facebook + unleashing the diva

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Being the other Kate Middleton can be challenging and yet, strangely invigorating.

Recently, facebook disabled my account because they accused me of being a fake!

How dare they accuse me of not being who I really am?
I am Kate Middleton and I have been for the past 42 years!

I offered them my birth certificate, my passport, even my DNA. I just wanted my identity and my friends back. I felt I was in some Orwellian novel. Big Brother had erased me, or as facebook put it, 'disabled' me.

After a weekend of checking my emails every 10 minutes to see if I had been reactivated (their words not mine), I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to open a new profile and call myself something else. Katie, Katherine, Twinkle, the Raspberry Queen...I was getting quite creative.

A few days later, they finally 'reactivated' me. I was so euphoric to be back in the world of the cyber-living that anger transposed to forgiveness.

Then the real saga began.  I was besieged by journalists wanting to write about my story.

The night before Jon, the journalist and Mark, the photographer arrived, I didn't sleep a wink. I mean it's not every day you have your own photo shoot. I put not one, but two, eye masks on until my eyes went bright red making me look like a panda with conjunctivitis. Attractive!

After apologizing profusely for the state of our road and for our overly amorous dogs, we began. They decided to take photos first, as we only had a couple hours of daylight.

“A couple of hours?”
“We'll be finished in half an hour, won't we?”. I was beginning to get nervous.
“I'm really unphotogenic”, I kept repeating, “and I didn't sleep very well last night.”

My stomach was in knots, all my insecurities were coming to the fore....my eye bags, my open pores, my fat knees...Why did I agree to this?

Then I thought screw it.  I'm looking down the barrel at middle-age.  It's now or never.
I started smiling instead of being acutely embarrassed and well, to be honest, I found the diva in me! 
There I was prancing around in my Hunters, gently caressing the olive branches as I nonchalantly brushed by the trees...
Oh Yes, I was really enjoying it. So much so, that when Mark, aka my new BF, asked me to climb into an olive tree, I agreed.
Big mistake.
Before I knew it, I was arse over apex into some extremely scratchy rooty-things. Nothing like grazed elbows and a bruised ego to bring you down to earth...literally.

And the story?  Well, read all about it at the Sunday Express online.
My brush with notariarty was brief but I did learn a couple of lessons... 
lf you're over 40, avoid climbing trees, get eyelash extensions (doing that this week) AND, more importantly, find every possible way to unleash your diva!

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