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“If you girls keep going the way you’re going, you’ll be drowning in both,” Verity says. “Just keep your eyes on the prize, develop a really strong bullshit detector and only take advice from people you really love, not ,” she taps her brush on my nose, “total strangers.”

When our hair and make-up is done it’s time for us to get into our dresses, which we’d carefully coordinated so that when our photos are taken on the red carpet we match but still look unique, showing off our personalities.

Layla suggested we go with jewel-colour dresses, “because we’re the northern jewels” and I’d bagsied red straight away.

I wanted to be the ruby, all shimmering and tempting.

Layla’s gone for sapphire blue and I’m determined to forge ahead with my masterplan of turning Mads into as much of a star as us lot that were on camera, so she’s dressing in style too.

Madison went with emerald green because it matches her eyes, and she’s in a gown that sweeps all the way to the floor, but of course because it’s Madison, is frighteningly low cut.

We’re all on tit-watch tonight, if one falls out we’re under strict instructions to quickly jump in front of her, while one of the other jewels helps her wrestle it back in.

Earlier, we’d even had to rush to the local corner shop as it became very clear that the tit tape that Madison packed was not going to cut it with her double Fs.

It was far too flimsy. So the secret is – and totally invisible to anyone else – that Madison’s boobs are being held up and together by some very heavy duty masking tape.

Samantha’s decided to be an elusive pearl.

Her dress is off-white and is almost magical when it catches the light, revealing that it’s made of miniature sequins all over.

Except…she’s just sashayed into the room and she’s not in the white dress we all agreed on.

Nope. Instead she’s in red, the exact same red as mine, only hers is much sluttier.

It’s covered in slits, like Edward Scissorhands has had a go at it, but Edward Scissorhands if he worked for Versace, as all the slits are in the sexiest of places, one thigh high, one across her hip, another under her left boob.

To stop it being too revealing there are gold safety pins fastened to each slit, it’s a red homage to that dress that Elizabeth Hurley wore, the one that made her career.

Samantha looks jaw-dropping in it, we’re all absolutely agog when she comes waltzing in and not just because she’s messed up the plan and is wearing my colour.

“I thought you were wearing white,” Layla’s saying to her and Samantha just shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

“Yeah but I felt like a fucking bride in that dress, I decided to swap last-minute. This one is much better, don’t you think?” She does a little twirl. There is, of course, a slash just across the top of her bum, revealing a shot of, damn , perfect bum cheek.

“But I was supposed to be the ruby,” I say, but it comes out a whisper.

I feel like a silly child, I know it’s just a dress but already I can see us walking in front of all the photographers together, and I know who’s going to grab their attention.

Why did I decide I should be classy? Everyone knows it’s the slutty dresses that make the papers the next day.

“What’s that?” Samantha says, her tone switching from sweetly excited about her dress to aggressive in an instant. “You got a problem, Angelica? You can’t own a colour, you know.”

“Cut the crap, Samantha, we all agreed Angelica would be the one in red, you’re just trying to upstage her, like you always fucking do.

” I’m grateful that Madison has my back, particularly as we all know you have to be bold to go against Samantha.

Whenever things didn’t go her way in the house, she’d not hesitate to get right up in people’s faces, yelling so close that whoever was on the receiving end would get a whiff of her tequila-and-fags breath.

“Alright boulder tits,” retorts Samantha.

“As if you’re one to talk when it comes to attention seeking, I’m not the one who’s trying to distract the press from the fact you’re just a runner by letting my tits enter a room before I do and who will whip off her top as soon as any lad, even a minging one, is nearby. ”

With that, we’re all yelling, trying to get our voices heard above the din, and the warm, fuzzy, girlie friendship feeling we had earlier has dissipated.

But whose fault is that? If Samantha wanted to match with us three, as she’s now claiming this is typical and we always gang up on her or leave her out, then she should have stuck to the plan.

“Cat fiiiiiiight!” It’s Damon, he’s arrived with the lads in tow and their presence is enough for all of us to stop fighting – for now at least. They’re already in their tuxes and Damon looks so handsome.

I’ve got all-over flutters just looking at him and I have to pry my gaze away before, oh, oops they’re already there, my head is full of Damon-themed fantasies, in that suit, at the end of an aisle, waiting for me.

We’re all hugging and kissing, when I spot out of the corner of my eye that Leo is here too!

