Welcome to My World

This book is for the people most important to me in life, the ones who matter the most and the ones who have loved and influenced me throughout my life and still do so today.

Mum and Dad

Two very special people who I love very much. Thank you for giving me the life I love and have loved, for the continuous love and support you have always given me and continue to give me.

Our Joe and Anthony

My mates, our kids, the lads! I love you and thanks for all our laughs.

Rosie

You are a very special little girl who has brought so much love and happiness into our family. We all love you x (A sister I thought I would never have.)

Wayne

My friend, my rock, my lover. I love you so much; you mean the world to me. Thanks for just being you!

This book isn’t an autobiography, I’m too young to write one of those. Instead it is the story of the last few years and all the experiences I’ve faced. It’s as much about my life as it is my love of fashion, style and beauty. And, of course, shopping! Hopefully I’ll be able to tell you what it’s really been like living in the spotlight while trying to stay true to myself and my background, and I’ll share some of what I’ve learned along the way. Since the hardback was published, my life has changed even more, so I’ve updated the story in chapter 21 with what’s happened since then, including my new, exciting wedding plans! It really has been every young girl’s dream come true.

Welcome to my world.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Dedication

chapter one croxteth, baden-baden, monaco, cannes & st tropez

chapter two question: what’s my favourite sport? answer: cricket

chapter three always a liverpool girl

chapter four dancing the night away with the stars

chapter five a very strange relationship

chapter six the vogue shoot that almost never happened

chapter seven big betty, bob and doing a klinsmann: growing up a mcloughlin

chapter eight welcome to the world of colly mac

chapter nine food and fitness: it’s like my dad has always said…

chapter ten are they talking about me?

chapter eleven photo-shoots and the art of breathing in

chapter twelve we’re not all called chardonnay or cristal

chapter thirteen don’t stop shopping ‘til you’ve had enough…

chapter fourteen pulling into a garage for petrol and an engagement ring

chapter fifteen the tears of leaving home & the house of our dreams

chapter sixteen when the world isn’t watching

chapter seventeen my experience of men and fashion…i.e. wayne

chapter eighteen eyes and teeth: if they’re smiling then so’s the rest of you

chapter nineteen beach babe

chapter twenty give it a go: that’s my attitude to life

chapter twenty-one my whole life ahead of me

chapter twenty-two my big list of questions

acknowledgements

index

Copyright

About the Publisher

chapter one croxteth, baden-baden, monaco, cannes & st tropez

It’s the summer of 2006. England’s World Cup is over, and me and Wayne are aboard a yacht called The Willsea, spending a week sailing round the French Riviera. We flew in to France by private jet, then took a helicopter to Monaco before sailing to St Tropez, then on to Cannes.

After Germany, we just wanted to go somewhere and totally relax. Wayne likes Barbados, that’s his favourite holiday spot, but we’d been going there for the last two years and didn’t want to travel too far this time, and I wanted to try somewhere in Europe. At the football there had been loads of talk among the wives, girlfriends and players about chartering yachts, because doing this made it much easier to deal with the press attention – or so we thought – and that made our decision.

The Willsea is a 100-foot yacht, with four bedrooms for guests – two double rooms and two singles – all with en suite bathrooms. Upstairs there’s a dining room, a living room, a kitchen and another three bedrooms where the staff sleep – the captain, his right-hand man, the cook and two waiters. There are decks where you can sunbathe, eat or do whatever you want. Eight of us are on this trip: me, Wayne, my Auntie Tracy and Uncle Shaun, and two other couples who are friends of ours.

Wayne hates the sun, so when we go away he usually likes to stay in the shade, or he’ll go and watch DVDs. The weather has been amazing but he’s been quite good on this trip, and I think it’s because we’re with a group and it’s been really enjoyable going out with the others. It’s also been nice to have time to ourselves as well, just the two of us lying out in the sun. Of course, Wayne is putting on loads of sun cream to stop himself burning. Factor 40, I think.

It’s funny to talk about something being over because we’re still so young and things are just starting for both of us.

It’s been a relaxing break, which is a relief because the World Cup ended up being stressful. Wayne was gutted about losing, but I told him he’d just got to let it go, there was no point moping around. However, that’s easier said than done. For the first few days after he came back from Germany, Wayne was narky – well, he wasn’t narky exactly, but he was upset and he didn’t want to do anything. I told him that he should leave it behind, because he will have more World Cups coming up, and that one was over now.

It’s funny to talk about something being over because we’re still so young and things are just starting for both of us. We were only away for a week, but this holiday more than any other, and the weeks in Germany leading up to it, made me think about how much my life has changed over the last few years. Sometimes it’s easy to forget, but being away with friends and family makes you take so much more notice of everything – the good and the bad.

It was floating in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, not far from the beaches of St Tropez, only a couple of days away from going back home to Liverpool, that I decided to start writing this book. I wanted to put down on paper what the last four years have really been like – never mind what you read in the newspapers and the pages of magazines. Because everyone I meet asks me the same question: What has it been like, going from that sixteen-year-old schoolgirl in the lower sixth at St John Bosco High School in Croxteth to the amazing life I’m fortunate to live now? ‘That must be an unbelievable feeling,’ they say. ‘What does that big change feel like?’

That’s what I’m always asked, and I have never really answered before. Not what it’s honestly been like. Not how it feels deep down to be this ordinary Liverpool girl who, all of a sudden, found myself in the spotlight. Then living this dream, because sometimes it still feels like a dream: appearing in magazines like Vogue and Marie Claire; waking up to find myself on the front page of the Sun and the Daily Mirror because the day before I’d been out shopping (shopping!); the paparazzi following my every move; columnists from all the different nationals talking about me like they know me. It’s a good and bad dream, with the good thankfully outweighing the rest.

I wanted to put down on paper what the last four years have really been like – never mind what you read in the newspapers and the pages of magazines.

This book starts on holiday, after the World Cup in Germany and Baden-Baden, because for the previous month or so it had felt like the so-called WAGs, including me, had been in the newspapers every day, and the life I’d been living for the past four years, all the brilliant things that had happened, had been squeezed into just a few weeks.

Germany had been crazy. All the press attention surrounding the WAGs was unbelievable. The WAGs? I don’t even like that label and here I am using it. That’s the power of the media. I don’t know which newspaper came up with the name in the beginning but it just seems to me like a sneery way of describing all the England footballers’ wives and partners. So, from here on in, this is a WAG-free zone! Anyway, back to Germany…People said afterwards that we must be pleased because of the amount of coverage we got, but none of us ever asked for it. Admittedly, some of the girls enjoyed it, but others didn’t. I don’t know…it was such a weird one, but I don’t think we deserved that much attention. The newspapers went over the top, following our every move, detailing how much we were spending, how much we were drinking, the fashion wars. They said there were divides, that there was a competition to see how many column inches each of us could get. Fair enough, some were more interested in that kind of thing than others, but there were never any problems between the girls. Loads of the wives and girlfriends have got kids, so that hinders everyone from all going out together at once.

The fact is, like in any walk of life, you get on better with some people than you do with others. I get on well with Steven Gerrard’s wife, Alex, and I think that’s because we both come from Liverpool and we have loads in common – but it’s also because the first time I ever went away with England, before the Euros in Portugal in 2004, she was the first girlfriend I met properly and got on well with. I’m friends with Jamie Carragher’s wife, Nicola, as well, who’s also from Liverpool.

The newspapers went over the top, following our every move, detailing how much we were spending, how much we were drinking, the fashion wars.

Who else did I get on with? Elen, Frank Lampard’s girlfriend, I got on really well with her. They’ve got a little girl, but she had a nanny so Elen could do a lot more than some of the other mothers. Elen is Spanish but also speaks fluent English – however, sometimes she didn’t understand everyone’s accents and just laughed at us.

Then there was Cheryl. Cheryl Tweedy (well, it’s Cheryl Cole now). I’d met her at another match a while back but this was her first trip away with the team. A few months before, I’d actually been to see Girls Aloud perform in Manchester and she’d invited us – me, my friend and my cousin – backstage afterwards. She’s so funny and has a great sense of humour.

The first time I met Cheryl we were in a box watching one of the England matches. There was me, Victoria Beckham, Paul Robinson’s wife Rebecca, and then Cheryl came in all on her own. Victoria saw her and asked her to come and sit with us. People don’t appreciate how hard it is to go to a match for the first time when everyone’s in little groups and seems to know one other. It’s intimidating.

Before the Euros in Portugal in 2004 we had all gone to La Manga in Spain for the build-up to the tournament. I was seventeen years old, and I hadn’t flown out with the rest of the wives and girlfriends because I’d had to stay behind in Liverpool to sit my AS exams. So when I arrived Wayne met me at the hotel, helped me take my stuff up to the room and then we went down to the pool. I’d never met any of the girls before, didn’t know who anyone was, and Wayne turned round and said, ‘Oh, I’m going off to play golf now.’ I didn’t know anyone, so I said, ‘You can’t do that!’ So Wayne pointed to a group of people lying round the swimming pool and said, ‘’Ere y’are, go and sit with them over there.’

There were two girls with their boyfriends: one of the couples was the Chelsea footballer Wayne Bridge and his girlfriend, and the other was Everton’s James Beattie and his partner. My Wayne went off to play golf for hours and I went over to sit with these people without having a clue what to say. I didn’t even know their names. I ended up asking stuff like what day had they turned up at the hotel, even though I knew exactly when they’d arrived – with everyone else! So it’s hard when you’re the new girl.

My Wayne went off to play golf for hours and I went over to sit with these people without having a clue what to say.

