A while back I had a rib-tickling conversation with my Unlucky buddy.
About Norah Jones being perfect wife material.

It was a bit of an eye-opener for me because I WAS NOT prepared for the intricate detail in which he had thought out their future together. I mean, I realise that women think about perfect husband material quite a lot, and have planned their wedding day, their city home and pied a terre in the country with meticulous precision, but I'd often thought that men were a little less...errrm...picky.

My perfect husband material was always Pacey from Dawson's Creek. Kind and generous. Tough but romantic. A talent for self-deprecating humour. Dark hair, dark eyes and big, big hands.
*Sigh*
But Channel 5 made the fatal error of bad scheduling and moved Dawson's Creek to the ridiculous 10am on Saturday slot. Jokers.

So I moved on. Now, I have a huge thing for Nigel Harman.
Huge.
Bubs and I even have a mini shrine to him at home.
The fridge.
It's covered in Nigel pictures, lovingly cut out from various gossip mags.

Now, when I get up and make my first cuppa tea of the day, I see Nige, flashing his pearly whites at me and I fantasise about bumping into him in a pub and catching his gaze, and him falling madly in love with me. Then we'd have a dream wedding, live in a house that our mates Kirstie and Phil had found for us, oh and we'd have two beautiful kids.

But the other day, I realised that I'd have to issue Nige with his first written warning. Because just over six months ago, in preparation for Bubs birthday, I did my research , duly wrote a humourous postcard and sent it (with my SAE) off c/o the Beeb, kindly asking for a signed photo of the man himself.

The Eastenders website had forewarned that getting a signed photo may take a while.
Please be patient when waiting for your reply. Some actors take longer than others, so we can't tell you exactly how long it will take.

Well I can understand that. I gave it a few weeks, and I started to get a little impatient. I practically bit the postman's arm off every day, in the vain hope that it may have arrived.

Six months later, and it still hasn't.

So, I shall be sending Nigel his first written warning. Because that sort of behaviour, well, it's just rude isn't it?

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