I refuse to trust he who wears Argos jewellery

I was watching documentary maker Louis Theroux doing a programme about plastic surgery and that level of vanity scares me. I'm happy to look at myself through a magnifying mirror but that scalpel stuff - not for me.

I doubt I could undergo plastic surgery because I have a fear of operations. I had two very painful ops in the past – cesareans; and if I ever got pregnant again, that foetus would have to stay in there until medical science finds a way of the baby coming out through my nostril the size of a pea.

If I were to consider elected surgery, it would only be for the implantation of a SatNav. Wow... I could be on to something there!

Anyway, I vowed that if my foot were to drop off, I'd quite happily fore-go an operation and take some Paracetamol, spray Dettol on the affected area and hop around with tissue stuffed in my shoe.

If I don't age very well I'll just drape some intricate lace over my mirrors to give me the illusion that I'm looking at myself with movie star lighting and special effects.

I digress... where was I? Oh yes, plastic surgery.

While watching the programme, I noticed that the doctor who prominently featured in the documentary looked like he'd done a lot of poor standard work on himself. His face was stretched to capacity and he really didn't look a pretty sight. Funnily enough it wasn't purely the operations on the programme which turned me off. Nor the state of the doctors' face. Even looking at the surgeon's work in progress made me think what were some of his patients thinking when the surgeon put in fake pectoral muscles which made the men who underwent surgery look like they had C cup breasts.

The main thing that put me off Dr Plastic von Surgeonberg was his garish jewellery. He was wearing the most common-looking gold sovereign ring and a great big chunky gold bracelet... who me? A snob? Never! It was the kind of clumsy, ugly jewellery you'd expect to see on a darts player or a football hooligan.

If a surgeon came to me, drawing felt-tip lines all over my body wearing cheap gold, I'd be up off the gurney and running down the corridor with my bottom flapping out the back of my gown without a second look!

Don't blame it on me, blame it on the Prius

A motorist killed his wife by knocking her over in the supermarket car park. Apparently, the 74 year old man said his wife was standing in front of their Prius giving him directions on how to park the car in a parking bay. Ladies... take note - DON'T DO THIS, who knows if your husband hates your guts and has murder in mind?

The man behind the wheel claimed that out of nowhere, the car accelerated and his wife then started screaming and banging on the bonnet, insisting that he stop immediately and he ended up running her over.

The car went berserk, dragging his 69 year old wife's body 130ft through Tesco's car park. William Hippsley claimed that he applied the break but the car refused to stop.

Jurors were told that the Toyota Prius was examined by a police vehicle specialist who found no faults that could have caused the accident. I personally believe the cause of the accident was Mr Hippsley's persistent foot!

Unfortunately, it's too late for Mrs Hippsley to understand that the last thing you want to do is give someone directions while standing in front of a Toyota Prius. Either you're being set up or you're volunteering your services to suicide.

The trial continues.

Get in the mood to RAVE like a 20 year old!

After about three minutes of dancing around my bedroom to this, I got a stitch and had to sit down.

I'm alright now. I realise that it wasn't the dancing! My dress was too tight.

...and the OSCAR goes to...

...me, for my shameful act of Diva'ism at the car wash this morning when they didn't vacuum my floor mats properly. If anyone at the car wash had a heavy metal Oscar-type statue today, they would have whooped me upside the head with it to shut me up! But let's leave that one at the door.

Actress, comedian and BET talk show host Mo'Nique, who I personally think is a great entertainer, won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress for her role in the film Precious.

Precious is an incredibly moving film with a really strong cast which includes Mariah Carey and Lenny Kravitz. Throughout the film Precious, I hated Mo'Nique's character Mary with a passion, so her Oscar win was well and truly deserved for her believable portrayal. She sure convinced me she that she was a dysfunctional monster.

Mo'Nique said

"I would like to thank the Academy for showing that it can be about the performance and not the politics"

"To my amazing husband, Sidney - thank you for showing me that sometimes you have to fore-go doing what's popular, in order to do what's right."

May I also add while I'm here that Sandra Bullock in The Blind Side is a must see!

More Oscar winners:

BEST PICTURE The Hurt Locker
BEST DIRECTOR Kathryn Bigelow - The Hurt Locker
BEST ACTOR Jeff Bridges - Crazy Heart
BEST ACTRESS Sandra Bullock - The Blind Side
BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR - Christoph Waltz - Inglorious Basterds
BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS - Mo'Nique - Precious
BEST ANIMATED FEATURE Up

Is there a Tailor in the house?

I love Steve Harvey. I really do. I've bought his comedy, read his book 'Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man', I listen to his radio programme and love the programme's special segment, Strawberry Letters and I've seen his show live in Florida. Unfortunately, every fan has a right to complain... right? My one complaint is this. Steve needs to update his wardrobe! He dresses like a caricature of a 1970s high-class pimp. His wife Marjorie looks young, fresh, fashionable and current and he looks like a stranger who stepped out of the crowd asking to take a picture with her.

I pray that Mr Harvey runs into bespoke tailor Ozwald Boateng one of these days. He needs to hook up with a man who knows his way around a modern-day suit and stop wearing those big ole throw-backs from Money Mike's wardrobe!

Be in the Present

Often, fewer words are more powerful than a monologue.

The August Mayfield Diaries

Question! Do You Burn in Hell if You Don't Like Hymns?

Long ago, my mum and dad thought they were doing the righteous thing for my brothers & sisters and me by sending us to church when we were younger. They were inspired by the notion that we needed Jesus in our lives (or so I thought) so they sent us to the local Sunday school. For me, that was the death of my affiliation with organised religion.

Read more ...

From celebration to contemplation in 24 hours

Me and my companions were sitting in a little Camden cafe today eating chicken and chips. It was in an effort to take away the hangover from the night before. I went out with my sister Sheba and my friend Mave and we and a few too many cocktails.

Between us, we had a Slow Comfortable Screw, we drank Killer Zombies; I had a special mix Cosmopolitan – one of my all time favourites. In fact I think I had two of those. We also shared a green drink which I think was called The Incredible Hulk and I vaguely remember removing a cocktail umbrella from my hair when I got home.

While we were sitting in the cafe comparing hangovers and new Camden Market accessories, a little boy came into the cafe. He was too young to be out of school, too young to be alone in Camden and too down-trodden to be a happy little boy. He came straight over to us and said “can you buy me some food please”? I looked at my sister, my sister looked at Mave and Mave looked at me! We asked him what he wanted and he said he wanted fish & chips and a coke. We immediately started clucking like mother hens and bought him what he asked for. He said thank you and left.

For the next two hours, we discussed the little boy. We discussed poverty, social services, what’s good and bad about living in London. We talked about luck, choices and the Grace of God.

But what really got to me while I sat on the tube on the way home is that none of us asked him to tell us his story. I feel guilty because I missed an opportunity to go one step further. Fair enough... he was fed but it plays on my mind where he’ll sleep tonight, or how he lives day-to-day and where his next meal will come from.

...and what were her dying words?

It was widely reported on TV yesterday that 32 year old BBC television presenter, Kristian Digby died. It was alledged that Kristian died while indulging himself in a solo 'Sex Game'; auto-erotic asphyxiation.

I must make it clear to my family and friends that if I ever decide to indulge myself in a solo Sex Game and it ends in the loss of my life, they better tell everyone that "she died peacefully in her sleep".

I don't want the whole world to know all the nasty little things I do behind closed doors thank-you-very-much!