During the World Cup the newspapers made out Cheryl didn’t mix with the rest of us and she and Victoria hung out on their own together all the time, but that wasn’t the way it was. She might not have come out in the evening all the time but we met up and went out for lunch and she’s a lovely girl. Victoria was criticized in the same way. There were headlines saying how she never mixed with anyone. But she was with us in the hotel, and travelled on the coach to matches with us all and the families. We had a great dinner one night, when my best friend Claire came along, but the press don’t really want to report that kind of thing. It makes a better story to say there were divisions in the camp.

After the World Cup was all over, the newspapers used us, the wives and girlfriends, as an excuse as to why the team didn’t get any further. But that’s all it was, an excuse. If England had won the World Cup they would have said that having the wives and girlfriends over in Germany was a good thing. But, let’s be honest, the families haven’t been allowed to travel with the England team in the past and I can understand if it’s true that the FA will not in future be making official arrangements for the girls. But before we start blaming anyone, let’s be clear. We’ve only won the World Cup once and that was in 1966 when we had home advantage. Why were we in the papers so much? It’s not that we asked for the attention. If you think about it this was the first World Cup played out in the digital age and the era of celeb-obsessed media. It was a European tournament, only two hours ahead of England, and the photographers with their state-of-the-art technology had no problems meeting their editors’ deadlines. From day one, the newspapers decided we were the other story and were going to turn us into headline news whether we liked it or not. As far as the press were concerned the girls were seen as fair game for criticism and sometimes ridicule, and, in the end, easy to blame for England failing to win the tournament.

On the day of what turned out to be England’s final match, against Portugal, we had to get up really early in the morning. Everyone was excited, because the further we went in the tournament the more exciting it got. Especially now we were against Portugal, who’d knocked England out in the 2004 European Championship. Everyone was saying that we’d get our revenge and win this one. There was me and Claire, my dad, my granddad, my elder brother Joe, my youngest brother Anthony and my cousin Shaun. We’d taken a vote among the families and decided to go by coach rather than plane. It was about five or six hours to travel from our hotel in Baden-Baden to the ground in Stuttgart.

I remember things that have happened to me – days out, nights on the town, events I’ve been to, work contracts, modelling shoots – by the clothes I was wearing. In general I’ve got a terrible memory, but show me a photograph of myself and I’ll immediately be able to tell you where I was and what I was doing. It’s weird, but I’ve always been like that.

On the day of the Portugal match it was roasting. I had on this little grey jacket over a vest from one of the high-street stores, black denim shorts and Marc Jacobs wedges. I remember not wanting to wear jeans, as I’d done at previous games, just because it was too hot. However, I didn’t travel in those clothes, I went in a Juicy tracksuit. Quite a few of the girls had jogging bottoms on because it was such a long journey to the ground. I know the newspapers said there was competition between the girls as to who could wear the most designer labels but it really wasn’t like that. That’s not to say you don’t check out what everyone else is wearing. That’s only natural. It’s the kind of thing you do automatically if a girl’s wearing something nice or interesting. Well, I do. Wayne tells me off all the time about it. And my mum too. When I was younger she used to say that one of these days I would get a smack! But I don’t do it in a horrible way. I’m just interested in fashion. Wayne says that if we’re in a restaurant and someone’s wearing something I like, I just look and keep looking for ages. He will be talking to me and I’ll ignore him until he starts moaning at me to stop staring!

On the day of the Portugal match it was roasting. I had on this little grey jacket over a vest from one of the high-street stores, black denim shorts and Marc Jacobs wedges.

Me and Wayne have this ritual. He always calls me when he’s on the coach on the way to the game. I just say good luck and what have you, and that’s it. I know before the World Cup there was all this talk about whether he’d be fit enough to play, but Wayne was desperate to make it to Germany and there was never any doubt in his mind that he would go. He just loves playing football. Even in our hotel in Baden-Baden, Wayne would come over for a few hours and he’d be playing football in the room and the corridors with my brother Anthony. They’d both be kicking a ball about, and I’d be saying, ‘Come on lads, don’t you ever stop!’ Luckily they didn’t break anything. They were like big kids. So you can imagine what he felt like, what we all felt like, when he was sent off in the Portugal match.

With me in the stand that day was Claire, my best friend and Wayne’s cousin, my dad, my granddad and my younger brother Anthony sitting together, then my other brother, Joe, with my cousin sat further down with Wayne’s mum and dad, his brother John and Wayne’s Uncle Eugene. To be honest, I never saw what actually happened. I’d seen Wayne go over and confront someone and when he does that I get nervous. I watch other people on the football pitch having a go at each other and, much like everyone else, I think it’s good entertainment, but when Wayne’s doing it I hate it. I was saying to myself, ‘Oh, Wayne, pack it in. Don’t.’ Then the referee calls him over, and I saw him reaching inside his pocket and I thought, ‘Oh, he’s getting a yellow card.’ But then when a red got pulled out the whole stadium just went silent. The place was packed with England fans. All silent. Then the odd one started shouting, then more, until everyone, the whole ground, seemed to be full of England fans booing and having a go at the referee. And I just sat there not knowing what to do.

I could feel everyone looking at me. My dad enjoys a match but he’s not the type to get worked up over football, but I heard him screaming, ‘Heeey!’ Everyone was jeering Ronaldo. Even then I still didn’t know what had gone on, so I couldn’t say anything.

Then the odd one started shouting, then more, until everyone, the whole ground, seemed to be full of England fans booing and having a go at the referee.

Wayne had been sent off and there were all these people asking if I was all right, and I was just saying, ‘Yeah.’ That was all I could say. I was in shock really. All I could think about was that Wayne was going to be devastated. He was going to be gutted. I’d seen him kick some hoarding or the bench or something, and I just thought, ‘Oh no.’

Afterwards there were pictures of me in tears all over the newspapers. I was upset, but I never properly cried. I filled up because you just get this horrible feeling inside you. There were people around me crying, saying it wasn’t Wayne’s fault, that it shouldn’t have been a red card. Cheryl Cole ran down to me and said, ‘Just don’t worry about it, it weren’t his fault.’

Everyone was mad at Ronaldo. Phones were going off all around me with messages coming in. I received a text from a friend of mine saying that Ronaldo had just winked at his manager, but at the time I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t have a clue. Then, of course, the match went to penalties and when the team lost you just realized that it was five or six hours back to the hotel on the coach, knowing you’re going home and our World Cup was all over. You just think, ‘What are the lads feeling now?’ Wayne phoned me and said everyone was gutted and upset. Ronaldo? Like Wayne said. On the day, they were playing on different teams. They play together for Man United but for those 90 minutes they were internationals representing their countries in the World Cup Finals so both were going to do whatever they could to win. Afterwards the press tried to make out there was a problem between the two of them, but they were texting each other straight after the game.

After England went out of the tournament, me and Wayne flew back to Liverpool. The paparazzi followed us everywhere. We went straight to my mum’s house in Croxteth, and because the press know we’re either going to be there or at our own house in Cheshire they were sitting outside waiting. We spent a few days at home, then packed to go on holiday. This time around I’d already had most of my stuff ready and washed at the hotel because I knew it was going to be a quick thing coming home and going away before Wayne had to be back at Manchester United for pre-season training. Honestly, usually I’m terrible at packing, leaving it all to the night before. Normally I’ll get my mum to help and she’ll be the one saying, ‘Do you really need that pair of Lanvin leopard-print shoes?’ Otherwise I’d end up taking everything. Not that I didn’t try to take everything! There were eight of us flying on the jet and the helicopter, and we were limited to one suitcase each, but me and Wayne had the biggest cases!

It’s no secret that I like my clothes, and there have been stories in the past about how many bikinis I own.

If I was going away for two weeks then I’d probably take more than fourteen bikinis, but some of those might be ones I’d bought the year before.

We were only in France for a week, but I brought about twelve bikinis with me. I always buy Missoni bikinis – I love their colours and details. Topshop do great bikinis, George at Asda have a lovely range too and then there’s always Juicy. That year I had a big thing for sunglasses. I bought loads of pairs – Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Dior – I never thought I’d like the fashion for bigger frames but the Dior ones look nice on me, and Fendi, the aviators. I bought them in a tan colour just as the summer was starting. Kate Moss had the same ones. Great minds think alike, eh! Then I got another pair in dark brown because I wore them all the time.

With the bikinis, like any girl, I do think about my body and I’m always aware of the paparazzi.

On holiday I tried not to think about them but, to be honest, I hadn’t been one hundred per cent happy with the shape I was in and I didn’t think I was looking my best.

While we were in Germany I hadn’t been eating healthily or going to the gym. There’d be loads of carbs: potatoes and pasta with sauces. There wasn’t that much to do, so we’d go out to lunch and have a glass of wine and then go out for an evening meal really late at night. My eating hadn’t been normal for a while, but at the end of the day the important thing was getting away and relaxing with Wayne.

It was a great holiday. The idea was to sail around the south of France and drop in on places like Cannes and St Tropez and other ports along the way. One day we’d be in Monaco dancing at Jimmyz nightclub, the next we’d be in a bar in St Tropez watching France and Italy in the World Cup Final. Then we’d sail out to sea to sunbathe or maybe fool around on the jet-skis. We went to outdoor restaurants where the trees were full of fairy lights, really lovely, then clubs like VIP in St Tropez and beach bars like Nikki Beach where magnums of champagne are going round and everyone’s dancing until the early hours. We arrived in Cannes on Bastille Day and ate out under the stars at a private table at the end of a jetty in the harbour, while the most amazing firework display you could ever imagine, thousands of rockets, went off above our heads.

