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I’m about to say, “If you really love me, I want you to start discussing things with me – actually thinking like a couple,” when the lights dim and we’re all told to be quiet, as the presenter is coming on stage.

I look over at Samantha’s table, she’s sitting there, all serene and smiling, a woman whose life is going exactly her way.

Meanwhile, I’m shaking, on my second (or is it third) water glass of wine, and wondering what I can do to stop the love of my life flying halfway around the world so he can bed a bunch of beauties while showing off his newly smooth scrotum.

They rattle through the categories and I can’t concentrate on anything. My head feels like it’s full of flies, and at every ad break I want to carry on talking with Damon but he has to dash to the toilet or work the room.

Our category, because it’s the newest, is the second to last. The last one is an honorary award, going to a soap star who tragically died, far too young, last year.

When I hear that I think how silly it all feels, vying for an award when life can take a turn so quickly.

Shouldn’t we all be focusing on what really matters?

Love, friendship, fun, rather than social media followings and how our lives look on the outside.

As right now, my life has never looked better on the outside, but on the inside, I’ve never felt worse.

“And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” booms the presenter, some comedian who hit his peak in the 1980s.

“The Reality TV Star of The Year. Who have you, the viewers, loved the most? Who has outraged you the most?” he chortles.

“That’s what we asked you and you responded in your tens of thousands.

They’re sexy, they’re scandalous, and they’ve had a skinful… ”

There’s then a montage of our shows – for North Stars it’s mostly our time in the house.

I’m up on this big screen running around, so naive and innocent, just having a laugh and then, there I am, sobbing because Damon has gone off with someone else again , and, god, I really feel for myself.

How is that possible? I feel sorry for the girl on screen and I feel sorry for the girl sitting in this seat right now.

Everyone keeps telling me how good I look, how I’ve ‘won’ and how different I am to the girl on the show, but they’re wrong.

I’m absolutely still her inside, only I’ve lost the essence of what makes me, me.

I’ve been so focused on looking good I’ve forgotten what feels good.

I want some of that innocence back, that silliness, to be the girl I was before all the haters commented on my looks, and made me feel I had to become someone I’m not.

Yes, there are parts of this new me that I really like.

I am more mature, I know how to exercise and eat healthily but recently, I’ve not been exercising and I’ve not been eating.

I need to find my way back, somehow, to who I truly I am.

I decide I need to crisis call Anika when I get back to the room. She got me through Robbie buggering off, she’ll keep me sane whatever Damon big-bollocks decides. I don’t even watch the rest of the montage of him and Samantha, Sebastian and Hattie. I just want to get back to my room and sleep.

I’m lost in my thoughts when I feel a jab in my ribs.

It’s Damon. “Angelica, they’re calling your name, congratulations baby, you’ve done it, you’ve won!

” He gives me a big kiss, our faces filling up on the big screen and I feel so dizzy I don’t know where to turn.

He guides me by my waist, as I stumble a little, up to where the steps are.

I can hear people commenting, “God she’s wasted, classic Angelica,” and “What a legend, only Angelica would collect an accolade as big as this one off her tits.”

We reach the steps and the presenter, whose name I have also completely forgotten, tells Damon he can “take it from here” and he whispers in my ear, “Alright darlin’, that’s it, one step, two steps” until I’m on the podium and the lights are so blinding and there’s a silence, and then some awkward giggles as I realise I’m meant to say something.

I need to give a speech! Thankfully, I’m granted a little bit of time as, from the audience, I hear, “this is BULLSHIT!” The camera men quickly scramble to get their lens on what is happening and we see on the big screen that Samantha has stood up, knocked her chair to the ground and is storming towards the exit.

It gives me a little time to try and straighten my thoughts out, remember who I need to thank, so when the spotlight is back on me, I manage to say: “I really do care, I’m just so overwhelmed, I’ve lost what I want to say,” and someone from the audience jeers, “you’re slurring! ”

I ignore them and carry on. “I, first of all, want to thank the love of my life Damon—”

The same person heckles, shouting. “You’re an idiot, he’s been shagging anything that moves.”

This time I find myself addressing them.

“You’re not the one dating him, so shut up.

” That gets a small cheer but I spot a few faces, including the actor on our table, just looking at me with pure pity.

“And, the North Stars house, everyone, the production team, the cameramen…” I trail off, thinking about how, just hours ago, I’d thought I would namecheck Leo in my speech.

“And, of course, my girls Madison and Layla, I want to cause chaos with you until we’re eighty and, Reed and Marc and most importantly, the two people who I wouldn’t be here without, who I know are watching from home, my mam and dad. ”

It’s at this point the spotlight gets brighter and I suddenly feel like I’ve gone blind. I stumble backwards, just one step, but the light keeps getting brighter and brighter until a wave of pain hits me.

Everything turns to black.

* * *