Tinker, Taylor.....

As you may know, Ms Swift (she of the sparkles and cowboy boots) has spent the weekend sending normally douce Edinburgh into a frenzy of friendship bracelets and pink hats.

What you won't know is where she stayed. It was rumoured that she was going to stash her 54 suitcases in the beautiful Caledonian Hotel near Haymarket, but this was merely a ruse to throw the press off her tail. Actually, for the past couple of nights.....she's been plonking herself down on my sofa bed!

I've known Taylor ever since I gave her some advice about her acne in 2015. She's kept in touch and just after Christmas, texted to say she was fed up staying in exclusive hotels and castles. She wanted some dingy normality, lodging in the home of a total pleb and naturally, she thought of me.

Well that would be fine if she wasn't so damned untidy! You have no idea how many feathers and diamanté bits I've had to hoover up. (And the crumbs! Dear God, why does she have to eat Cheesy Wotsits in bed?) Worse still though, is the constant singing. I wouldn't mind if she was warbling her own tunes, but no - she's a Chas & Dave fan. If I hear 'Gertcha' once more, I'm going to strangle her with her own boa.

(Mind you, I've had worse house guests. The last time Michael Bublé stayed with me, he got absolutely pished on tequila & Irn Bru and started a fight with a one legged lollipop lady.)

I'll tell you who's a great house guest though - Slash from Guns N Roses. He just loves ironing. Last time he was here, he put the loveliest creases into all my knickers, and some other day I'll tell you what he can do with a feather duster. In the meantime, I'm away to pick the glitter off my loo seat....