Whilst the whole world was glued to the Britain's Got Talent final last night I was unfortunately the celebrity judge at Whitwell Bottom's very own version of the competition. Myself, the parish clerk and the vicar sat through round after endless round of home-grown (lack of) talent in the hope of finding someone good enough to be branded mediocre.
Instead of listening to the dreamy, saxy tones of Julian Smith or watching Diversity and Flawless strut their stuff, we were treated to Wilf And His Performing Ferrets, the local ballet school's interpretation of Swan Lake performed in wellington boots and endless renditions of Let Me Entertain You (but no one did).
The piano playing of Kylie Marshall won the night - not because of her perfect recital of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (because it wasn't) but because she's the 7 year old daughter of the local builder and repairs are needed on the village hall.
I looked stunning in my new red dress, very similar to the one Amanda Holden wore on BGT. However, Whitwell Bottom's village hall is incredibly draughty (one of many problems they want the builder to fix) so I had more goose pimples than a plucked chicken by the end of the night.
It would have been all right if I'd had a Simon Cowell on the panel with me but the vicar is to charisma what Cornish pasties are to low-calorie snacks. And the parish clerk was more Piers Plowman than Piers Morgan as he was a farmer and had just been muck-spreading by the smell of him.
Still, nights like these are the price one pays for being in the spotlight and I hate to say no to my public. Whilst an actress's life might look all glamour I can tell you that sometimes, you can't beat a night on the sofa with a glass of wine!
Lots of love, Aurora xxx
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