One day we’d be in Monaco dancing at Jimmyz nightclub, the next we’d be in a bar in St Tropez watching France and Italy in the World Cup Final.

The whole holiday was fantastic. We’d be in the VIP area of a club, when it wasn’t so long ago that I used to go to nightclubs and think, ‘Oooh, look at them in the VIP area.’ Being with other people made me think about everything all over again and enjoy things through their eyes. All our friends, they would be going, ‘Just think, we’re doing this, and next week we’re back to work.’ It’s great for me and Wayne to have family and friends like that around us because they bring us back down to earth. We try not to take things for granted but sometimes we forget how lucky we are.

It’s lovely to share such experiences with other people, but unfortunately they also get to see the more unpleasant side of being in the spotlight. The speedboats full of paparazzi, constantly circling. Reading stories about us in the newspapers the next day that are just not true. The attention we receive when out for the night, girls coming up to Wayne with no other intention than to make money out of a story.

I’m twenty-one years old now and I’ve grown up inside and out. I’ll always be the girl from Liverpool, but my life has changed in so many ways.

Whenever a girl asks for a photograph, they always say the first shot hasn’t worked out so they can have another. Always. Once we came out of a restaurant in Monaco and two girls came up asking to have their picture taken with Wayne. So Wayne posed while it was taken and then they asked for another one. On the second picture one of the girls started putting her arms all around Wayne, and you know that if that photo was sold to the newspapers they could just make up a story. It’s hard for Wayne because the fans are so supportive and play such an important part in his working life, but some people have different agendas other than simply having their picture taken with him. On that occasion I got hold of this girl’s hand and went, ‘You’re getting your picture but you don’t need to do that!’ She was French and asked if I was his girlfriend. I said it didn’t matter. In St Tropez it was unbelievable. Things like that make you see how sly people can be. Some girls can be really evil. I trust Wayne but I don’t always trust the people he might find himself around. People are so aware of how much money they can make from a small photo these days.

All that happened in just a few weeks, so you can imagine what the last few years have been like. At times it’s been crazy, like a fairytale, an amazing journey. I’m no longer the sixteen-year-old girl who appeared in the newspapers for the very first time after walking to school in that knee-length puffa jacket! I’m twenty-one years old now and I’ve grown up inside and out. I’ll always be the girl from Liverpool, but my life has changed in so many ways. And this is my story so far.

chapter two question: what’s my favourite sport? answer: cricket

From the very first day I appeared in the newspapers, people have been talking about my clothes and my fashion. That picture of me in the lower sixth, walking to St John Bosco High School, is always going to be with me. I look at it now and can’t help but laugh. It’s not something that makes me cringe, or that I’m ashamed about, because that was me back then. A sixteen-year-old, strolling to school with my puffa jacket on.

I’d been going out with Wayne for a good few months by then, and that day he was heading off to play for England. He’d been round to our house in the morning to pick something up, I can’t remember what it was, but the paparazzi must have followed him. Not that I was thinking about newspapers or photographers when I set off for school that morning. It was just a normal day. I’d meet up with my friend Kate and the two of us would take the same route as always, maybe chatting about last night’s telly or something similar. Then, that day, a man jumped out from behind some bushes and started taking photographs of me. Photographers really do hide behind bushes! He was snapping away, and I was shocked, but what do you do in that kind of situation? I sped up and kept walking. It just felt really weird.

Further up the street there was a block of flats with a car park in front. Kate and I passed it every day. You wouldn’t normally look twice at it, except on that day there was a car there with its bonnet open and a man peering inside, fixing his engine or something. That’s the way it seemed, except that the moment we walked past, the same man had a camera in his hand, pointing it at me over the top of the car bonnet, clicking away, taking pictures of me.

‘That’s unbelievable!’ That’s all I could say. That’s all my mates could say when I got to school. There was just this girly panic among my friends, like, what was happening? The buzz and chatter was still going on throughout assembly, so much so that one of the teachers came over to have a word. When she found out what had happened her first thought was to call my mum as soon as possible.

Mum went ballistic, but not quite how I’d imagined. I was on the phone telling her all that had happened that morning and her first worry was whether she would make the front pages the next day! ‘What if they got me?’ she asked me. ‘I’ve just been on the drive with nothing but my nightie on, pushing the wheelie bin out for the bin men!’

I said, ‘Oh, Mum! What do they want a picture of you for? They don’t want a picture of you and the wheelie bin.’

Maybe they did! But it made sense at the time and calmed Mum down a little.

But that was the end of the calm. The following Sunday one of the Sunday newspapers had printed a big picture of me. The telephone didn’t stop ringing, with aunties and my nan, everyone, calling up asking whether we’d seen it. Me in my puffa jacket right down to my knees and my school uniform underneath. Whatever I feel about the press now, there’s no denying that when you see yourself in the newspaper for the first time like that it’s an exciting feeling. You laugh at yourself being in this national newspaper, and it’s strange, and funny, but it’s exciting too. That day, I must have looked at that same picture at least fifty times. At least. But not once did I think what it would mean or what to expect in the years to come.

That was 2003, and although it seems like ages and ages ago it really wasn’t that far back. But things were different. In those days I can’t remember there being the same interest in footballers’ wives and girlfriends. Yeah, there was Victoria and David, and there was Footballers’ Wives on telly, but in real life the newspapers weren’t interested in taking pictures of footballers’ girlfriends for no reason – there had to be a story to go with it. Sure, I was seeing Wayne, and the way things were going with us I expected we’d be pictured together at some stage, but no way did I ever expect the press to be interested in just me.

You laugh at yourself being in this national newspaper, and it’s strange, and funny, but it’s exciting too.

It’s comical to see that picture again, and to think of the stories that followed. Back then, the majority of newspapers wrote negatively about my dress sense, yet today the same people describe me as a style icon, and commentators say that the fashion industry closely watches what I wear.

The Guardian has said I am ‘the leading style icon for British young women today’, while the editor of Vogue, Alexandra Shulman, who I did a shoot for, once wrote in a newspaper that I was ‘a phenomenon of our time’. My word! I’m not sure whether I would go so far as to describe myself as any of those things, but I do love fashion, and always have ever since I can remember.

It’s flattering to know that there are young girls and women out there who look at what I’m wearing and are inspired to go for a similar look.

I can never quite get over it when that happens. In Germany, a few of the girls went out for dinner one night and I was wearing a cream Alice Temperley dress with bell sleeves. I didn’t realize what an impact that dress had made until I returned home and the girls at Cricket, my favourite shop in Liverpool, told me it had been ‘manic’. As soon as the photograph appeared in the newspapers their phone never stopped ringing, with girls wanting the same dress. They could have sold thousands, apparently. In a different situation I’d be one of those girls ringing in. If I see someone else wearing a top or skirt that I really like, I’ll be the first to go out and buy it for myself.

Cricket is this top boutique with great labels. Justine, the owner, who’s become a friend, is great at saying what’s in and helping to put outfits together. She’s played a big part in how my style has developed over the past few years. It’s not surprising that people knew where to call for the Alice Temperley dress because everyone associates me with Cricket now. Sometimes you’ll get girls

Shhhh! Don’t tell everyone…

I don’t believe in slavishly copying anyone’s look from top to toe. The key to creating your own individual style is to borrow from others, add your own ideas into the mix, have confidence in your own fashion sense and, most importantly, have confidence in yourself.

Here are my six golden rules of fashion:

1. Never be afraid to experiment

An item of clothing will never hurt anyone.

2. The more money you spend doesn’t necessarily mean the more style you buy

Team up designer with high street and a touch of vintage.

3. Accessorize! Accessorize! Accessorize!

That doesn’t mean go all bling, but you can change the accent of an outfit just by adding a simple scarf or necklace.

4. Be true to yourself

Don’t be a fashion victim, wear what suits you no matter what the magazines say this season.

5. Less is more

Don’t go trying to over-dress in everyday situations. You can look good without looking like you’ve just stepped out of the pages of a magazine.

6. Have fun

If you look in the mirror and like what you see then that’s the only compliment you need.

from as far away as places like Milton Keynes travelling up to Cricket just to see me shopping and have their picture taken with me. I’m really grateful for the support but I do go shy when things like that happen. I just think, ‘That’s amazing, they’ve come all that way just to see me!’ One time, I was out shopping in Liverpool when a mother and her young teenage daughter ran up asking if they could pose for a photograph with me. They’d been to Cricket and missed me so they thought they’d try one of my other favourite shops. I suppose they had a few to choose from! Things like that make you feel really self-conscious but it’s also lovely to know people think that way about you.

I have my own icons who I admire. Kate Moss is always someone I’ve really loved for her sense of style. With her it just seems so effortless, as though she could wake up in the morning, throw anything on and it would look great. I wish I could do that. Of the other British girls, I’m a big fan of Cat Deeley. I love the way she puts her clothes together. She’s always fashionable but she never looks as though she’s trying too hard, managing to go out all glammed up but pulling it off in a casual way. Sienna Miller used to be a favourite of mine when she first arrived on the scene – she has the figure to carry off a lot of stuff that I could never get away with. At the moment I really like girls like Lindsay Lohan and Mischa Barton – they’ve got a lovely ease about everything they wear and they are always introducing new fashions and labels onto the scene.

I’m always looking at magazines for ideas, whether it’s Vogue, Elle or Marie Claire for high-end fashion, or mags like Closer, who I write my column for, and who are a great source for high-street designs. I really like to mix. If someone asked me to describe my style I really couldn’t pin it down other than to say I’m a real girl’s girl when it comes to fashion. I prefer pretty, girly-girl clothes as opposed to going for the drop-dead-sexy look.

