glad I'm not important

Yesterday we had a posh lunch in the mess for a very important general and his wife. I'm not sure why they were important, but they were thrust upon us like royalty, and I felt I had no choice but to don black skirt and opaque tights and vacant smile and join the happy BGN family. Feel sorry for wives of generals and the like. I mean, if you're a celebrity wife, you have to do the inane chat and cheesy photocall thing, but you also get to stay in nice hotels and get lots of freebies. What do you get as a general's wife? A draughty old mess, a cup of tepid tea with 'the wives' and lockjaw from all that smiling. Perhaps I'm being unfair, but I'm still quite glad that my husband is a military nonentity (don't tell him I said that).

Anyhow, as hubby and I are nonentities, we were sat nowhere near the very important general and his wife at lunch and so could talk about pretty much what we liked. The conversation turned to our 'celebrity one night stand' agreement (Kylie for him, George Clooney for me). Our lovely and long-suffering camp doctor (camp in that she is the doctor for the army camp, not that she walks around like Larry Grayson circa 1978, you understand) chipped in that she had a defunct anal probe, should Hubby be interested in it for his night with Kylie. Hubby had a worrying glint in his eye at that juncture. We then swiftly moved onto more suitable topics, such as why Jordan left I'm a celebrity... and whether Heat magazine has gone downmarket recently?

I bet the general was gutted to be sat with the other important people discussing Gurkha recruitment, when he could have been pontificating on Lindsay Lohan's latest outrage or whether Jennifer Anniston has got cellulite.

Anyhow, should probably go. I need a hairwash (smell like a sheep). Hubby is in Pokhara (quite possibly with Kylie now he's given Anna Kournikova the heave-ho), so I'm going to ablute and have a large G&T and a whole packet of dried strawberries. Oh yes.