Last week I found myself in the hot and sunny climes of Dubai, researching my next book. For those of you who haven’t been there Dubai certainly is a one off – a five star building site with immaculate beaches, out-of-this-world hotels and the odd mosque thrown in. Due to my authorly (is that even a word? Can I invent it?) persuasions I had got us a complimentary stay at the luxury five star Atlantis hotel on the Palm. As our chauffeured car glided (or should I say hurtled – Dubai driving is terrifying!) along the main road to the hotel, it rose up out of the distance like something from an Aladdin cartoon, all arches and turrets and spiky minarets. Actually, that is quite a good analogy – think Disneyland meets Las Vegas with a touch of glamour thrown in and you’re there. And it’s huge – 1539 rooms, Michelin-starred restaurants, spa, dolphin centre (natch), aquarium, its very own water park…

Enough of the brochure speak. We checked into our room and I left my happy boyfriend enjoying a fry up on the balcony while Chelle, the hotel’s PR took me on a tour. As Saffron might say, OMG! The place is dripping in whimsical opulence; I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many shell chandeliers and cornices in one place. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a shell chandelier anywhere before, ever. I can’t really imagine them hanging from any ceiling in Churchminster, except perhaps Brenda Briggs’ place. She would love this place!

Of course, I had my notepad in hand and was scribbling away furiously. The place is so magnificently OTT, it’s going to make a great place to set a story. And when Chelle took me to the Poseidon suite, a three story affair complete with butler and bathroom that backs onto the aquarium so you can enjoy a glass of champagne in the roll top bath as a shoal of stingray float by… well, I knew I had discovered Caro and Benedict’s future suite. Not that I can say much more, but they are in for a very eventful time when an unwelcome face from the past makes a dramatic appearance….

All that sightseeing had made me rather tired so we took to the pool. From then on the week was a happy blur of sunbathing, Cosmopolitans and nice men whose sole job it was to come round and clean your sunglasses. It might not be as virtuous as a volunteering holiday in Africa but it sure was fun. All that was left for me to do was lie back, slap on the factor 50 (Clementine would have killed me if I’d gone any lower) and pretend I was in a Jackie Collins novel. And I have to say; I rose to the occasion admirably.

• Never, ever wear satin unless you want to look like a shiny, overstuffed sausage. It catches in all the wrong places and makes even a pancake-flat stomach look eight months pregnant.

• Worried about bingo wings? To make your arms look long and lean, always put one hand on your hip when posing. It works wonders lengthening your arms and is Renee Zellweger’s trademark pose. (Not that she needs much help in that department, but I could never be such a slave to the gym, sweedies. It’s all about curves, not bulging muscles with me!).

• Do not ‘inadvertently’ flash your womanly bits; one should know the flashbulbs will cut through flimsy fabrics like chiffon. Coming out in a see-through dress might get you in the papers the next day but it’s a cheap trick. And yes Elizabeth ‘Don’t Call Me Liz’ Hurley, I am talking about you. We all know you have a fantastic pair of knockers but at the age of 44, it’s all starting to wear a bit thin (just like your outfits)

• For the same reason, always make sure your underwear colour matches your outer layer. White bra under black dress is only going to end up in shame and get you splashed across the pages of heat magazine.

• When you arrive at a do, never stand in line behind Victoria Beckham. The ex Spice Girl is known for taking hours on the carpet and eating into everyone else’s camera time. Word is she took so long posing at this year’s Oscars, one big film star* got fed up waiting and went inside without having his picture taken. This kind of defeatism will never do. You’ve glammed yourself up for the event – you may as well show off how good you look!

• I know it’s tempting, but stay off the champers until you’ve made it inside. Falling out of the limousine is so not a good way to make an entrance, and then you’ll only forget to breathe in. Even worse, think pulling a porn star pose is funny? Aim high and think glitz and glamour; we’re not in some sweaty nightclub in Luton here, girls!

• Hairy armpits, legs and mono-brows have about as much place on the red carpet as David Beckham at a Stephen Hawking convention. The red carpet is hallowed ground, so treat it accordingly. Pluck and preen yourself to perfection. (And who cares what those smelly old feminists have to say about it?)

* Gossip alert! Who is this film star, I hear you ask? I’d never be one to be so loose-lipped about my fellow thespians but let’s just say he is hunky, Scottish and has been linked to Jennifer Aniston. Oh, and his surname rhymes with ‘Rutler’… hmm? Hmm?

Mwah! x

SH