There are certain dreads in life one never gets over. Having been on Richard & Judy a few times I now don’t stay awake all night worrying about the prospect of a TV appearance. As a mother of three I am just about able to cope with a summons to the headmaster’s office, though as it was with me during my school days this rarely means good news.

But PUBLIC SPEAKING - that is something I will never be comfortable with even if I live to be 150. Last night was the launch party for Renew Retreats, my new PINK business. We had pink balloons, pink champagne, lots of glamorous guests, including my lovely step-daughter, the Telegraph gossip columnist and the editor of YOU Magazine. Then it was time for the speech…I had been dreading it for weeks. I had asked Mary to do it instead. She refused. At 7.10 (ten minutes after the time I was meant to make the damn thing) I thought I could get away with it. And I would have done if it hadn’t been for my friend Annika. This is a girl who was a very successful model, is about two metres tall and can be extremely loud.

“Speech time,” she bellowed and everyone shut up. So there I stood, pink champagne in hand, expectant faces looking at me. Is there a worse feeling in the world? Possibly the dentist’s drill, but even that seemed like a good option at the time. My step-father once told me that the way to deal with nerves is to squeeze your toes hard and all your nervousness will go to your feet. I would have done that but had earlier invested in a pair of incredibly high pink satin shoes which don’t leave any room to squeeze a toe-nail let alone a toe.

“Welcome,” I began. And then went on, and totally miraculously, it all went fine. At least I think it went fine but by that stage I had drunk so much pink champagne to steady my nerves that I was beyond noticing. Let’s hope everyone else had too.

Anyway Renew Retreats is officially launched and a jolly good party it was too. As far as I can remember.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

One of the most common complaints I hear from harassed housewifes and mothers is that they don’t have the time to do any exercise because they are with the children all day. I have great news. A young child is the perfect exercise tool. I present you with, at absolutely no charge or membership fee, my exclusive Leonardo workout.

It began like this. His teacher was ill so he had to come home from school. First he got into his Spiderman pyjamas and then he was ready for action. For forty-five minutes we jumped up and down on the trampoline (great leg and buttock workout). Then he wanted me to push him on the swings (great arm work-out). This was followed by a game where I was his horse (perfect opportunity to do some press-ups with him on my back, my arms ached after two). Then we had the ‘throw me on the sofa four hundred times while I pretend to fly’ game, another amazing arm and shoulder workout. After this you might think he’d be ready for a DVD (I know I was) but no - it was time for a bike ride.

As he has only just mastered riding a bike this entails me running alongside him just in case I have to catch him (great cardio, who needs a treadmill?) The only thing we didn’t cover was abs but I have since developed a technique whereby Leonardo sits on my legs counting to one hundred as I heave myself up from the floor to be greeted by his smiling face.

So there you have it. Those of you with more than one child at home will be able to enjoy the workout even more as you repeat it with each child. It might get a tad dull, but just think how toned you will be. And in plenty of time for the beach.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

So the news that Carla has married Sarko has of course devastated Rupert. “How could she?” he wailed down the phone to me as I stood at the supermarket check-out.

I excitedly shared the news of the wedding with the people queuing with me at Carrefour. They didn’t seem in the least bit interested. I couldn’t wait to get into the car to listen to the news. The girls demanded Amy Winehouse.

“No,” I told them. “Sarko’s got married, I need to hear all about it.”

“We hate Sarko,” said Olivia. “He’s going to make us do homework at the after-school crèche. We want to play instead.”

The news was full of some military coup in Chad. Who cares about Chad? What we really want to know is what did Carla wear?

I had to wait until I got home to read the Daily Mail and discover that she wore white.

“How ridiculous,” I huffed.

“And why shouldn’t she wear white?” said Rupert. “She hasn’t been married before.”

I suppose he has a point. But there is something rather incongruous about a man-eating former super-model turned semi-naked rock star doing the blushing bride bit.

I am not bitter. I know I sound bitter but I’m not. I never wanted to sleep with Eric Clapton or Mick Jagger or live in the Elysee Palace. But I do truly believe that Sarko has lost the plot. OK, so he’s obviously besotted, who wouldn’t be? But there are some women who are the marrying kind and some women who are not. Even though he has only known her a little over two months he should realise that Carla is not. And no matter how much white she wears I’m not convinced this marriage will last as long as Sarko’s presidential term. Which could only be a matter of weeks if Olivia and Bea get their way.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008