Imogen's World Girl In The Know - MSN Life & Style Blogger

So, Saturday, myself and carefully vetted wingman (I needed someone with the enthusiasm to clap and cheer for hours on end) went off to the beeb to watch "I’d Do Anything".

It’s always an amazing thrill to go inside those hallowed walls. However, rest assured that the powers that be at the BBC are not splurging your license fee on their surroundings. Everything is somewhat dilapidated. Anyway, interspersed with visits to the bar (to buy – this is the beeb) warm white wine and crisps, it was really interesting to see how the Nancys were doing in the flesh.

Now, I went in with Jessie as my favourite and front runner. However, she didn’t have the best week. Or the best shoes. Indeed at a very late dinner after, my Step-mum and I urged my Dad to try and do something about the ridiculous heel heights going on. Both my wingman and I took a big gulp when Niamh came down the stairs in a pair of pink plastic 5 inches. Neither of us are strangers to mega shoes – indeed the wingman has been seen out in 6 inches (I tried some of those on in NY and took them off again before taking a single step - LETHAL). However, there’s no way we’d be wearing them on live TV. We’d be A over T before we even tried to sing. Try being the operative word.

Strong frontrunner in the BBC bar is now seen as Samantha (who is also my little bro’s favourite – he even pitched up with a banner and his friend had a T-shirt saying ""Vote Samantha" on it). Jodie is seen as a strong contender. Rachel is sort of tailing now that Ashley’s gone. As everyone keeps saying it’s not a talent contest – it’s about who’s right for the part.

So we shall see. My task for the week is to get the song "As Long As He Needs Me" (what a key change) off my brain. And then there’s the small matter of how many Sex And The City parties I can crash…!?! 

Nancy! Nancy! Nancy! Yes, finally I’ve done it, I’ve blagged my ticket and I’m going to see I’d Do Anything at the beeb this Saturday. Graham Norton in "those" suits, my Dad in "those" shirts, Denise looking divine, John Barrowman being "fantastic, fantastic, fantastic". Yes, all good.

Well, it certainly brings back happy memories of last year, where Abi Titmuss and I developed massive crushes on the lovely Lee when we somehow managed to sneak in almost every week! During one song Lee actually looked at us (even my Step mum said so), causing us to miss handclap during his number in front of millions of people. Although let’s face it, what BBC viewer would be looking at myself and Abi when faced with Lee in his loincloth?

Now, as anyone who has ever been part of a "live studio audience" knows, it is actually quite tiring. You have to leap up and down, and clap and cheer and provide a general level of enthusiasm that many of my friends just cannot garner for anything. So, I’ve had to think long and hard about my wingman for this week. And I’ve definitely gone for Miss Enthusiasm. Never knowingly silent, I took her to X factor one year and introduced her to Simon Cowell. She came over all tongue-tied. Extraordinary, the only time the bossiest person I’ve ever met was a quivering wreck (and I’m referring to her not him!). However, she definitely made the requisite amount of noise required in the studio, and I know she will on Saturday.

Anyway, I can’t wait to go - I haven’t seen any of the Nancys live since they were whittled down to the final 12 before the live shows. My favourite then, by a mile, was Jessie. We shall see if she still is come Sunday… Leave me messages here to let me know who you think is best! There’s always a big debate in the BBC bar after over warm white wine and crisps over who should stay and who should go…

Was on the phone to the BF the other day, and she was eating a muffin. This was all well and good, and muffins (as opposed to muffin tops) are a wonderful thing. But not when you want to shift a muffin top. In which case, they are one of the worst things possible. Proper, serious, mega calories before you've even hit 9AM.

It’s sunny. You’re in a panic. You don’t want to look like Posh (bad), but you could do with losing a few pounds without mega fuss. Indeed preferably no fuss. For if you proclaim you’re on diet, then other people will try to sabotage it immediately to make you feel better about themselves. Short of locking yourself away and never seeing anyone, you’re going to be out and about, so you need alternatives. And there are some. Yummy ones.

