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A pink limousine purrs its way through the town.  Inside, plush white seats carry a gaggle of cavorting, giggling women, all dressed up and ready to have the time of their lives.  I’m one of them!

When we reach the club – our chosen destination – we spill indelicately out of the limousine, champagne slopping over the top of a dozen crystal flutes, tights getting clicked, shoes being stuffed back onto feet that already ache from 5” worth of stiletto heels. Oh boy!  And the night is still young.

It’s raining – it’s absolutely pouring – cats, dogs, frogs – you name it!   I’d set off 2 hours ago in the guise of ‘Poison Ivy’ looking like a million dollars…

…and already, what with the revelry and the downpour, I feel like I’m looking like that bedraggled Christmas tree that still leans against the bin since the turn of the new year, unclaimed and ignored by the corporation bin men!

Why ON EARTH ‘Poison Ivy’ do I hear you ask?

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Well – it all started when my niece – who gets married to her childhood sweetheart  no less, a week tomorrow – sent me an invitation to her hen party that boldly stated,

“…superstar or superhero – you choose”

Well, I chose!  But whether I chose wisely is debatable.  A kick in the pants off 60, I’m thinking I could have picked a more age-friendly superhero to mimic – Katherine Hepburn or Shirley Bassey, perhaps.  But, you know, I’d spotted a clump of plastic ivy waiting to be put up in the attic after Christmas, and I suddenly thought, “Aha!” shouted, “Eureka!”  And the seed was sown!

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The seed’s in bloom now, in a manner of speaking, and here I am oozing tipsily out of this pink limo, high heels in hand, a crown of ivy askew on my red wig and peering from behind a heavily glittered black mask.  I’m wearing a skimpy black leotard adorned with bits of plastic foliage and fishnets that are blowing the wind and rain heartily through what feels like a thousand holes!