Ally Pally was fab, although tiring. It made a nice change to go to a show and have a choice of scrapping ranges rather than just racks and racks of Papermania.

I did three classes, the best of which was the Blonde Moments one. We got to do a technique rather than just replicate a project and Dyan was great fun. And a great saleswoman, cos I went and bought a shed-load of their pigment powders afterwards. Me, suggestible?

Anyway, I am not photographing what I bought as to do so would be a) vulgar and b) involve me confronting the hideous truth about how much I spent. So lets just say I bought one or two choice items and leave it at that shall we?

The journey back was a nightmare - the late train back to Manchester, complete with a drunken hen party who harassed everyone in the carriage, intent on giving everyone a makeover with a make-up kit they had out. The guard let us move to First Class to get away from them, but we could still hear them screaming and throwing wine at one another. (And these were 40-somethings, not, as the spotty little oik sat across from me kindly pointed out, "young". Grrrrrr.)

You had to get past the hen party to get to the bar. At one stage (and I swear to God, word for word, this is true) a very well-dressed, elderly Indian gentleman got up from his seat further up our carriage and made his way down towards the bar. He re-appeared some time later. As he passed our table he stopped and spoke.

"I do not blame you ladies for moving up here", he said solemnly. "Those women in that carriage are out of control. They are like a pack of animals. I wanted to buy a drink and they would not let me past them for 20 minutes."

I started to commiserate with him but he cut me off.

"Are you nuts? It was brilliant! I've not had my arse groped like that for 20 years! I'm going back to get some crisps in a minute!"

I laughed so hard a bit of wee nearly escaped!