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

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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 



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My gorgeous friends, family and followers,

I've been a tease. And for that I apologise, but you see really it was impressive that I didn't just blurt out my big secret months ago, after all, you know what I'm like with secrets. (I can't be trusted with them, because even with the best of intentions I find I develop some kind of strange form of truth-tourettes whereby I accidentally divulge all secret information with such childlike enthusiasm and spontaneity. Honestly I think I used up all my lies as a teenager.)

Anyway, it's still a little early to be letting the cat outta the bag, (not literally of course. Granted cats aren't my favourite animals, but allow me to clarify that I'd never put a cat in any bag. Ever.) Still I can't wait much longer. I'm practically bursting with impatience.

However before I put you out of your misery I'm a little anxious about something. I'm anxious that I've teased and tempted you all with my secret for so long, gradually building up the anticipation and excitement, that by the time you actually learn about our news you might find it nowhere near as exciting as you'd imagined it might be.

You might just read, shrug and then be a bit 'meh,' about the whole thing, but I sincerely hope that you won't be. I hope that you'll be equally as excited as I am, because this little snippet of news I am about to share with you could potentially change the lives of my little crew forever, and if I've ever required enthusiasm from you, my nearest and dearest, it's right now.

I don't think I would have ever had the nerve to do something like this before, before the incident at Douglas Road and before we lost our baby. Although I had much more confidence and courage back then I don't think I ever really made the most of it. It's only now that I have tasted just how precious life is that I've begun to really live it. It's not about just inhaling and exhaling every day. About going to sleep at night and waking in the morn. It's about so much more than that. It's about learning and loving, taking chances and tasting new experiences.

And boy are we about to taste a new experience.

You see . . . Can I get a drum-roll here please??

We, the Connolly Crew, are about to embark on a whole new adventure. We're going on the telly!

Wooohooooo!

(Close your mouth, you'll catch flies ;-) lol )

Yep. Next week, on Tuesday afternoon, the Connolly Crew are travelling to North Yorkshire where we shall spend 5 days being filmed by Channel 4 as contestants for a new reality TV show!!

I still can't quite believe it. But it's true. We applied months ago, along with thousands of others. We've had extensive interviews, provided tons of info and have practically shared our entire life stories with the producers of the show and then the day before we flew out on our hols we had a phone call telling us that Channel 4 had chosen us, my little family and I, to feature on the show! And when Jay called to tell me the news I actually nearly wet myself. (Well I am pregnant after all.)

So here's the concept, (as far as we know, and we really don't know a lot, it's all being kept very 'hush, hush' for the time being, which is terrifying for a gal who likes to know everything about everything . . .) - There are 14 families (and/or individuals) that have been selected to live temporarily in an idyllic village in rural Yorkshire.

Each week 2 families go head-to-head and have just 5 days to win the hearts of the community already living in the village.

Ultimately a panel of villagers will choose which family will win the prize... a mortgage-free family home.

A mortgage-free family home. The thought of which has lost me many, many hours of sleep in the last fortnight or so. A family home. An anchor of ultimate stability and security in a world that can be so bloody cruel. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm willing to bite the bullet, throw caution to the wind and possibly lose my dignity on national TV.

(Don't get me wrong, I don't intend on doing anything outrageous or silly, it's just that it doesn't take a lot for me to lose my dignity, I embarrass myself on a very regular basis whether I intend to or not! :-/)

Of course Jay and I have questioned why our little family, out of thousands of others, was chosen for this. I mean we can only hope it was for our dazzling personalities, amazing charisma and complete gorgeousness. And not because we come across as slightly insane, loopy or otherwise freakishly entertaining. Because, just for the record, we really are a very normal family. Okay, okay, so 'normal' isn't quite the right word . . . but you know what I mean.

It's not like we tried to be all mad and extrovert and stuff. There was no nudity involved at all in our application process, like you always see on Big Brother audition tapes. We haven't told any porky pies or claimed to be all opinionated and controversial. We don't have any unusual hobbies or beliefs... still they seem to think we're worthy of a whole hours of prime-time channel 4 footage, and who can argue with that?!

Tomorrow we are being visited by the director. He's going to film us for our VT thingymajik, (you know, where they film us standing outside our gaff pulling stupid faces whilst the voice over introduces us, and then the viewers get to see us doing 'normal' stuff like washing up and yelling at the dog and stuff.) - I have coordinated our outfits with military precision and more thought than I gave to my wedding dress. I have already blow-dried my hair (which is silly really as I'll just have to do it again in the morning anyway) moisturised from top to toe, given myself a pedicure (well I don't know how close the camera's gonna get?) and have cleaned the house with much more gusto than usual.