He also looks handsome in his suit (though not as handsome as Damon, of course).

His floppy, sandy blond hair, which is usually so messy, is perfectly tousled and the navy blue of his suit brings out the cobalt shade of his eyes.

I don’t think I’ve ever noticed just how beautiful they are before, they’re like the colour of the sky, just before it turns to night.

I rush over to say hello, so pleased that now we’re not filming we can chat without having to hide it.

Although a part of me wonders what it’s like having watched and filmed everything, but having done so while sober.

He probably remembers it all better than I do.

I suppose that’s why the crew are like the parental part of the family – they’re with us all the time, but also just on the periphery.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Before I answer that, I have to tell you just how beautiful you look, Angelica. Proper breathtakingly stunning.”

“I guess I scrub up well,” I reply, smiling and suddenly conscious of a feeling that grabs at my stomach, but it’s gone before I can identify exactly what it was. Probably just a need to fart.

“We’re up for one of the techy awards – the ones they don’t televise!

‘Best post-production.’ But you know what the production company is like.

Never waste an opportunity. When they invited me and some of the rest of the crew, I realised it wasn’t just a knees-up.

They’ve sent me to do some filming as well,” he gestures to his feet where his trusty camera-bag sits.

It’s covered in all these patches, collected from all the locations he’s filmed all over the world.

He told me quite early on in the series that when he comes home, it’s a tradition for him to sit with his mam as she sews them on and tell her all about his travels.

“They think that for season two, some of these big moments might make for good cut-off scenes.”

“So there will definitely be a season two, then?” I ask, thinking of Mam and Dad, and all the money I desperately need.

“Are you mad, Angelica? You’re so loved, I mean…” he stutters. “The show is so loved, of course they’re going to sign off on a new one. There’s just a few paperwork things that need sorting, I hear. I’m sure you’ll get your contract soon.”

I’m fizzing inside. When I’d quit my job at the care home to do the show, so many people had said I was crazy to jack in a steady job for some flash in the pan chance to embarrass myself on national TV.

When I’d handed in my resignation, my manager had said I’d been on course to become a supervisor.

But the old folk I looked after? They were my biggest cheerleaders.

Mavis, who I reckon was a bit of a goer in her day, held my hand in hers and told me the only things I should ever regret were the things I’d left undone.

I mean, I might have taken that too literally when I was passed out in the corner of the Tiger Bar after multiple vodkas, but I take her point, and I think she’d be proud that I’ve stuck with it.

A second series in the pipeline shows people must be loving it.

Fliss has also said that she’ll try to get me more money this time.

We hardly got anything for the first season, which is mad, as she pointed out, considering we had to quit our jobs and abandon our whole lives in order to go on the show.

I’d never considered it like that before, as the way I saw it, I was getting to go on this mad adventure, get all free booze and VIP entry into the best nightclubs.

At the beginning, honestly, I’d have paid them just to participate.

I’m about to ask Leo another question when Damon jumps up behind me, slapping me on the butt.

“Ass looking good,” he whispers in my ear, before announcing to the room, “Angelica’s pancake butt is more of a cupcake today,” and laughing.

I laugh too but I notice Leo doesn’t. He’s never been great with lad banter, Damon always calls him boring…

he’d even say that in the house. I always told him to shush, you never know when the cameras were eavesdropping, and I’d hate Leo to hear anyone saying anything bad about him.

We’re fair game as we signed up for this, knowing full well we’d end up bitched about, but he’s just trying to do his job.

“Right, limo time,” Gerald’s at the door.

He tries to give us pointers on how we should behave when the cameras are focused on us, and how yes there’s wine on the table, but that doesn’t mean we need to drink all of it, but we’re all too excited at the prospect of a limo (with a very hot driver, as it happens) to properly listen.

Besides, Gerald was sometimes the one who would come into the house while we were all falling over or screaming at each other and replenish the bottles of Apple Sourz.

He can hardly make us change our ways now, can he?

He made us who we are, and that’s why the world is falling in love with us!

They can see we’re just like them, people having fun, because we’re young, silly and want to laugh.

As we pile into the limo, which has a ceiling of lights like twinkling stars, and a huge ice bucket in the middle containing a bottle of prosecco waiting for us, I realise something.

Damon didn’t tell me how beautiful I look, just my ass.

* * *