On Telly Again!

So, what do you do when Trinny’s assistant at This Morning telephones you to ask how your wardrobe makeover is holding up? You explain that, despite taking on Ms Woodall’s advice, and indeed implementing her precious nuggets of fashion instruction on many occasions (!), the actual wardrobe is, to be frank, worse.
The doors have fallen off, for a start. And, in order to actually get to the wardrobe, I have to enter the derelict Funny Little Bungalow, pole vault over a couple of hundred cardboard boxes, and negotiate a slalom of stacked furniture.
This honest-ish reply can’t have put Trinny’s lady off, though. I mean, they knew the challenges we were all facing when they agreed to go through my stuff in January. And, despite me thinking it wouldn’t happen, they’ve asked me back!
Yes, the Four Little Seymours are getting to school by means other than mine tomorrow, as I aim to be a travellin’ up to The Big City, to be scrubbed again, dressed again, and paraded on telly again for the grand total of approximately two minutes, which is more than enough time to make an enormous buffoon of myself, I’m sure. Especially as it is live.
So, I bid you goodnight, and I will now go and lie in bed and not sleep. For what with tomorrow’s antics and the glory of The Federer fresh in my mind from his match against Raonic today, I am in a bit of a tizz.
I really must get a grip, though. Or I’ll miss my train.
Why do I do these things..?