In terms of my style, the one thing I’m certain of is that I always go with my own mind. I might love fashion, but I’m not a follower. I’m totally of the view that the most important rule in fashion is believing in what you like and trusting in your own sense of style. All my family and friends will recognize that stubborn streak in me!

If there’s a dress or a top that I like, then I’ll wear it no matter what other people think. Fashion is all about experimenting, and sometimes you’ll experiment and get it wrong, but that’s part of the fun of dressing.

Finding your own style is all about trying things out to see what suits you and not being a slave to the latest trend.

You’ve got to mix things up a little, combine designer with high-street with vintage. I might buy a pair of designer pants, but if I need a plain top I’ll go to a high-street store. If you find it’s not working when you get home then take it back! As I say, there’s nothing wrong with making mistakes. There have been quite a few times that I’ve looked at myself in a newspaper and thought, ‘Why did I wear that?’ But hopefully I get it right more times than I get it wrong.

My big bugbear is when the newspapers write that I have a stylist, as though I haven’t got a mind of my own and the only reason I’m still not walking around in a five-year-old three-quarter-length puffa jacket from H&M is because someone’s told me it’s no longer in fashion this month! I don’t employ a stylist and it really annoys me when people say otherwise. I remember watching This Morning just after I’d signed my contract to front the George at Asda range. There was a big story about how much I was earning and they had a national gossip writer from the Sun on the show. She was saying that my stylist had done a great job of transforming me, telling everyone that the way I presented myself, walked and everything, was totally different from the first time I’d met her. The problem is people watching that programme will hear something like that about me and think it’s true. A journalist from a national newspaper is on national television telling everyone she knows me, so why would anyone think otherwise? Except it was all made up. I’ve not been through some expensive Eliza Doolittle transformation. I can dress myself, thank you very much.

That’s one of the real downsides of being in the public eye; the way rumour suddenly becomes fact. A newspaper can print a story about you today, then tomorrow the whole wide world believes it’s the gospel truth. I’m not blaming the public, because not so long ago I used to believe near enough everything I read in the newspapers. Like everyone else, I used to think there must be some truth there. I’ll write more about all the rumours and rubbish that’s been said about me later on in this book, but it is really annoying when people believe everything they read, and sometimes I’ve found myself having to put them right. I always remember sitting in a hairdresser’s in Liverpool and I could hear this woman in the back having her hair washed and talking about me. It was around the time when me and Wayne were going through a rough patch and the newspapers were full of me throwing my engagement ring away in the squirrel park near to where we used to live. I was sitting there and the next thing I heard was this woman say, ‘Oh yeah, so-and-so’s taken the kids to the squirrel park, you know, where that soft girl Coleen McLoughlin threw away her engagement ring!’ I’m sure she knew I was listening, which made it all the more annoying. In the mirror, I could see the girl who was washing the woman’s hair and she just looked embarrassed. Eventually the girl told her that I was only a few feet away. For once, I couldn’t stop myself from putting her right.

‘You shouldn’t always believe what you read, you know,’ I told her.

‘Oh, I didn’t know you were there!’ she said. ‘C’mon, then, let’s see it!’

She was talking about the ring. I was fuming, but I also felt really ashamed because I could sense everyone in the hairdresser’s staring at me. I didn’t know what to do, and maybe I should have ignored her, but all I could think of was to prove her wrong. So I showed her my engagement ring, the one I was meant to have chucked away, still on my finger, where it belonged. She just looked and went, ‘Ahh, it’s lovely, isn’t it?’ And I went, ‘Yeah.’ That was it. She never apologized.

I used to gossip about celebrities like everyone else. My mates and I would chat about what so-and-so’s been up to, pore over their lives in newspapers and magazines, but now I’m always telling people not to believe what you read unless you know for sure yourself or it’s an interview with the person themselves.

I’ve had an up-and-down relationship with the newspapers. For the past couple of years, ever since I appeared in Vogue, on the whole I’d say they’ve been writing really positive things about my fashion, but in the beginning there was a lot of criticism about the clothes I wore, saying I looked a show, how I was the Queen of Chavs and all that rubbish. I’ve never really known what a chav is, I don’t think anyone knows. They’d criticize me for my Juicy tracksuits and my moon boots, or because I was wearing loads of Burberry. I don’t wear loads of Burberry. Not that I’ve got anything against them because it’s a great British fashion brand, but I’m not a slave to any designer. I wouldn’t say the criticism upsets me exactly – hey, even I look back on those moon boots and wonder why I ever wore them – though it can get annoying and a bit tiring. Don’t get me wrong. I know the press has a job to do. I also understand that the successful careers Wayne and I are lucky to have depend to an extent on media interest and coverage. But I don’t believe that gives the media the right to take over your whole life and continually invade family privacy.

I’m more into girly-girl fashions than the sex-siren look!

Everyone seems to have their opinion on my sense of style. Even Wayne. He prefers me in my normal casual stuff, like jeans and a T-shirt. Mind, he has also said that my bum looks massive in my Juicy tracksuit, but I don’t take any notice! Wayne just likes me in normal gear. He’s not big on me showing a lot of flesh off. Not that I’m much of a one for split skirts and low-cut tops.

I don’t really wear short skirts unless I’ve got tights on, but now and again I wear a top that’s cut a bit lower than usual. Or I might wear a chiffon dress or something similar.

It’s at those times when Wayne suddenly becomes Mr Fashion Expert! ‘I can see your knickers through that!’ he’ll say to me, or, ‘What are you wearing that for?’ If he thinks I’m not taking any notice, he’ll tell me to go and ask what my dad thinks. That’s his ultimate tactic: ‘Ask your dad!’ The reason is because Wayne knows that if my dad thinks I’m wearing something unsuitable he’ll moan to such a degree that I inevitably cave in and change. Not long ago, I’d been invited to a Childline charity do in Liverpool and I had on a sheer white dress. My dad took one look and said, ‘You’re not going out in that, are you?’ In the end, he made such a big fuss about it that I went upstairs and borrowed one of my mum’s underskirts. Trouble was, my dress was a bit shorter than the underskirt so I had to chop a few inches off the bottom. All night, frayed cotton was dangling down from under my dress, and every five minutes I had to keep getting a lighter out and burning them off! Very ladylike.

The same thing happened the other week. My mates and I were going to the local pub and I was wearing a white chiffon dress. Dad went on and on about being able to see my knickers, so much so that I nipped upstairs and put another one of Mum’s underskirts on. I should keep a few in stock really!

Dad’s one of the few people I will listen to when it comes to fashion. Maybe he’s one of the expensive styling team of mine that some journalist was referring to!

Fashion is the one subject that people are always writing to me about via my column in Closer. I’ve loved clothes ever since I can remember. As a young girl I always loved dressing up. When I was really young, I’d be in the post office asking for Just Seventeen to look at the fashion pages, and my mum would tell me to change it because it was too old for me. During the summer holidays I’d stay at my nan’s house, and every morning we’d go up to the shop for the morning paper and she’d say, ‘Go pick a magazine.’ And I’d always come back with OK! I must have been about eleven years old, but I really enjoyed seeing what all the celebrities were wearing and what their houses looked like. I can still remember seeing photographs of Donatella Versace’s home when I was really young, and thinking how amazing it must be to live somewhere like that.

One of the reasons I was so obsessed with OK! was because it was also my Auntie Tracy’s favourite magazine. Auntie Tracy is my dad’s sister, and when I talk of fashion icons there’s no one who’s had a bigger influence on my style than her. She was always the young auntie – there’s never been that many years between us – and she has always looked stylish. Auntie Tracy used to save me her fancy shopping carrier bags so I could use them for my school gym kit and she was also the person who introduced me to Cricket. I was the typical young niece, in awe of my trendy auntie, eyeing up her handbags and the shoes she wore, wishing they were mine. My nan and granddad own a pub, The King’s Vault in Garston, and I remember a family party there when my Auntie Tracy came along carrying this little black bag, with a clasp and a long strap, by Moschino. Even though I was only small I remember thinking, ‘I can’t wait to grow up so I can have a bag like that.’ I’m worse than she is now! These days, we’ve got the same taste in fashion – we’ve even turned up at matches to watch Wayne wearing the same clothes, a jumper by See by Chloé. Auntie Tracy’s was black and mine was pale pink. If I like something she’s wearing I’ll go out and buy it, and she does the same with me!

My mum would tell you that when I was a kid and it came to clothes I was an absolute nightmare. All I ever asked for on birthdays or for Christmas would be clothes or shoes, and I would cry and cry until she bought me what I wanted. I was never into Barbies like other girls, I just wanted a good wardrobe! One year it was a black velvet jumper-dress with gold sequins. I must have been about seven years old.

My mum said she would never put me in black. She didn’t think a child should wear black. She’ll tell you that I screamed and screamed, wanting this special dress for Christmas, until eventually I got what I wanted.

Afterwards, my mum, who was probably tired of my screaming by then, bought me these tights and little black boots to complete the outfit. Very disco! I think it’d be very in now!

My obsession didn’t even stop at clothes. At seven years old I started wearing glasses, and I loved them. The optometrist came to school one day to check everyone’s eyes, and when I failed my mum thought I’d done so on purpose! ‘Do you want to wear glasses, Coleen?’ she asked me, thinking I’d made it up to be trendy. I hadn’t. I was short-sighted. I might not have wanted glasses to start with, but once I had them there was no stopping me. The first pair I ever bought had multicoloured frames, and from then on I made them my own thing, a way of individualizing my uniform. I always remember a pair of Moschino glasses I owned which had question marks on the arms. They were great but I’ve got to confess, some of the glasses I wore were bad! These days I wear lenses.

