HD, 4OD, 3D? Try 1D. One dimensional, that is :-)

Because when I thought we had to throw caution to the wind and invite the entire nation to judge us, in order to have a shot at securing a family home, I was a little confused. Of course what we were really doing was inviting you all to judge the Jay and Steph that Ch4 showed you last night.  You know, Jay the wideboy sleazy salesman and Steph the shopaholic (ha, I should be so lucky!) shoeaholic airhead.

You see? One dimensional, pre-defined characters that were easily moulded to tick the box that Studio Lambert needed filling.

So in other words I’m Steph and I’m an unpaid actor, (‘Where’s my agent, get me my agent! Haha!’)

Strictly speaking, (and believe me I am admitting this shame-faced) I wasn’t ‘acting’ exactly. There is a part of me that likes to shop. And wear make-up. And buy shoes. (That would be the part of me that is FEMALE ;-) lol) But for the majority of the 48 minutes that we appeared on your TV screens last night, the other Steph and Jay, the one’s you all know, were masked behind the couple C4 wanted us to be. (‘Wymingtons answer to Posh & Becks’?! My goodness! I can’t stand posh and becks! If I’m anything like her you might as well just shoot me down now... Can’t say I’d necessarily kick him out of bed for making crumbs though! haha)

You’ve all been so lovely. So many lovely reassuring messages and kind comments and once again I find myself thanking my lucky stars that I am surrounded by so many truly wonderful friends and such a supportive family, I’m glad it appears we didn’t let you guys down, but I’m still a *tiny, weeny bit cross with how the programme was edited to include only the stupid things that I said...

Where was my book? Where was the hour of footage they captured of me feeling like a plonker, sitting in my office typing rude things on my laptop? (I don’t normally write rude words of course, it was just that rude words were all I could think of when they told me to start typing ‘something, anything.’) Where was my website? :-/ Where was the graphic-designing, video editing, audio recording cyber-chick Stephie?

Where was the footage of Jay outside with our chickens and ducks and bunnies? Where was the laughter and the cheeky comments we made to show that, when we were talking about colour co-ordination, fake tanning and such, it was all in jest?!

Naughty Channel4. Silly Steph & Jay.

That week, during which we were props in a show that calls itself ‘reality’ but instead is completely surreal, was one of the toughest experiences I have ever endured. And I’ve had some tough weeks. When they asked us why we wanted to win the house we told them we’d had a really shitty past three years and were desperate to secure a decent future for our family in a SAFE place that could help us restore our faith in community and human kindness. Instead they showed you all the clip where I said I liked 5* Hotels and Jay put two thumbs up and grinned his boy-band smile at the camera. Yep. Thanks for that.

Everytime you saw me crying on camera, (which actually made me cry to watch back! Soppy sod that I am!) I was crying because I’d been asked to divulge every single one of my innermost insecurities to the shows producers. ‘Why don’t you feel safe Steph? Are you worried your house might get broken into again Steph? Why do you think the villagers don’t like your family Steph?’

It was like being back at school. Sitting next to the class stirrer, who smirks as she plants seeds of doubt, worry and anxiety into the minds of the most vulnerable kids in the playground. The bitch.

My entire core was exposed during that week, as was my husbands. We might as well have been naked for all we had on display. They pecked, and pecked and pecked away at us, questioning us for hours and hours until we crumbled and gave them more or less what they required to make an ‘entertaining’ show.

They asked me lots about Douglas Road and losing Harrison. But they didn’t use any of it. Just the tears I couldn’t stop crying, which looked a bit shallow without a valid explanation.

And poor Jay. His character was totally defined by his current job title. He sells things. He might as well have stood up and said he kills baby animals for the stick he got. No mention of what a wonderful father he is. How brave and strong and broad-shouldered he is. How he is the reason I didn’t throw myself from any bridges back in the day, (it’s okay, you can laugh, I’m practically ‘sane’ again now I promise.) I feel fiercely loyal and defensive when it comes to Jay, if he’s upset I feel like my world could come crashing down. And just because he’s from London and earns his crust by selling products doesn’t mean he doesn’t get upset by things.

We were sent one or two nasty messages after the show aired, from strangers who had been rooting for Kate and Corwen to win. (Kate and Corwen were, by the by, absolutely lovely people, we didn’t think of them as our ‘rivals’ but instead the only other people who knew the intensity of the what we were all going through!) - The messages were really hurtful, but I guess I can’t blame them, they merely fell prey to clever editing. I might have thought we were a bit shallow and materialistic too had I been watching through the eyes of a stranger.

