Yesterday was a TV day, it was herb butters and flavoured oils. It was practice and prepare and be ready.
Was it because I knew there was a new producer and changes on the show that made me more nervous this time?Â Was it just the dreaded hormones and age? Don't know, but my nerves came out in the form of an outbreak. A skin outbreak of spots, zits, whatever you want to call them. At my age, eeeuugh!
Monday morning found me with a great big boo boo in the middle of the cheek. hmmm, great,Â just deal with it (zit zapper cream) and curse a wee bit. Yesterday morning I woke up with a face like a geriatric teenager. The damn things were everywhere. Huge lumpy things that were almost holding hands and dancing across my visage.
Talk about Groundhog Day, it was like being back at school again. Those teenage days when zits are normality and the curse of your age. An everyday occurrence that you sincerely hope will pass with age. You certainly don't think that in middle age you will be inflicted yet again, but this time without the back up of all your peers being in exactly the same position.
So picture the scene, I turn up at the studios with a face like a pizza, and really it is only testament to the wonderous skills of the make up artist that I look human at all.
It was a busy show for me; trying to demonstrate two different butters and then move on to a flavoured oil, meant a lot of faffing about and hoping timings would go smoothly and without a hitch. It all got off to a horribly bad start when I poured the icing sugar into the glass bowl and it poofed up in a cloud that would have put hiroshima to shame. The camera was at this point facing the hosts who were introducing me. There I was desperately flapping hands to clear the air and I could see the horrified look on the camera-woman's faceÂ as she kept it firmly fixed on Michelle and Stephen right next to me. "Please God let the sugar cloud clear, let the butter mix, and let me not pop out another bloody zit live on air".
3 – 2 – 1Â go! Camera my way, cloud burst has calmed, I smile, I stir and I chat. Zits forgotten, herbs in mind and suddenly I am enjoying myself again. It's worked, it's okay, I'm in my ellement and all is well with my little corner of the world.
Come home and chill out, remove make up and see the face of Zog staring back at me in the mirror. It is a cruel parody of life – a teenagers spots superimposed on the etched lines and creases ofÂ an old bat.
Retire in horror, hope face stops acting in such a silly manner. I know I want to look younger, but my teenage zit phase wasn't quite the age I was hoping for.