In my early teens I went through a stage when all I wanted to wear were tracksuits. My mum was never really happy about that, she always preferred it when I dressed like a girl. But that was the trend around Liverpool for girls my age – Lacoste tracksuits and nice white trainers. My friends and I used to go out and hang around the shops; in its own way it was our fashion statement. That was part of me, going through those stages every young girl does when she’s finding her own style.

My mum and dad always said that while we were at school they would provide for us, so we could devote our time to

Oh! Please! No! Don’t!

There are many reasons to get on your mobile and call the fashion police, but here are some pet hates of mine that should be avoided at all costs:

1. Very short skirts with high heels

Unless your name happens to be Beyoncé and you are singing a little song called Crazy in Love you have no excuse. It’s not sexy.

2. Visible thongs above trousers’ waistbands

The modern-day female equivalent of the builder’s bum. Very unattractive.

3. Seeing double

If you are appearing on Strictly Come Dancing then fine, but otherwise girlfriends and boyfriends should not be seen out wearing matching outfits. Unless they’re around six years old, in which case it’s officially cute.

4. Cleavage overload

Message to all those girls who take their fashion tips from men’s magazines: keep them hidden and keep them guessin’.

5. Silly hats

Equestrian helmets and Pierrot clown cones may be good for fancy dress, but never mistake eccentricity for individuality.

schoolwork and exams. During the summer holidays, I used to go with my Auntie Pat and Auntie Shelagh to clean the chalets at Pontins – the money was good and I’m sure we used to clean more chalets than anyone else! – but when I was sixteen I found myself a Saturday job in New Look in Liverpool.

It was simply that I needed more money to buy clothes for myself. Not only that, but I’d just started seeing Wayne, and his birthday was coming up in October. Then it would be Christmas, so I really wanted to earn some extra money to buy him presents. I worked at New Look on Saturdays, and in the run-up to Christmas I’d work late-night Thursdays. Dad used to come and pick me up afterwards because he never liked the idea of me catching the bus home at that time of night.

Because I was interested in fashion it was a great job, and I used to get fifty per cent off all the clothes. My contract meant I had to buy New Look clothes to work in the shop, which I was more than happy about because they used to have a nice designer range by Luella at the time. I really enjoyed the independence the job brought me, and having my own money coming into my bank account. And Wayne got his birthday presents – an Armani cardigan and a pair of wireless headphones.

A couple of years ago, GMTV’s fashion expert, Caryn Franklin, wrote a kind article in the Daily Mirror about me entitled ‘The Making of Coleen’, saying how I’d made ‘the transition from schoolgirl to sophisticate with ease’. I don’t know about ease, but it’s been fun. The last few years have seen me grow up, and so has my style and fashion sense. It’s been a fashion journey that, for better or worse, has taken place in the public eye. As for that first photograph of me, well, if I’d have known I was going to be in the newspapers then maybe, looking back, I might have restyled a few things. For starters, I think I’d have gone for flat ballet shoes with white socks, not the navy ones I was wearing. And I would’ve had my hair different – a loose ponytail rather than the tight pony I wore at the time. And I’d be wearing a smarter, tailored jacket. The three-quarter-length hooded puffa jacket would be history. That would be the first thing to go!

chapter three always a liverpool girl

Before I go any further, maybe I should tell you a little bit about my background. There are six of us in my family: my mum Colette, dad Tony, oldest brother Joe, who’s nineteen, then Anthony, who’s eighteen, and our little eight-year-old sister, Rosie. You might have seen Rosie on the TV programme I made with Sir Trevor McDonald highlighting the problems of caring for disabled children, a subject close to my heart. Ever since she was born, Rosie has suffered from a rare genetic disorder caller Rett syndrome, which means she needs twenty-four-hour care. We’ve always had foster children coming to live with us in the house, and Rosie came to us as a two-year-old. We loved her so much we didn’t want to let her leave, and my mum and dad adopted her. We’re a really close family. Wayne has always spent a lot of time round my mum and dad’s house and he has become close to us too.

I was born in Oxford Street Hospital, in Liverpool’s city centre, on 3 April 1986. Coleen means ‘girl’ in Gaelic, it is to Ireland what Sheila is to Australia. I’m not actually named after anyone, but my dad has Irish roots and his granddad came from County Mayo.

My mum was just eighteen when she married my twenty-one-year-old dad, yet it took them seven years of trying to have a baby, and fertility treatment, before I eventually came along. Then, when I finally appeared on the scene, I nearly died.

My earliest memory is of being in hospital with my mum sitting by the bed crying. I was four years old when I caught chicken pox and I was ill for days and not getting any better. Then one night my mum tried to get me out of bed and I couldn’t walk properly, I just kept falling over all the time. They called the doctor and as soon as he saw my condition he sent me down to Alder Hey Children’s Hospital in Liverpool. There they immediately diagnosed me as having encephalitis (inflammation of the brain) caused by the chicken pox. I was put on all kinds of drips and stuff, and at one point the doctors told my mum and dad that I might not pull through – that I might have only forty-eight hours to live. I’ve still got those memories of all the family coming to visit me and me crying my head off. Eventually, I came out the other side, but I had to learn how to walk all over again. Now I’m in the fortunate position of being able to help others by being an ambassador and fundraiser for the hospital that did so much to help me.

One of the reasons my mum and dad started fostering was because they’d tried so hard to have kids and when the time was right they decided they wanted to give something back. It was after we’d all started school, and my mum felt she had the time on her hands that could be of benefit to others. They waited until we were at an age when we – Joe, Anthony and I – could understand what fostering meant and what it would mean to the family. They sat us down and discussed fostering with us, and said they would only do it if everyone was happy. We all thought the idea was a good one.

In the beginning, we looked after newborn babies, who would eventually go on to be with couples who couldn’t have kids and wanted to adopt. I can’t pretend that wasn’t sometimes hard on us. We quickly got attached to these kids and it was difficult to see them go, but, like my mum and dad said, we were giving them a good start. That’s how we came to have Rosie. At other times we’d have children with disabilities come to stay for the weekend every now and again, to give their parents a rest. At the moment we have this little boy called Jake who’s got Down’s syndrome. He comes once a month to stay with us – I say ‘us’ because I spend so much time at my mum and dad’s house that it still feels like home. When my parents first met, my mum was a nursery nurse, but she gave up work to bring up her family. Dad was a bricklayer, but in the end he had to give up because of prolapsed discs in his back, and so now he devotes his time to Rosie, fostering, the local hospital and the church. My dad is quite religious, and religion and the church – we’re Roman Catholics – have always played a big part in our lives. My first Holy Communion at the age of seven is still a very special memory for me.

However, as much as dad is religious, it’s never been something he’s imposed on us. At the age of sixteen we were all given the choice of whether we wanted to go to church any more, we weren’t forced to go. Nowadays, I don’t go as much as I’d like to, but I do go every now and again.

Up until I was four we lived in Garston, where my dad’s family comes from, in a two-up, two-down. Then, afterwards, we moved to Croxteth to the council house where my mum had grown up. My mum’s mum had died of cancer before I was born and my granddad lived on his own. He moved out to be with his girlfriend, and we moved in, but later he came back to live with us. It’s always been the family home. In the end, with conversions for Rosie, we had five bedrooms. The house was always full. My mum’s got a big family – two brothers and five sisters – and my dad has two brothers and two sisters, and every Saturday all the family used to come and visit. My memories of that house are that it was always busy and warm, like any family home should be. I say ‘was’ because last year I was lucky enough to be able to buy my mum and dad a new house. It’s not that far away from Croxteth, but it has just a little bit more room and privacy. Having said that, Auntie Shelagh and her partner, Mick, are going to rent our old house in Croxteth. I love the thought that Auntie Shelagh’s moving in. She used to come and look after me and my brothers whenever my mum and dad took disabled kids to Lourdes and Disneyland when I was younger. Auntie Shelagh moving in just means the house still remains the family home, which is really lovely.

I’ll always be a Croxteth girl and Liverpool will always be home. It’s a friendly city. Everyone is down to earth and has a great sense of humour. We used to live just on the border between Croxteth and Norris Green, and when I was younger I would hang out in Norris Green, but as I got older I spent more time in Croxteth. I enjoy it up there, I feel safe, and there’s always someone you know around. All the neighbours have seen me grow up from a little girl to where I am now. That’s great, because I can just go to the shops and people won’t treat me as any different from anyone else. It’s just normal. When everything in my life isn’t always so normal, it’s nice to go back there.

I went to school in Croxteth. My primary school was St Teresa’s in Norris Green and then I went to St John Bosco High School in Croxteth after that. I always loved school, but I also loved the lesson breaks and chatting with my mates. I wouldn’t say I was a brainy kid, but when I tried hard I did well. I was always in the top sets, worked hard, did my homework, and ended up with ten GCSEs – A* in Performing Arts, As in English Language, RE and Technology/Textiles, and Bs in Maths, English Literature, French, Spanish and Science. I was on the Student Council, and involved in loads of different stuff, and in the sixth form the rest of the year voted me Deputy Head Girl. A year before I’d set up the buddy system. It was a counselling service that allowed girls in the younger years who were having problems to come to an older pupil for advice or help instead of going to a teacher. It worked because some kids are scared of taking their problems to a teacher and they would rather talk with someone of their own age.

When I went to see the careers advisor we chatted about what I was going to do in terms of university. For me, the choice was either Performing Arts or Media.

