Hide the Needles and Stand Back from the Knife.

Recently I was lucky enough to go along as a friend's plus-one to a fashion show.

Oh, what's not to like?

Pretty frocks, complimentary champagne, goodie bags - all on a school night.

But what I wasn't prepared for was the extra treat - the massive smorgasbord of bad plastic surgery and botox that was on show.

Oh. My. Stars.

It was stunning.

Don't get me wrong, there were loads of women who looked stunning and who clearly had a bit of work on the side. It's not these women I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the women who went that extra mile - whose faces were so obviously plumped with poison or stretched and slightly twisted by surgery that they were left with a contorted/stunned/doll like appearance.

And many of them looked far too young to have started to make themselves look like Halloween Barbie. It was just looked like they hadn't learnt how to say, 'Thank you but I've had enough.'

My friend and I were like a coupla kids in a candy shop, 'Oh wow, look at her!'

'Yeah nothing moves except the bags under her eyes!'

It was a fascinating spectacle, one I wouldn't have missed for the world. However at one point during the evening I leaned over to my friend and whispered, 'I'm really pleased I'm me.'

Needless to say, my lines don't have to fear being blown back into my youth.