So last time I was here I was trying out a new look, losing the heels and low cut dresses and working the sneakers and jeans instead. It was fun for a while, I got a few snogs, but to be frank it's just not me.

I figured out it's not about wearing what is going to attract blokes, but how I feel about myself, and that isn't Converse and skinny jeans. It just ain't me. So over the last month I've decided to sod the men and embrace the outfits that I really love to wear, and haven't cared what the occasion is.

I've been working my Vivienne Westwood puff ball dress down at Tescos in the cold meat aisle, my Matthew Williamson beaded floor sweeper to the Post Office to buy a book of stamps, and my Alexander McQueen tight backless number to the local pub for a swift half and a packet of pork scratchings after work. And all this is before the weekend hits.

Come Saturday night I've been working the full extravaganza - not just the dresses and the six inch black patent Gucci heels, but the hair has never been so finely quaffed and the make up has been so perfected I would give those Mac counter slags a run for their money. In short, I have been - and will continue to be - fabulous. At all times. And no occasion is too small or unmeaningful to ruffle my feathers in a public display.

So if you think you're man enough to take me on, then step up to the challenge...