I hadn't really intended on making my television debut looking like I've just swallowed a bowling ball, but hey-ho. Actually I'd never intended on being on the telly full stop, that's more Jay's cuppa than mine, (Don't tell him I told you, but secretly he's always dreamt of being the 6th member of Westlife, touring the world and living in the limelight ;-) Bless his cottons.) But not me. I've never been fame-hungry.

As far as I can tell, (from all my research of reading the glossies and magazines like, 'Heat' and 'Now' and the like,) fame comes hand in hand with judgement. And I don't like to be judged. That is, I don't like to be disliked and you can't be liked by everyone can you?

Well fortunately it's highly doubtful that this little stint on TV will suddenly catapult any of us into the land of the A listers, which is why I'm being so brave, still I cannot help but be a little nervous.

Never before have our characters been tested to such a degree. Never before has it really mattered what others think of us. Never before has the fate of my family been in the hands of the residents of a village up north. And never before have I cared so much.

I feel a bit vulnerable about it, I just know I'll cry if the residents of the village, for whatever reason, take a disliking to us. (*Must remember to buy waterproof mascara.) Still I'm taking the chance because you only live once, right? (unless you're a cat . . . ) And it is my duty as a Mumma to provide the very best for my children, and in my book the two most important things I need to give my babies? Love and stability.

My little Lorelei, in her 6 years on this planet, has lived in 11 different homes. Eleven. How crap is that? And I swore I'd provide stability for her, because I knew just how important it would be. Yet circumstances always seem to get in the way of our aspirations.

So here's our chance to grab a slither of security with both hands. To raise our children somewhere safe, in a community where people still talk to one another, in a home that is ours forever. To be honest, there's not much I wouldn't do for that.

I don't know what to expect. Not really. In Steph land Yorkshire is beautiful. Everyone eats Yorkshire puddings everyday (yum) and drinks Yorkshire Tea. Every one owns Yorkshire terriors and walks them on the Yorkshire Moors (or is it Dales?! Oh dear, must learn the difference.) People say 'By gum' and 'Ey-Up' to one another. Everyone wears tweed, (*Must also remember to pack tweed flat-cap.) and when the women aren't baking cakes and making jam with the WI they're getting their kit off and raising money for charity (a la 'Calendar Girls') – I hope real Yorkshire is just as nice as it is in Steph land.

So there ya go, our big news! Hope it didn't disappoint. The show won't be aired til early next year, ((as far as I know) and by then the wriggly little person living in my tummy will be here!) so keep a look out for us won't you?!

Wish us luck! (Here's hoping I don't embarrass myself too much! lol)

Love to all

Steph x x x


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My husband, Jay, hasn't exactly got, what you might call, a way with words. I mean, he tells hilarious jokes, (he never forgets a good punchline, unlike yours truly,) and he can do great accents, (my favourite is his Irish one, it's delicious -I would have married him in seconds if he'd used that on our first date!) and when he's working he uses a silver tongue in all his sales pitches. Yet when it comes to describing things Jay will almost always favour his own terms, sound affects and actions over the language of a standard Oxford English dictionary.


It took a while before Jay and I truly understood each other. Not that we have a lack of communication or anything, it's just that I am, in Jay's words, 'a posh Surrey tart,' with a love of the English language and he is a typical west -end London lad that knows and uses virtually every form of cockney rhyming slang ever invented, (and some that I'm pretty sure he's invented himself.)





You want me to give you an example don't you? Hmmmm, well he once called me and said,

'I've just gotta rub over me Baked Beans before we go out tonight. Should I wear my Scooby's or my Gloria Gaynors?'




Which roughly translates to,



'I've just got to iron my jeans and should I wear my shoes? ('Scooby Doo's') or my trainers? '




Gradually, as time has rolled by, we've managed to find a compromise between our two languages so we can chat like any other couple, though I still use terms he finds hilarious and he still says things like, 'tune, by the way,' when a good song comes on the radio or, 'it ain't about that,' when he finds something he doesn't like so much.




