear - a gal can never be under prepared on such occasions, can she…

Later that evening one was mightily relieved to have hit the pause button on the pastries so that the sexy lingerie would be seen in its best light. After a romantic sunset stroll around Brighton Marina, with a generous smattering of delicious cocktails on the waterfront, suffice to say we ended up back at one’s temporary dwellings...

I can’t thank those darling gals enough at EH HQ, who’d so kindly booked me into an impressive Grade II-listed Regency mansion townhouse offering elegance, grandeur, opulence, luxury AND a private cinema - all totally befitting someone of my social standing. Not that the cinema would get well used, unless of course I were at a loose end with time on my hands. Thankfully my darlings, the four poster bed was a triumph, and held up superbly under the endless tossing and turning that evening...

The following day, one visited the famous Brighton Palace Pier - gosh, it was absolutely ginormous. Now size isn’t necessarily important, and big isn’t always best, and can be pretty boring if it's devoid of any character or charm. Ideally, it needs to be filled with lots of interesting things, and this pier had interesting things a’plenty to keep this little lady amused.

It had a funfair which magically transported one back to one’s childhood as I dared to slide down the helter skelter. I wish I could say I couldn’t remember when I’d last slid down something so curvy and shiny, but I think we all know that that would be a big fat lie...A final fleeting hop and gyration on the carousel’s prancing horses, and one was well and truly pier’d out!

There was one last place to sample some delights on my itinerary and that was a distillery tour of Brighton Gin. As an ardent gin drinker, this was an absolute must. Not to be confused with the other Absolut...

I even got to wax my own bottle top - not a euphemism darlings - designing and applying a label to my very own customised miniature gin, all of which was fuelled by complimentary G&Ts they plied me with, whilst perusing their gift shop. The more one put in the trolley, the more gin they decanted, telling me that I would now receive VIP status for future visits!

Mummy will be beyond delighted when she sees the 12-month subscription I’ve signed us up to. Whereas Daddy? Well Daddy doesn’t drink gin and leans more towards a single malt, tho a happy, tipsy mummy will totally make the subscription worth its weight in gold. I feel that some much needed and long overdue, well-deserved praise will soon be winging its way towards moi!

Anyhow, I digress…

Back to one’s final night in Brighton, and it was off to watch that 80s heartthrob, Rick Astley, who was in town with his Greatest Hits tour. Oh my, has that chap aged well; like a fine wine, and half as dusty! I was giddy with excitement and hopeful that our eyes would meet across that crowded arena as he serenaded me with ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’.

I dreamt that he would send one of his entourage over, to discreetly hand me his hotel details and room key, so we could rendezvous for a private, apres concert nightcap and be ‘Together Forever’. A gal can dream, can’t she?!

The reality was that one suffered a panic attack when the crowd of febrile females surged towards the stage within seconds of the delightful Rick setting foot on it .

This resulted in me being carried out by some extremely helpful crowd marshalls, who promptly took me to the medical centre to breathe into yet another paper bag, until one’s breathing returned to normal. My meditation guru’s phone kept going to voicemail, and then I belatedly remembered that they were attending a Tantric workshop in Totnes, so they would be otherwise engaged with their own heavy breathing exercises, and breathless to boot...

Now my darlings, it seems that miracles can and do happen! Thanks to one’s panic attack, the subsequent medical attention and overall kerfuffle, one was perfectly placed when Rick came off stage; so yes, our eyes did meet, and he was full of concern as he rushed over to check that I was ok…cue me ramping up my damsel in distress mode, which appeared to have the desired effect on our dashing gentleman, who ever so kindly sat with me until the crisis had passed.

It was during this rather intimate interlude that one managed to snaffle his phone number with a seemingly loaded promise to stay in touch…

Therefore, it is on that rather tantalising note, that I must bring down the curtain on my Brighton trip …and that my ravishing readers is where I’m going to leave you as I’ve just seen the rather exciting preview of a message from Mr Astley: ‘whenever you need somebody**’ which needs my urgent attention. Oh gosh, he seems so keen the ol’ smooth talker! Ciao for now darlings!

Toodle pip,

xx

***Note to Team Heaven HQ***

UPDATE: Cancel the bunting darlings! It seems that the phone number Mr Astley gave me actually belongs to his marketing team. Turns out they’re promoting that former chart topper, Whenever You Need Somebody, and it was a special code for a free download for loyal fans…

Sigh!! One day, my affections for a ginger gent shall be reciprocated and my prince will come...