I’m not going to have any regrets. Because apparently they don’t work. (According to Robbie anyway) - I’m just going to embrace my husband and my children, pick myself up, dust us all down, keep calm and carry on.

So long as those of you, whose opinions we really value, still <3 us, that’s all that really matters!

Love to all, Thanks for reading!

Your Stephie x x x

4 Days to go. And if I had a pound for every message I've received informing me of this fact I'd be *surrounded by Jimmy Choo's shoes by now. (*Sort of.)

It's not like I need reminding, I've been trying to forget. But it seems that the rest of the nation is quite excited by our TV adventure, considerably more so than I am. :-/ And to think I thought none of you would care. 

I guess I'd be excited too, if it was one of you I mean, alas none of you are quite as naive and silly as I am. :-/

Don't get me wrong, I'm anxious, but I'm not suicidal or anything. I'm not wanting the ground to open and swallow me whole, (though I probably will on Thursday.) In fact sometimes I experience a teeny tiny sensation that could almost be described as excitement, but then I hear a little voice in my head and a whole bunch of rocks appear in the pit of my stomach and bring me back to reality with a bit of a thud. 

'Well she's very attractive and quite glamorous et cetera . . . But that doesn't count for much round here.' 

Of course If I were a boy I'd probably be quite chuffed with this comment from one of the villagers of Grassington. I'd probably grin, shrug and be quite satisfied with the thought that someone said I was attractive on the telly. But I'm not a boy. I'm a girl. (Yes I am.) And everyone knows girls don't focus on the positive things people say. It's not in our genes to do so.

So I guess the villagers of Grassington had me down as just a pretty face? They should see me chasing my chickens, in wellies and PJ's, hair scraped back, mud flying . . . haha. 

It's not really a big surprise to me that I've been portrayed as a bit of a ditzy bird. Because, (here's where you're supposed to feign shock!) I can be a little bit ditzy. (I messed about with bleach far too much as a teenager.) I hope people don't assume that that means I don't have a brain though, because if they do make that assumption I shall probably spend the rest of my life trying to prove otherwise, (which, let's face it, for a ditzy bird might just be a little too much effort . . . !)

The other day I had another random flashback, of my trying to navigate through Grassington square, negotiating, (badly) some kind of relations between my (very beautiful) stilettoed boots and the (also very beautiful) cobbled village streets. I think, though I cannot be sure, that I stumbled quite impressively, at least twice. On camera. (Okay ground, now you can open.)

I should stop moaning though, cos I'm not getting half as much grief as my darling husband Del Boy is. ;-) (It's okay Mum, Dad, it could have been worse. I could have married a 'Trigger'?!) hahahahaha!

Oh dear family and friends, please do accept my sincerest apologies in advance for what you are about to see. I hope you'll still love us come 10 o'clock on Thurs eve? And I hope we don't embarrass you too much.  

And dear residents of Grassington, especially those of you who were really, really nice to our faces, if you have reason to believe C4 may have caught you accidentally slating Del and I or bitching about us behind our backs please do speak now... 

Waterproof mascara and fluffy pillows at the ready. . . here goes nothin'!

Love to all 

Stephie x x x 

“Think it's my birthday tomorrow though can't be sure. To be sure I'd have to know what day it is today. Which I don't. #sleepdeprivation :-/ "
- www.twitter.com/slc84

I’m hoping you’ll forgive me, not only for paying you very little attention and not blogging for these past few weeks, but also for the inevitable lack of amusement or wit that I fear I will have to offer you in this blog post.

(And if this is your first visit to my little blog, you should know that normally I am obviously much funnier, wittier and generally more charming than the following ramble shall demonstrate. *Obviously. ;-) )

You see even with the addition of my brand new (very, very) smart phone, (which was an early b’day pressie from Mr. C – see, told you it was my Birthday sometime soon . . . ) I have yet to master the art of juggling my life into something a little more manageable, something that isn’t whizzing by in a haze of, erm, ‘blurriness.’

I’m not very witty at the moment, I can barely string a sentence together, my vocabulary is pants (for want of a better word,) and my brain is a little bit numb. So I ought not to waste too much of your time this evening.