I used to love drama classes. Throughout my school years, if you’d asked me what I wanted to be when I got older I would have told you that my dream was to become an actress. In my first year at school we did musicals like Calamity Jane and The Wizard of Oz. I was young so I only got little parts – I was an extra in Calamity Jane and a munchkin in The Wizard of Oz. Later on I was in The Sound of Music as one of the von Trapp kids. I used to love it. I’d also go to drama school at night and I had a couple of walk-on parts in Hollyoaks. I just loved performing. From the age of 13, I also used to go to dance classes and was part of a dance troupe called The Harlequin. I would have loved to have gone to stage school, but you have to be good at singing too, so that counted me out. They reckon you can train a voice to sing but, believe me, they couldn’t train mine!

These days, one of my favourite ways of relaxing is going to the theatre and seeing a show. It’s then that I start thinking about how much I miss that part of my life. Recently, I’ve had invites to go and speak to the people at Coronation Street and do screen tests for Hollyoaks, but when I sat down and thought about it, I felt it was something for the future but not for right now. Maybe later on, when the spotlight on me has died down a bit, I might decide to give it a try. At the moment I think it would be hard for people to watch me on screen and see me as anyone other than Coleen McLoughlin.

I did think seriously about studying for a degree in Performing Arts, but even then I appreciated how hard the industry is to get into and the need for a back-up plan.

At the time, I was considering looking into teaching and journalism as alternatives. That was the way my life was going. Then, when I went into the lower sixth, I stopped enjoying school as much. By the end of that year I’d started going out with Wayne and things were changing for me. It’s not that I began to hate school, it’s just that I didn’t enjoy it like I used to, I was losing interest and my life outside was changing. By the upper sixth I’d started doing bits and bobs for magazines, and I just thought, ‘What’s the point in staying here if I’m not going to achieve the marks I’m capable of?’ When I told my mum and dad how I felt they understood and were totally supportive. Their main priority was for me to be happy, and they realized I wasn’t.

I wouldn’t say I’m particularly gifted academically. I had to work really hard to achieve the grades I did, so my parents understood my feelings, and that there was no point staying on if my heart wasn’t in it. Telling the teachers was really hard. They tried their best to persuade me to stay but I’d already made my mind up. I got on particularly well with one teacher, Miss Tremarco, who’d been my first-form teacher and took me for Performing Arts, and she sat me down and asked me whether I understood what I was doing. But deep down she knew I would have been miserable had I stayed on. My view then and now is that I can always go back to college one day and study, which is something I might well do, but at the time my life was changing and it made sense to leave. I have no regrets about that. I wouldn’t say Wayne was the reason I left school, but he obviously played a big part in my decision.

Wayne Rooney was part of a group of lads who used to hang around a row of shops near to where I lived. Sometimes I would wander past the local shops with my friend Claire, who’s Wayne’s cousin, and we used to see Wayne and his mates. I got on well with them all but Wayne was the cheeky one. He got it into his head that he wanted to go out with me, so whenever we saw each other he’d come out with one or two chat-up lines. ‘Can I have a date?’ he would say, or, ‘Am I gonna get a date tonight?’ My reaction was always the same. I’d never had a boyfriend before so I used to go all shy. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I’d say, then I’d head off home with Claire.

I get on with lads but I’ve never been very good at flirting

I knew Wayne was good at football, but so were a lot of the lads from where I come from, and they’d be picked for the Everton or Liverpool youth team. Not many of them got anywhere.

Wayne was in the local papers, but only if you followed football, which I didn’t, would you have known back then that he was really good. People think Wayne was loaded when I met him but it wasn’t like that.

When we first met we’d do the same things as other kids of our age. Like going round the chippy, hanging out at each other’s houses, and seeing our mates. Just normal stuff.

Wayne, however, was never going to give up that easily. He’d walk past my house and say, ‘I’ve been waiting for the phone call!’ I never had time for boys when I was doing my GCSEs as I was focused on getting good marks. Once they were finished, I finally said yes to Wayne. Well, actually, it wasn’t that clear cut. Beforehand I had chatted to my friend Amy-Louise, who used to live across the road from us, not knowing whether I wanted to go on a date with Wayne or not. He was someone I got on well with but he wasn’t someone who immediately made me think, ‘Yeah, I’d really love to go out with him.’

A couple of weeks later that all changed. One night, Claire and I were on her bike – she was riding it and I was sitting on the back – on our way home, as usual, cycling past the chippy, when the gear chain broke. There was Wayne and a few other lads, my brothers might even have been with him, standing outside the chippy, so we shouted over asking if anyone could fix our bike. I’ve since learned that Wayne’s not exactly Mr Handyman, but he volunteered that night and somehow managed to mend it. Once he’d finished, he asked me out for a date, probably in return for his services! We started talking and the conversation must have been about my drama classes because in the end Wayne wanted to know if I had the film Grease on video, and whether he could borrow it. I said I did, and he could, and so he followed us back to my house to pick it up. I can’t quite remember how it happened, but once I’d fetched the video the two of us went for a walk and we ended up in the churchyard. That’s when we first kissed: around the back of the local church, the Queen of Martyrs. I’m sure he still hasn’t returned that Grease video.

I’d never had a proper boyfriend before, so my dad was really protective. He’s always been protective but in this case he was especially so. Dad used to help run the local boxing club, Croxteth ABA, with Wayne’s uncle Ritchie. Wayne used to go to the club and therefore he knew Wayne a little bit through his uncle Ritchie. That wasn’t a problem. But now his little girl had a boyfriend, and that was something he hadn’t experienced.

On my first date with Wayne we went to the cinema to see Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery. I had told my mum of our plans and she told me to ask my dad if I could go. I was sixteen then, so I was old enough to do as I pleased, I suppose. The main reason for asking was because I didn’t know whether I was going to get home later than usual. My dad said, ‘Who are you going with?’ I replied, ‘Wayne.’ It was the first time I’d mentioned him. ‘All right,’ said my dad, ‘just as long as you sit at the back and he sits at the front!’

Dad needn’t have worried. We went with another couple, Wayne’s friend Stephen and his girlfriend Kayley. It wasn’t really a big date. We were kids, only sixteen. We weren’t old enough to go for a drink or a meal like you do when you are older, it was just meeting each other and going to the pictures.

Although I’ve said I remember everything by what outfit I had on, I can’t remember what I was wearing on the night of my first date with Wayne. I remember what Wayne was wearing – jumper and jeans, and a new pair of brown shoes he’d bought specially – but I can’t remember what I had on. What I can remember of that night is realizing how much I really did like Wayne. Whether it was love at first sight, I don’t know. We’d known each other and been friends for so long that things just seemed to grow gradually.

Over the next few weeks and months it became more serious, until the day came when I said to myself, ‘You know what, I really like him.’ Which one of us said ‘I love you’ first? I don’t even know. I can’t remember. I think it was probably Wayne.

chapter four dancing the night away with the stars

There I was, spinning round the dance floor, a head full of champagne – but not too much! – and Robbie Williams up on stage, only a few feet away, belting out ‘Rock DJ’ – or maybe it was ‘Let Me Entertain You’, I can’t quite remember, but it was mad to see him so near. Everyone was on the dance floor enjoying themselves. It’s past midnight and you look around and there’s P. Diddy, Elle Macpherson and Jade Jagger. You turn again and there’s Sharon and Kelly Osbourne. Then around again and there was David and Victoria and half the England team up on their feet, letting themselves go. Robbie sees us and shouts over to Wayne, ‘Eh, Wazza! Do you wanna come up and join us?!’ It was amazing.

Of all the fantastic parties and red-carpet events I’ve been fortunate enough to attend over the last few years, one of the very best was David and Victoria Beckham’s pre-2006 World Cup party. It was called the ‘Full Length and Fabulous’ party, and fabulous was the best way to describe it.

Normally, when I’m invited to events, such as the Elle Style Awards or The National Television Awards, I’m hopeless at organizing and leave everything to the last minute. Mainly because you can wear whatever you want. But for David and Victoria’s party you had to wear a full-length dress – something I’m not used to wearing because I’m only small – which meant I started planning weeks ahead.

After scouting round places like Harvey Nichols and Selfridges in Manchester, I spoke to Justine at Cricket, and she had to do quite a search through look-books and designer sites on the Internet before we eventually found a beautiful aquamarine-coloured gown by Alice Temperley. That was the hard part. Picking the rest of the outfit was fun. My clutch bag was by Gina and covered in diamanté. Because of the length of the dress I had to go for a shoe with a tall heel. I tried on Christian Louboutin, Marc Jacobs and Pucci, but in the end I went for a pair by Roberto Cavalli that had the same shimmering effect as my bag. I’d worked with the jeweller Boodles before for other events, and they kindly lent me an amazing diamond necklace, which looked unbelievable. I was told it was worth £125,000, which does make a girl feel quite special, if a little worried about losing it.

On the morning of the day itself, Sunday 21 May, my hairstylist Liza, from the Barbara Daly salon in Liverpool, came over to my mum’s house, where we were staying, to do my hair. I wanted my hair up to show off the necklace, so we went through a few styles and in the end came up with this modern-beehive look. I’ve got to admit that when I first saw the bun in the mirror I went, ‘Oh no! That’s massive!’ I liked the idea, but it just felt like I had this big thing on my head! Thankfully, my mum calmed me down and said it suited me. We were travelling down south by private jet and staying in a nearby hotel before heading to David and Victoria’s home in Hertfordshire. Taking one look at my new do, Wayne said I’d better watch out going through customs in the airport in case they thought I was smuggling drugs in my hair!