One of my favourite characteristics that my gorgeous man possess though is his ability to do Blockbuster sound affects. Seriously he can make the strangest noises. He can simulate a car or a plane or any other motor for that matter, and can make machine-gun noises that wouldn't be out of place in any violent movie. I think it's a talent he shares with the majority of his kind, (the males species that is,) because I've noticed that lots of boys can do it. (Perhaps they learnt at the secret lessons boys had at school, the one where they also learnt to set their farts on fire and to make paper aeroplanes that really can fly?!)




Anyway the point is I am now pretty much used to the way he communicates and thus wasn't surprised when he just pointed out that instead of his life being, (*whistles* a happy tune,) it's more, ('dun, dun, DDDDUUURRRNNNN!!!')




(What he means to say is that instead of everything being easy and simple in his life, it always seems to be complicated and dramatic.)




And this, I'm afraid is where I have unknowingly influenced him. You see my life is always a little dramatic too, I almost always take the hard route and those things that old people are always on about, that are 'sent to test us,' always seem to be sent directly to me. (Perhaps I should redirect my mail?!)




Drama always seemed to follow me around, yet now it appears to want to follow Jay too. Which is why my husband is currently stranded approximately 170 miles from home up in Middlesbrough.




It's a long story, (which involves the loss of a car key and the lack of a spare,) and the conclusion is that instead of being home with Mummy and Leo, Daddy is wearing yesterdays clothes, smells like a tramp, (I imagine, because he forgot to take a towel to use after taking a shower,) and is awaiting the arrival of the spare key which should be with him before 9am tomorrow morning, (according to the very nice lady at the post office whom also kindly informed me that I'd forgotten to actually seal the envelope containing the spare key. Ooops.)




So anyhow I am now technically home alone. Little Leo is spending the night away with Nanny Sandie, (which was arranged during the bizarre hour during this afternoon when it was suggested that I would act as courier and rescue my hubby by taking the 4 hour (and £77!!!) train journey up to meet him,) and Lorelei is still down at Nanny Annie's (and I'm missing her like mad!)




I've got my Tilly and my Jack (both of whom act like Rottweilers, will keep away the burglars and thus will, for one night only, be allowed to sleep on my bed tonight!) – I've got my Tinkerbell (although she hasn't been home for a while, dirty little stop-out) and of course I have Woody and Lucky (the two ducks in the garden) but other than that I'm on my tod.




I'm a 21st century chick. An independant woman. I don't need a man. I enjoy my own company and will saviour this time alone. Ah who am I kidding?! I miss them all already. And I don't quite know what to do with myself.




I have toyed with the idea of drinking Jay's Stella's in the fridge and then belting out a few tunes on the karaoke machine (yep, we must be the only family in Britain to have a karaoke machine in our living room! lol) but singing solo to a couple of mutts seems a little sad, even for me.




I have also toyed with the idea of clearing Lorelei's room and getting cracking on the makeover I'm going to perform as a surprise for her when she returns home. (I've been all inspired by 60-minute makeover and have concluded if they can do a whole house in an hour (give or take the tea break they have half-way through, lazy buggers) I can certainly do a room in 2 weeks!) - Yet I just can't bring myself to tackle the mountains of bits of plastic and play-dough and broken or unused toys.




The telly is somehow displaying billions and billions of channels but still absolutely nothing worth watching and the housework is beckoning but I'm on strike. No way am I going to spend the evening scrubbing thank you very much. (Though I am aware that it is Wednesday and therefore I need to 'do the bins.' Yet since this is Jay's job I'm not really sure what, 'doing the bins' actually entails . . . anyone? lol)




I could go out. Except I have about a fiver in my bag and cash-card is up north. I could invite some friends over, (except we've nearly run out of toilet roll and I don't think it's very good etiquette to invite guests over and ask them to bring their own.)




What did I used to do before I became a Mummy and a Wife? It seems an age away . . . let's see . . . If i wasn't in the pub, or out dancing the night away I might have been in the gym, (Katy and I used to go together. We'd weigh ourselves first, then work-out, then weigh ourselves again, then go and have a Maccy D's to console ourselves on the discovery that we hadn't lost an ounce. Lol) – or failing that I think i would have been at home pampering and preening and beautifying myself.




Yep. That's what i'm gonna do. Stick my ipod on shuffle. Spend an hour in the tub. Deep-condition my hair. Exfoliate. Moisterise. Face-Mask. Slip into my softest PJ's and chill . . .




And just like that. Suddenly I'm not feeling quite so lonely after all ;-)

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