26. V I P - Learn Your Acronyms!

On Friday night Saskia and I arrange to go to out, I am still experiencing a slight problem with having somewhere to get ready so I make the somewhat hasty/foolish decision to use Crazy Kuwaiti's apartment. I am lured in by it's beautifully central location and extensive getting-ready facilities! I know that the crazy one himself is going out to Tiger Tiger of all places that night for a work party so he would be totally out of my hair - the only reason I agree to go there. Luckily after enduring only half an hour of his tediously repetitive ramblings he heads on out and the real work gets under way. Come 11:00pm I am just putting the finishing touches to my hair and makeup and panicking about the fact that I am wearing the shortest, most transparent dress (I use the term 'dress' loosely - it was actually a top!) and I have forgotten any underwear (very Lohan).

In my haste all I could buy was a lime green thong with a putrid butterfly in a totally unneccessary place for an extortionate £6 from Accessorise. Windy night+tiny dress with even tinier thong=red face and embarrasing accidental flashes!

Just as I am putting my shoes on HE comes back - goddamnit what could he want?? He says he's come back to charge his phone, and begs me to go back with him to Tiger Tiger to - and I quote: 'show me off' to his work friends. Ugh. I can't imagine anything worse, although Saskia is late waiting for some boy and I could do with some drinks. So after agreeing he buys me all my drinks (obligitory) and gives me some money for a taxi to where I'm meeting Saskia we head off. One short taxi ride later and I arrive in Hell. Seriously, have you ever been to the London Tiger Tiger? What a stark contrast to the Newcastle one. In Newcastle it's huge with loads of different rooms and of course the all-important VIP lounge for those free champagne tables and hottie footballers! The London branch is an over-packed, sweaty mess with one large room like a church hall. Ok so it's not that bad but seriously - it's soooo crowded!

Like a clapping seal I perform the whole crowd-pleasing routine, meeting, greeting, smiling, drinking and praying for Saskia to hurry up so I can get the hell outta there. His work friends are actually really cool, nothing like him, and one's pretty hot. We get chatting when Crazy Boy reminds me that I 'should be flirting with HIM!' I should be 'making HIM look good!' Blah, blah, whatever - I'm not your bitch!

Luckily at this point I was saved by the bell and left to meet Saskia in Leicester Square. After checking out the dresses and heels and agreeing that we both look suitably slutty we head off to Cafe De Paris. At least we thought it was Cafe De Paris, when we turned up and found out that, shock horror, our names weren't on the guest list we realised we were at Cafe Royal. An easy mistake for two half-drunkards to make!

We finally get to Cafe De Paris and not only are our names on the guest list (no queuing or paying for me thank you lady) as usual we also got VIP access to a table upstairs couresy of her events manager, Carlton. Although I am always grateful for being invited to the VIP tables I have to say I am not overly impressed with Cafe De Paris' ones. Not only is the VIP area a long tunnel-like balcony but the vodka on the table was one of the skankiest brands I have ever seen. The last time I was in this particular club was about two years ago for the finals of Miss Great Britain, I think I will remain a rare night out from now on!

Saskia introduced me to a man she went to school with, aparrantly he had just finished filming a huge blockbuster that was to be out in the cinemas the following year. She later told me he has said I was hot and that we wanted to ask me out on a date. If he's going to be the next Jude Law then hey, jackpot! We decided to move on and took Saskia's events manager and a Lithuanian girl called Ora who bears a striking resemblance to Chelsy Davy with us.

It was once we got outside we found out that two girls Saskia knew had tried to get in but were turned away. I know this is commonplace in a club like this but I was shocked when I heard it was not because they simply didn't look good enough (always the excuse) but because they were too FAT. Now I have had a little fattie issue myself of late.

I had always been one of those jammy girls that can eat and eat and be oblivious to the inside of a gym yet still retain my size 8 - 10 figure. Of late (since all the the drinking) I find myself struggling into a size....... 12. It's hit my like a bullet between the eyes and I must confess.... only one pair of my work trousers fits me right now. I feel like a blonde Roseanne Barr, hang on - that's Vanessa! It's so not a good look and I find myself writing diet plans I never stick to, driving to Tescos to buy fruit I never eat, and going to the gym, only to decide to have a sunbed when I get there instead. It's a dire, dire situation and while I would have laughed at the misfortune of these girls before and maybe quietly said "Fattie Fattie!" whilst chuckling, I now feel their pain.

We headed over to Mo*Vida and Nicky took us to a private table with a bunch of Arabic-looking men who turned out to be the most minted, hottie guys from Dubai with a mission to party! Carlton expalined we mustn't move onto other men's tables. I am beginning to understand the game now. Guys like Nicky have deals with rich guys or the exclusive clubs to get the most amount of partying, pretty girls on their table. So girls like Saskia and I are somewhat obligated to make their table look good - and in return we get VIP entry, no queuing (perish the thought) no paying and free drinks ALL NIGHT. What more could you want? Everyone's a winner!

We were all introduced and we get stuck in to the main task - drinking! That's when I notice the BIGGEST bottle of vodka on the table - seriously I am not even kidding - it was as long as one of my arms, fully extended, if not bigger! I felt the rise of a challenge inside me as I struggled to pick up the bottle. Luckily they were (in some respects) gents, and poured all my drinks for me so I didn't have to strain myself on the monster bottle.

By 4am Saskia and I were pretty wasted. 5 hours, as many toilet trips, 1 large bottle of vodka and some networking and dancing later we were ready to go. Home? No way! This night isn't even over yet!