At the hotel, we got dressed and I put my make-up on. I’m not a big fan of wearing loads of make-up, I prefer a more natural look. Usually, while I’m getting ready, Wayne will be telling me to hurry up. If he’s ready then he thinks everyone else should be ready.

There were quite a few players staying at the same hotel and we had Rio Ferdinand ringing up asking if Wayne had a spare pair of black socks because he’d forgotten to bring his; then calling back and saying he didn’t need them because he’d bought a pair at the service station. Then Wayne had forgotten something, so he had to pick it up from Steven Gerrard. They’re all as bad as each other.

If I’m on a normal night out – maybe clubbing with my friends on a Friday or Saturday – then I’ll go round to my mum’s or my mates’ beforehand, dress there and have a little drink before we go. The last thing I’ll pack is my handbag. I have the same routine and follow it religiously. In will go my purse, my phone, my keys, a small bottle of perfume, my make-up and chewies. At the moment the perfume could be Chanel’s Chance and Viktor & Rolf, but Chanel is my favourite because they do little compact bottles that fit in your bag.

If I’ve only got a small bag, like the Gina clutch bag, I try to limit my cargo to as little as possible. I never change my make of bronzer or blusher, so it will be St Tropez bronzer, blusher by Nars and a Chanel blusher brush. I’ll swap lipstick and lip-gloss around. At the moment my favourite is a lip-pump by Pout. I’ll take YSL mascara, although I’m not a big fan of mascara

How to look fab and glamorous in an instant

You don’t have to spend hours in front of the mirror, trying on the entire contents of your wardrobe, to look great. Sometimes it’s the small things that have the biggest impact and turn drab into dazzling in the blink of an eye. For that quick fashion lift, try:

1. A pair of diamond or diamanté earrings for an obvious glimmer of elegance.

2. High heels worn with jeans, which will immediately turn casual into smart-casual and elevate you in more ways than one.

3. The right pair of sunglasses can lend mystery and midnight glam to any outfit, with a mix of rock-star attitude and screen-siren chic.

4. A sparkly clutch bag. Simple but effective.

5. A skinny glitter belt. Just a touch of disco will give you the sparkle you need for a night out.

6. Tuck those jeans into your boots. Let’s be honest, what’s good for Kate Moss and Madonna is good for everyone else. It’s amazing how something so simple can look so sexy.

7. Loads of necklaces worn with a simple T-shirt. Part festival-chic, part Mardi Gras, open your jewellery drawer and throw a few on. It looks like you’ve tried, but the beauty is that it’s so simple.

8. A designer bag – my personal favourite. They might be expensive but a designer bag is your access-all-areas pass to fashion. Are they looking at me or my bag? Who cares!

as the next day I usually have big black eyes! I like eye make-up by either Nars or MAC. Other than that, I’ll always take my chewing gum, green Wrigley’s Extra, my credit cards, and a bit of money just in case I need to get a taxi home.

When the time arrived to leave the hotel a car took us to the Beckhams’ house. I’ve been to quite a few big events but I still feel a bit apprehensive about these kinds of things, wondering if anyone I know will have arrived yet, who’ll be sat at our table, the usual things. At the entrance the paparazzi were lined up and there was an ITV camera crew filming people entering. As we walked in they asked me who my dress was by and how Wayne’s foot was getting on – in case you’ve forgotten, he’d broken his fourth metatarsal a couple of months before the World Cup and everyone was worried about whether he was going to be fit in time to play.

I’ll never get used to the red carpet. The first time I experienced it was at the Pride of Britain awards when there was a wall of paparazzi shouting at me, ‘Coleen! Over here! Coleen! Over here! Over here!’ In the end I just stood there twisting my head around from side to side and going, ‘Wait! Give me a chance!’ That whole walk makes me feel really self-conscious. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. At the National Television Awards, when I was making my documentary for Channel 5, I started thinking, ‘What if I stand there and they don’t even want to take my picture?’

We’d been to David and Victoria’s house for dinner a few years previously, but this time the party was being hosted in a marquee in the grounds. Once inside, it took your breath away. Everything was gorgeous. They are great hosts. At around 7 p.m., just as we arrived, four jets with St George’s crosses on their wings flew overhead. There was a soft moss-green carpet leading up to the reception area, decorated with beautiful cream-coloured flowers and scented candles. In the dining area, over 300 guests sat at round tables, and each table had a silver birch tree at its centre, surrounded by an arrangement of lilies, tulips and roses. And they had my and Wayne’s favourite wine on the tables – New Zealand Cloudy Bay sauvignon blanc – so we were made up.

It’s rare that you’ll ever see me and Wayne attending a public event together. We just don’t go for that celebrity-couple thing. The Beckhams’ World Cup party is one of the few times it’s happened.

I arrive at an event like that and still wonder what it’s going to be like. I’ve never been one for wanting to meet celebrities. Lots of people have favourite actors and pop stars, but I’m not really like that, although at the Elle Style Awards I was really star-struck to see Charlize Theron and Mischa Barton. I suppose the only person I’d like to sit down and have a chat to if I ever had the chance to meet her would be Charlotte Church. Just because she seems quite similar to me, she’s the same age, and I think we’ve experienced a comparable amount of attention and scrutiny from the paparazzi and the press even though she has a totally different career to me.

I remember one of the few occasions where we were meant to go to a big do together, I was told I wasn’t allowed and ended up being really upset. We’d just started going out together when Wayne was named as BBC Young Sports Personality of the Year. He was invited down to London to pick up the award and asked me to be there with him. I was only seventeen and I was really excited. It was just before Christmas, so my mum and dad came shopping with me and I bought this little black dress. Then I saw these shoes in Dune, with an ankle strap and diamanté – they were really nice at the time – but they were £120 and I was still at school and my mum said, ‘No, you’re not getting them, we’ve just got you the dress.’ I’d resigned myself to settling for another pair of shoes, but just before the awards my mum and dad came back from town and they’d bought the ones I’d originally wanted. I couldn’t have been more made up. Then, that same night, Wayne came over and said I couldn’t go. His manager, David Moyes – Wayne was at Everton at the time – had said he didn’t think it was appropriate that I went with Wayne because we were too young. Maybe he didn’t want us staying in the hotel together. I was gutted.

I was excited to be going with Wayne to the Beckhams’ party. I expected it to be really good, but I imagined it would be quite a low-key affair with people eating and then a little bit of entertainment. That wasn’t the case at all. Everyone was really up for a great night, dancing away and enjoying themselves. It was brilliant. I suppose it’s not hard to enjoy yourself when there are 350 of you and you’ve just eaten a meal cooked by Gordon Ramsay and you’re being entertained by James Brown and Robbie Williams! Robbie used to be my favourite in Take That. By the way, I never did get the chance to have a few words with Mr Ramsay about how he was rearing a couple of pigs and had apparently named them after me and Wayne. Maybe it was a good job we didn’t get to meet!

Sometimes you go to these kinds of parties and everyone is on their best behaviour, but everyone was so relaxed, including Wayne. The next day the newspapers made a big fuss about Wayne dancing on his injured foot. Well, the truth is that I tried to stop him, but Wayne loves dancing and once he gets going there’s no holding him back!

Wayne’s quite proud of his fancy footwork on the dance floor. At every party we go to he makes a big thing of dancing, doing his thing, flips, the lot, you name it, until people form a circle and start cheering. He loves it! It’s his party piece. Actually, he’s not a bad dancer, but he’ll start doing this flipping and stuff, then the circle will form and all of a sudden he thinks he’s Michael Jackson! At Victoria and David’s he promised me he was going to behave himself. Then, later on in the night, he started dancing. I’m stood back and I can see this telltale little circle starting to form around him. As soon as I saw it I was over there, in the middle, dancing by his side and telling him, ‘C’mon, there’s a circle forming, you’ve got to come over here.’ Fortunately, I managed to get him out safely before the flips started.

I expected Victoria’s party to be really good, but I imagined it would be quite a low-key affair with people eating and then a little bit of entertainment.

For a lot of events I’ll take my best friend, Claire, with me. Over time, I’ve become a bit wiser to the way things work.

I can go out and enjoy myself, but I have forever got to be on my guard because there are always journalists hanging around trying to catch well-known people out, either doing something they’re not supposed to or even if they’re talking to someone that might make a story. It sounds paranoid, but I’m always aware that journalists might be ear-wigging my conversations, or they’ll try to take advantage of Claire if she’s standing on her own and start asking her questions. I’ve come to understand that it’s possible to be at a different party from the one that’s reported in the newspapers the next day.

I found that out very early on. I had my eighteenth birthday party at the Devonshire Hotel in Liverpool. It was quite hard arranging it because of the football fixtures and fitting dates around Wayne’s schedule. In the end, we sorted out a date and it was fantastic. I’d just left school and everyone was there, family and friends, the place was jam-packed. Everyone was up dancing from the beginning. I was given a three-tier cake, decorated with shopping bags from all my favourite stores made out of icing. However, in the end it was a fight that made the headlines the next day. They said there’d been a scrap between my family and Wayne’s. That wasn’t the truth at all. At the end of the night the bouncers were clearing the room and asked one of Wayne’s family to move to a different area. It wasn’t a big fight, it was a small argument which turned into a scuffle. Within minutes the police appeared and the whole thing was blown out of all proportion. It was like someone had been ready to call the police and the press, because no sooner had it started than everyone appeared and the story was in the newspapers the next day. I still can’t understand how the press and the police were so quick to arrive on the scene. It makes you wonder.

