On image management

I think I might have to start lying about what I’ve been up to at the weekend.

Sunday night is upon us, and as I reflect over the past 2 days, I’m a touch concerned at what confronts me.

Saturday night saw a roast chicken, red wine, X-Factor and an early night.

Friday night I didn’t even bother with the wine.

How can I face the Monday morning office interrogation?

“What did you do this weekend Rachel?” “Why, thanks for asking, esteemed colleague. This weekend I shouted at the TV, shampooed the carpet and did two loads of laundry.”

No.

Time to get the story straight.

Perhaps I had a couple of romantic meals, a night out filled with riotous merriment and debauchery and, hey guess what – I rounded off the weekend with a spontaneous Sunday night dinner party with the neighbours.

Confessing that in reality I lay on the sofa in joggers and a blanket will not do. There’s no harm in engaging in a touch of image management.

Besides, I’m not yet quite ready to admit to myself that these days, if I go out for an evening raving, I need two days of rest to recover.

So for now I’ll keep up the charade. No-one needs to know I’m middle-aged just yet.

But maybe we’re all the same. What did you do this weekend? Front-row seats at the theatre? A meal out with happy, carefree friends at a Michelin-starred restaurant? Or maybe a night of cocktails and dancing?

Did you? Did you hell. Admit it - you’ve been sitting in, watching Gary and the gang, just like me.

Well thank goodness for that.

Now if you could just keep it down for one more evening, I’ve got a hot date with Downton to keep.

My crush and me

Last night I was a woman possessed. There’s really no other word for it. I was in exceptionally close proximity to my beloved Mark Owen, and it was emotional. I’m not sure the word crush comes close, it’s love. And yes, I know he’s a cheating love rat - but readers, I forgive him all.

You see I liked him the first time round. When I was young and had dozens of Take That stickers from Smash Hits magazine all over my folders. And posters from Big plastering my walls. And when they split all those years ago I was bereft, and there was not a middle-aged woman being admitted to A&E in sight.

I do feel that I’m in good company with my slightly obsessive crush. The lovely Kate Winslet has admitted that her current co-star was in fact her teenage crush. Guy Pearce was the "heart-throb” she obsessed over as she was growing up in the Berkshire countryside when he was an actor on Neighbours, the hit Australian soap series.

Such was her obsession with the 43 year-old British-born actor, that Kate would even pretend to be ill so she could skip school to watch the soap. Clearly she didn’t realise it was also on at 5.30pm?

But you see for her, things have really worked out. She’s now a stunning Oscar winning actress being paid millions to get naked with her crush.

I am stuck screaming, along with all the other lunatics. Mark is just a few feet away, but is protected from us by a band of burly security types. He says he loves us, but is ready to have us forcibly removed at any moment.

We reach and long to get a touch. It’s embarrassing, it’s tragic.

But... perhaps all is not lost.

Maybe I’ll be a famous author yet. Then perchance we might meet at a showbiz party. He’ll buy me a drink. We’ll laugh at how I wore an ‘I heart Mark’ t-shirt and know all of the words to Babe.

Rachel Owen, it’s got a certain ring to it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to perfect the dance moves to Pray. I’m sure that’ll win him over.

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