This is the 26th post of a series which is introduced here.
Thursday 25 October 2018
A 7am start to the day. Me and my roomie, fellow model, Eve, go down to be seated for breakfast at the Hilton Hotel, Glasgow.
‘Breast Cancer?’ The young male attendant enquires.
‘Er no! We’ve already had that thanks very much, but some yoghurt and fruit might be quite nice.’ I answer. The guy is suitably embarrassed, apologises for his lack of tact and takes us to our table. I’m not a pig, but I eat a variety of the delicious options available at the buffet (it’s still all about the protein, man). Eve doesn’t have much of an appetite and only picks at things.
Unlike me the Hilton is well fucking posh. I’d already been impressed by the grand reception area with its shiny marble floor, high ceiling and modern chandelier lighting – not to mention the larger than life-size canvas images of three of our lovely models suspended from the balcony above. Excitement stirs. The day of ‘The Show’ has finally arrived.
I stash three little pots of marmalade and jams into my pocket and leave the restaurant. I’m off to the lift on my own feeling slightly apprehensive but reasonably confident I know how to use it now, after yesterday’s fiasco when Eve and I had spent a good ten minutes yo-yo’ing up and down between reception and the third floor – eventually (after my arms had practically fallen off ’cause of the weight of holding my boot boxes, and after I’d pleaded with two women not to get in with us as the elevator doors opened at reception for the umpteenth time) a kindly Chinese man, who had bore witness to our pitiful plight, explained that we needed to use our room key to make the lift work.
So while Eve has already gone to get her hair and make-up done, I make my way back up to our room for a sneaky extra lie down before rehearsals at 10am – after all, it’s going to be a long day, and rest is nice.
I accidentally fall asleep.
Last down I’m horrified to see everyone lined up in their first outfit ready to begin, waiting for me. I’m on the receiving end of a deserved but small row from our Stylist. Oops.
Between the first dress rehearsal and the afternoon performance it’s my turn to get my face looking acceptable by Sara Hill and her team from the Academy of Make-up, and my hair sorted by the Sassoon Stylists. I get to choose my look so say, ‘Let’s go Amy Winehouse.’
Hair ‘n’ make up. For me it’s black flicks and metallic red eye-shadow to match the barnet.
Before I know it me and the twenty-two other ‘models’ are lining up ready to take to the catwalk for real. I’m second on and am shitting myself. I keep peeking out behind the backstage curtains to survey the audience, it helps calm my nerves to see tables of women all smiling and enjoying themselves. It’s going to be fine! I tell myself. I’ve just had one of the hardest years of my life: if I can get through all those cancer treatments I can walk down a bloody catwalk!
Outwardly I think I must have looked confident, bold and strong, but inside I was trembling like an aspen leaf as I stepped onto the catwalk to ‘Feels Like I’m in Love’ – my knees really were shaking and my heart was definitely beating like a drum.
It was over in a flash, but we are then ushered off to have a group photograph taken and give quotes to the reporter whose job it is to do a write-up for the Sunday Mail, who sponsor The Show.
In addition to the Sunday Mail photographer there was also another geezer, David Brown, knocking about taking piccers – all day and to the very end of the night.
Afternoon guests leave and we are called back down to rehearse for the evening show – because for the final scene we have escorts; football players from Partick Thistle and Glasgow High Kelvinside rugby players, wit-woos. I watch the boys escort the other models. Footballer Aaron seems most at ease so I collar him and tell him to make sure he’s second in line for the later performance.
Afternoon Show hosted by STV news presenter Halla Mohieddeen . . . Emotional talk by fellow model Liz McAinsh and Tricia McAneny . . . Evening Show hosted by former River City actress Libby McArthur.
I listen to Liz talk about her experience of finding her breast lump and then the discovery her cancer had spread to her spine. I hear her talk about her son, and think of my own boys. Tricia tells the audience how she was diagnosed with breast cancer only weeks after losing her mum to the disease. I think of my own Mum. I miss her. I feel a tickle as the first tear trickles down my cheek, but think, fuck don’t cry, your make-up will get ruined! I cry anyway.
I miss my kids and I miss my boyfriend.
Before the evening show I take advantage of a foot and a head massage offered by one of the Breast Cancer Care charity volunteers. Wonderful! And since I barely ate at lunch I make sure I get enough dinner in my belly. After squeezing a spot that appeared on the end of my nose I get the make-up artist to fix a shining red beacon that would give Rudolf a run for his money. The Sassoon stylist is in good form as she starts fixing my hair up again…she offers me a glass of fizz and is enjoying a sing-song as she works, I’m thinking she’s a bit pished, but if you can’t beat ’em join ’em so I swig down the wine she shoves in front of me and belt out ‘Laid’ by James.
It’s time to do it all over again.
The boyfriend, and friends Lorna and John, are here tonight to support me. What a difference it makes to my happiness to see them at a table close to the catwalk. I see Paul from my spot backstage and actively will him to look my way, he doesn’t. I cannot wait for him to see me.
The boyfriend with Lorna . . . the boyfriend with John . . . the four of us after The Show.
I walk out and do not contain myself when Paul and my friend Lorna spot me. Lorna stands up and waves – and I wave madly back like a kid on stage at their first school nativity when they spot their mummy and daddy. It’s a different vibe in the room tonight and the atmosphere is incredible as I strut down the catwalk to cheers, whoops and claps from the crowd.
Suddenly I discover a new confidence and I’m itching for my turn on the catwalk again. A quick but careful change into the next outfit and I line up. I have come into my own and unlike the afternoon’s show in which I felt like a bag of nerves and rushed through, I now want time to slow down so I can savour every second.
Moves Like Minnie. How will you wear your polka dots?
Winehouse hair. Lots of volume and height. Rockin’ the Wild at Heart theme in leopard print top, gold skinnies and an FCUK faux fur.
It’s the final scene. I prime my footballer before he walks onto the stage ahead of me. I go on and take his arm. ‘Walk slowly,’ I say. We pose back to back at the end of the catwalk. People are up on their feet – what a thrill it feels.
My footballer deposits me at the top of the stage where I remain and watch the rest of the models as they come out one by one. I am full of joy and pride, and feel both humbled and privileged to be here sharing such a unique and uplifting experience with these inspirational women. They are all amazing. I look out at the audience and I hope that our happy stint on the catwalk has encouraged our female audience to love their bodies for what they are. But more especially, by sharing our own stories of our breast cancer journey I hope we have succeeded in highlighting the importance of cancer awareness and the necessity for people to get to know and check their bodies.
All my wonderful fellow models.
More than 4,800 people in Scotland alone will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year. Getting this diagnosis can mean so many different things and can impact life in so many unimaginable ways. By taking part in The Show we wanted to prove that it is possible to look and feel fabulous after going through treatments and, for some of us, having to continue to live with the disease that can be treated but not cured. Events like The Show – which raised in excess of £155,000 – mean that Breast Cancer Care can support more people through one of the most difficult challenges they will ever face.
An insight to why Life is a Catwalk? – Like my afternoon performance I wanted the last twenty odd years of my life to hurry up and be over as I searched for answers. But since coming to terms with troubles of the past, the loss of my mother and my own cancer diagnosis I now want life to slow down so that I can savour every precious moment – just like I felt doing the evening performance of The Show. (Soz if that’s not clear, I’ve had a couple brandy n cokes, lol.)
Thanks for reading.
All support is appreciated. Please give my Facers page a ‘like’ if you would like to follow my journey. Any questions, just ask. I’m right here.