In case of emergencies

Whether you’re at a party or spending a night on the town, a girl never knows when she might have to pull in for a beauty pit-stop and make a few on-the-spot repairs. I’m not often this organized, but when I am this is my must-have first-aid beauty kit:

1. Dental floss

For after dinner when you need to service that great smile of yours.

2. Cotton buds

To tidy up mascara and blend creased eye-shadow.

3. A tiny bottle of your favourite perfume

Or a perfume atomizer. Don’t go mixing your scent with any freebies that might be on offer in the Ladies.

4. Oil blotters

I know none of us get sweaty – sorry, perspire. But just in case you do, these will make sure your face doesn’t resemble a big, shiny, round, sweaty thing!

5. Nail file

Just in case that pedicure doesn’t hold out.

6. Lip-gloss or Vaseline

One for the girls who, like me, don’t go for lipstick. Stops lips drying out and keeps them plump.

At the Beckhams’ party I think the main reason why people were so relaxed is because the press and TV cameras were so controlled. It just meant everyone didn’t have to worry so much about what they were or weren’t doing or saying. It’s not always that way but David and Victoria’s party was great in that respect.

One of the highlights was Graham Norton’s charity auction. There were all sorts of things to bid for, like a diamond-and-ruby encrusted Jacob watch that belonged to David, which Ashley Cole bought, and an Asprey necklace designed by Victoria. Ozzy Osbourne said he would cook dinner for ten and that was auctioned off, while other guests offered different on-the-spot lots.

I keep all the dresses I’ve worn to big events, parties and ceremonies – well, the dresses that I’ve really loved. I have big clear-outs of the rest of my clothes every now and again, and after friends and cousins have had a look at what they’d like, I take the rest to our local charity shop.

Wayne loves his rap – Jay-Z, P. Diddy, Kanye West. So you should have seen his face when P. Diddy stood up and said he would auction off either a weekend in his house in The Hamptons or the chance to spend a day with him in his New York recording studio. I saw Wayne and Rio look at each other across the table and I just knew they were going to go for it. In the end Wayne was bidding against Sharon Osbourne, and managed to win when he shouted out £150,000. One reason I expected Wayne to go that little bit further was because he’s really good when it comes to charity. The other was that I knew there was no way he was going to lose the chance to hang out with P. Diddy and go and party with him at his house. The invitation was for two, so everyone assumed he’d be taking me with him. Quite a few people dropped by the table asking if I was made up at the thought of holidaying with P. Diddy. I looked across at Wayne and Rio and said, ‘I’m not even going, it’s them two!’ I didn’t mind at all. They’re both into their rap. But Wayne was always bidding for himself and Rio, not, like the newspapers reported the next day, as a present for me! There was also a story that me and Wayne were going to fly over to New York and P. Diddy was going to close the whole of Bloomingdale’s and let me have the run of the place to shop. Now, maybe that would have been a bit more interesting!

Of all the parties I’ve been to, Victoria and David’s ‘Full Length and Fabulous’ must rank as up there with the best. Me and Wayne were almost the last to leave and didn’t get back to our hotel until the early hours. Now, that is the sign of a good party!

I keep all the dresses I’ve worn to big events, parties and ceremonies – well, the dresses that I’ve really loved. I have big clear-outs of the rest of my clothes every now and again, and after friends and cousins have had a look at what they’d like, I take the rest to our local charity shop. My mum always goes for my shoes because she’s the same size as me. It’s good to have clear-outs, but I refuse to part with any of my handbags.

Since we moved house I have my own big walk-in wardrobe, so I’m lucky enough to have the space to store all the special dresses that have made it into the news. I’ll never throw them away. They are my collection of memories, and in years to come they’ll be the best reminder a girl can have of some great times.

chapter five a very strange relationship

I’ve had to learn to live my life knowing that around every corner there could be a man, and they are mostly men, with a camera, waiting to leap out and take a photograph of me. Over time, you get used to it and the paparazzi become a part of your day-to-day life. It’s a complicated and quite strange relationship, and I would be the first to admit that, in some ways, you could say the paparazzi made me. All those pictures of me out shopping and with my mates brought me to the public’s attention. So it could be said that they allowed me to carve out a lucrative career for myself, enabling me to have contracts with the likes of Asda, Closer magazine and LG mobile phones. That’s been the up-side of the relationship and, in that respect, I’ve been lucky. But at the same time I’ve never been someone who’s courted publicity. And while I say you get used to being constantly followed by the paparazzi, that doesn’t mean you enjoy it. Sometimes I think it’s crazy. Do people really want to see another picture of me carting a load of shopping bags about town?

Each morning I wake up knowing there’ll probably be paparazzi waiting in their cars outside the house. They don’t tend to follow Wayne as much because they know all he’s going to do is leave home, drive off to training at Manchester United and then make the same journey back a few hours later. Whereas they don’t know what I’m up to, so they’ll follow me just in case I’m doing anything interesting. Most of the time I’m really not doing anything very interesting, believe me, but that doesn’t stop them. In fact, some of the photographers are under contracts to capture as many as ten pictures of me per day, so their job is to grab those photos no matter what.

There was one paparazzo who kept on following me all the time. Everywhere I went he was there, trailing me, jumping red lights to keep on my tail and generally acting like a real idiot. One day, when I was with Wayne, he followed us onto the motorway. Wayne is more likely to lose his temper at that kind of thing than I am, so he pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder. The photographer slowed and pulled up behind us. Wayne drove off and the man started following us again.

By now Wayne had had enough, so he pulled up alongside the photographer’s car, asked him what he was playing at, and the two of them started arguing. The photographer just didn’t care. All he kept repeating was that he was just doing his job! Unbelievable!

And there’s nothing you can do to stop them. On another occasion we even drove to a police station and the photographer followed us there. That didn’t make any difference. As long as there’s a camera in the car the police can’t do a thing to help you. As far as the law is concerned the camera means he’s a photographer and not a stalker. How crazy is that?

Sometimes the situation is downright ridiculous. I was in one of the card shops in Liverpool city centre, just before Valentine’s Day, and my mate and I were engrossed in looking through the rows of cards. The next minute, we turn round and the whole shop window is full of people peering in at us. There was a crowd of shoppers, three to four deep, craning their necks to see who was inside Clinton’s card shop. At the front of the pack there were three paparazzi taking pictures of us, while everyone else had just stopped to see what the fuss was all about. Me and my mate just burst out laughing, and I was thinking, ‘Oh, please, I hope I haven’t picked up any dirty cards or anything!’ People had their camera phones out and everything. It was really embarrassing! I felt ashamed to walk out of the shop. ‘You know what,’ I said to my mate, ‘I’m gonna walk out and people will be expecting someone really big to be in here, like Elton John or something, and then I’ll walk out and it’s just me!’ The next moment, a security guard asked if we wanted to leave via a back route, so we ended up going down some stairs and coming out of Boots next door. Outside I bumped into an old mate I used to go dancing with in Liverpool. She said, ‘Coleen! I’ve just been standing outside that shop wondering, “Who’s in there?” Then I looked and it was you!’ I told her I felt embarrassed. Stuff like that just makes you think, ‘That’s so ridiculous!’ It’s madness. What most people don’t realize is that there are now literally thousands of untrained guys out there with cameras calling themselves paparazzi. Many of them have never even sold a picture, but they keep on trying to make money by stalking celebrities 24 hours a day, hoping something will happen that will make their fortune. A lot of them are good guys, but some are really intrusive and even try to wind us up just to get a picture and story showing Wayne or me getting cross. Which anyone would if they were wound up like some of these guys can do.

When we were in Germany the press stalked us everywhere. We’d step outside the hotel to go to buy lunch or just to go for a walk and they’d be with us all the time. In the end, I used to ask them, ‘Aren’t you bored? Aren’t people in England bored of us? It’s ridiculous.’ Believe it or not, there are even times when I feel sorry for them and I think they’re just doing their job. But then in other situations, like when we’re on holiday, I wish they would go away, leave us in peace and give us a bit of privacy.

We’ve been sitting on beaches in Dubai and Barbados and we can see the paparazzi there, twenty or thirty metres away, just waiting to get a shot of us. It’s a public beach so there’s nothing we can do. I try not to let it affect me but I’m totally aware of the kinds of shots they’re after and, like any girl, it does make me feel self-conscious about my body. I find myself breathing in a bit when I stand up so I end up sitting down on the lounger all day. Otherwise, I take a walk down the length of the beach and there will be a load of them following me. It just means I’m on my guard all day. However hard I try, sometimes I can’t avoid giving them the shot they’re looking for.

I’d rather just go on holiday and be myself and not care what everyone thinks.

We were on a beach in Barbados once, with a few friends, and I stood up to remove my shorts because I had my bikini on underneath. As I was taking them off I accidentally pulled the string of my bikini and they came down a bit. I just panicked thinking that was the picture that would be in the newspapers the next day.

The alternative to all this is to agree to do a ‘set up’ with the photographers. If we agree then they promise to leave us alone for the rest of the day. Celebrities do this all the time. The picture will appear in the newspaper and readers think it’s a genuine paparazzi shot, but in reality it’s all been posed and agreed on. More often than not the photographic agencies will pay money for the picture and often split the proceeds with the celebrity. You can always spot the beach set-ups in the newspapers. They’re the ones with the soap stars looking all beautiful and toned, or splashing about in the sea. They’re not the ones of them sitting on their sun-loungers eating a burger, or where they have a few rolls of flesh on display. I couldn’t pose for one of those photographs. I’d rather just go on holiday and be myself and not care what everyone thinks.