My third and final Bambino, baby Mason Joshua, (or MJ as he’s known to us,) is, as you’ve probably gathered, here at last! And boy was he worth the wait. I’ve recorded you guys a little vid, by way of introducing you to the new man in my life, hope you like it! (Ignore the commentary by the way, I hadn’t realised how deranged I sound when talking to him. Lol)

His arrival was, thankfully, a very speedy one. Born here at home, on Mummy and Daddy’s bed at 1:50am on Jan 13th, Mj was a respectable 9lb 4ounces, back-to-back, and yet the labour was probably the easiest of the three. (Feel free to send medals, or shoes!) The whole experience of homebirth was everything that I’d hoped for, and much more! But I won’t rave about it today, (primarily because I’m typing this entry with a teeny-tiny person balanced on my knee and can’t type one-handed) – perhaps I’ll cover it at a later date? Or perhaps you’ll have to get your mitts on a copy of my new book for all the gory details!

Of course in order to read my new book, (The Real Girls Guide to Growing a Baby,) I understand I shall have to actually finish writing it. (I don’t know who’s idea it was to write a book and grow a baby at the same time, but clearly it hasn’t gone quite to plan.) So I’m being sensible. I’m taking a little official Maternity Leave, but I shall crack straight on again in a few weeks. I’ll make the deadline. I promise.

Juggling three children, too many animals, a small business and the biggest writing project I’ve ever attempted, is no easy task, so I’m discovering. Especially when one of my babies has been knocked sideways by a bug from hell. Poor Leo, I’d never seen him look so rough; pale, skinny, dark circles under his eyes. He was unable to keep anything down, nothing at all, and subsequently several trips and overnight stays in the Childrens Ward were made last week.

It’s heartbreaking to see children poorly, but thankfully he’s fine now, our cheeky charmer. He’s back toddling around the house, chattering away in his own little language and helping himself to all the food in the fridge whenever he feels inclined. God I love him. I love them all.

Lorelei goes to theatre school now every Saturday, and she loves it! She returns with new songs to add to her repertoire of tunes that she currently belts out at the crack of dawn for all to hear, (until I yell at her and ask her to sing elsewhere,) and she struts around in high heels (that’s my girl) and various home-made costumes, speaking in an American accent and saying things like, ‘Come on Leo, teeth-brushed, bot-bot and bed. Because that is how we roll.’

I think she’s destined for stardom. That’s where she appears to be heading anyway. Either way she always shines in her Mumma’s eyes. J

So it would seem, what with Jays ambition to become a TV presenter, (is 30 too early to experience a mid-life crisis?! Haha!) that I’m the only one in this household that isn’t destined for fame. And that’s fine by me. Except that it might be a little late to suddenly declare myself the shy and retiring wall-flower-type.

I just saw an ad for our TV show and nearly wet myself. I’d sort of forgotten we were going to be on the telly. Until I just sat getting my Fairy Gok Mother Fix, as I do every Tuesday, and suddenly saw a whole bunch of people I recognise, in HD on our tv in our living room. Oh god.

The series starts next week on Channel4. That means that next week people will be able to add it to their Sky+ planners if they wish. And they’ll be able to series link it. And then people, all sorts of people, will be able to watch it. And people that I don’t even know will probably see me cry on telly. Bugger. It’s going to be like that scene from Bridget Jones, when she slides down that Fireman’s pole and knocks the cameraman out with her arse. Oh the shame.

Of course our episode isn’t on for a few weeks yet, and it’s the only one I don’t want to watch. I’ll definitely tune-in to see the experiences of our fellow contestants, we made some wonderful friends of both the other families and the villagers of Grassington, so I’m looking forward to seeing familiar faces on our screens. Yet when it comes to our own episode I’m not so keen. In fact I’d quite like to forbid family and friends from watching it, to save us from the embarrassment. Alas I know they won’t pay any attention. Naughty bunch that they all are.

Instead Jay and I have decided to throw a little Premiere party and invite a bunch of our nearest and dearest over to watch the show with us. That way, we figured, they won’t be able to poke fun at us behind our backs, and we can get the whole ordeal over and done with nice and quickly, like pulling off a plaster.

I’d love to tell you that I’ll write again before the show airs, but that’s probably not true. Not unless I receive a maid for my birthday or something. I’m just not able to find the time at the mo. But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you, sweet blog.

Please do keep in touch with me though. I’m a twit. That is I am a Twitterer. You know, I tweet and stuff. So you can follow me if you like? (Go on! I’ll tweet funny stuff, i promise!) and of course you can catch me on Facebook too!

I’ll be 27 by the time I blog next. So expect very mature stuff in the future ;-) Haha or perhaps not :-/

Love and best wishes to all,

Steph x