So Mr PB took me to the Kings of Leon concert the other night, and thinking it made me quite cool, I was actually quite excited! But it started to go wrong as soon as we arrived when I noted a large amount of girls wearing hunter wellie boots in the scorching heat with shorts…why?! Surely these are only ‘festival chic’ when it is raining…otherwise I assume they are just bloody uncomfortable and make your feet sweat a lot. And Hyde park for 4 hours does not a festival make. However, we persevered to the middle of the crowd where I tried to summon up a smile…but the aggressive nature of everyone there, the bottles of unknown substances being flung through the air and landing precariously near my head, and the fact that both blokes next to me decided to wee right there next to my flip flopped feet was just too much for me. I kissed Mr PB, said it was nothing personal and fled to the car to listen to the Glee soundtrack. Fact: I am not cool, I don’t like Kings of Leon, and I am much happier at a Bon Jovi concert swaying comfortably in my seat.

So, it’s been a long time, again, but I am back! My first big admission is that I am officially addicted to Glee and cannot believe the first series is over! Whichever genius producer came up with the idea of a new series aimed solely at girls like me and you who live mainly to sing along to 80’s rock ballads is a God. Journey is now my ring tone, and never fails to make me smile. So imagine my delight when the Glee cast turned up at a party I was at on Thursday night...while Mr PB was dribbling over seeded tennis players, I was dreaming of living out my fantasy and rocking it out with Mr Schuster. I tried in vain to get his attention, strut it out on the dance floor, sing loudly...but no, nothing. Instead just a very drunken Mr PB attempting to piggy back me to the car and sing me his very own version of a rock ballad. Not quite the same, but endearing none the less...

So as Mr PB and I departed from our domestic flight in Heathrow the other day, we were shocked to suddenly find ourselves being chased by security guards. Had Mr PB suddenly turned into a secret drug traffiker without my knowledge - I found it hard to believe. Had they discovered the haggis hidden in the bottom of my suitcase - surely that was allowed within the UK?? No, I had 'stepped' over an invisible high secuity line when trying to find my way to the baggage reclaim, and was in breach of some massive security regulations. Next up, the armed police arrived ( I thought highly unnecessary, and obviously gave me the giggles), and this made Mr PB very stern. Our id's were checked, passport numbers noted, and I was not allowed to talk to Mr PB - we were separated. After 40 mins though we had a happy ending and I got my suitcase, my teddy and my haggis back. Really, do the British police think Mr PB and I are the next Mr and Mrs Smith! Fact: I love celebrity and fashion, it goes no deeper than that.