Easy lower calorie options are:

• Alcohol. Go for the Skinny Bitch (vodka and diet soda) instead of beer or wine.
• Instead of ice cream eat Calippos or FABs (about 70 calories each only)
• Drink a pint of water when you feel hungry to check you actually are.
• Avoid wheat & gluten, you’ll get a flatter tummy. Instead of toast or cereal for brekkie eat fruit topped with yoghurt (or flax seed if you’re dairy intolerant) to stop you getting hungry and salad for lunch (in non-creamy dressing).
• Avoid pasta etc for above reason. It’s all about the protein and veggies.
• Asparagus. Better than spanx. Trust me!! Just lay off the Hollandaise.
• Berries. Least calorific fruit around (as long as you’re not smothering them in cream). Snack on them.
• Out at dinner and everyone ordering pudding? One scoop of chocolate ice cream, 2 of sorbet. You don’t look like a wimp – or an anorexic either.

Last but not least, get a fake tan and smile. High level academic research (a whole pile of friends of both sexes and a lot of alcohol) reveals that boys prefer us at least 5 pounds heavier than we prefer us. Says a lot…

I spent the weekend being very naughty. Acting older than my shoe size, but certainly not my age. I met up with old schoolfriends for a picnic on Saturday (it started raining so we managed 10 minutes in the park, several hours drinking on a blanket on my BF's floor). Sunday was just a more sophisticated form of inebriation, which let’s face it, isn’t that highbrow, when the GBF and I went to watch Wills & Harry play in a charity polo tournament. The GBF and I both agreed that Harry is the Better Looking Brother. By a considerable margin, we might add.

Part of my bad behaviour over this weekend is I think in reaction to May bank holidays past, and the years I spent doing exams. I hated exams – they properly freaked me out. I worked and worked and made revision plans and cried and went through hell. I ended up at Cambridge, where in some college libraries camp beds were literally set up so students could break up their 20 hour straight hours of studying with a few hours sleep.

If that’s you at the moment, as the sun shines, I say this to you, and I’m allowed to as I’ve really, really been there. As long as you’ve tried your hardest, that’s actually all that matters. At some point destiny will take over.

Proof? Of the 3 schoolfriends I saw on Saturday, I was the only one with a pretty blemish free academic record (i.e. I was a geek and they were too cool for school!). The others’ A levels results weren’t great and a couple ended up with Desmonds (Tutus – 2.2s!) at Uni. Yet now, one is a high-flying corporate financier, one is in the civil service, and one is a lawyer who is just about to go and take a sabbatical to do seriously scary law in the Hague.

And me and the GBF, both Cambridge grads? We write. And I produce too. We went into fluff. Yes, exams are important, yes its essential you do all you can to do well, but life has a very odd way of working out in the end…

I was naughty the other night, but Grace Jones was naughtier. I went to a party she was singing at, but left very quickly as I decided I wasn’t in the mood and actually I needed to go Big Duvet.

Anyway, I ran round the back of a pile of paps and PRs to leave and felt very guilty that God was stropping at my bad behaviour because the concert was being held in a church. But still, bed and my cuddly gorilla teddy bear was calling.

And then what do I read in the paper today (so it must be true)? Miss Jones didn’t even bother to turn up. Apparently she was being paid 50k, was paid 25k upfront, and then demanded the final 25k out of the blue at 9PM on the night itself otherwise she wouldn’t go on. Unsurprisingly, the organisers couldn’t find 25k at that time of day so she remained ensconced in her hotel suite, and her audience disappointed.

There’s diva, and then there’s being Very Badly Behaved. That’s just plain silly. At least Mariah Carey turns up. And J-Lo fulfilled her concert tour even though she was about 18 months pregnant. You sort of do wonder how these stars ever get anywhere in the first place.

Of course, the biggest stars in the world are the ones with the smallest ego. My friend Abi Titmuss and I got the shock of our lives as we exited a café on Dean Street last year. Who should be walking along, whistling, with no entourage, in broad daylight? A wink, and a ‘hello girls’ and we were even more tongue tied than the time we met Lee Mead.

It was Sir Paul McCartney. Now that, Miss Jones, is how to get people to Love You Do.