IT was supposed to be an entrance to remember - it was certainly one I'll never forget.

Just five hours before a friend's house-warming party the phone rang with news that sent a shiver down my spine: fancy dress was no longer optional and I was going to have to go along with the heroes and villains theme.

There was only one thing for it, a quick dash to the fancy dress shop in a desperate search for a costume before they closed.

As I rummaged through the rails it jumped out at me. A costume fit for a heroine of Saturday teatime TV gone by. Never fear, Wonderwoman is here!

So there I was. Star-covered shorts, Wonderwoman top, red cape and boots (my best black high-heeled ones, not a pair supplied with the costume). I even had the gold-buckled belt and wrist cuffs.

For my grand entrance I was going to be accompanied by Pamela Anderson and the Terminator. Better still, we were going to turn up, to complete the pose, in Arnie's brand new jeep.

Everything was fine until we pulled up. You see, until you've been in a jeep you don't realise how high above the ground they are and, more used to getting out of my Golf, I slipped up.

While my right boot dropped from the concrete drive, off the side and into a ditch full of mud, my left boot remained high and dry in the car, forcing me into a kind of standing splits.

Instead of arriving in a Wonderwoman twirl the first glimpse most guests had of me was Pamela (in Barbed Wire costume with a gun under her arm) trying first to lift my right leg back up next to my left, then giving up and trying to pull my left leg down.

In the process the high heel snapped off my right boot, leaving me covered in mud and a good few inches shorter on one side of my body than the other.

Ithink I'm more of a Blunderwoman than Wonderwoman.

EVER had one of those moments where someone says the wrong thing just at the worst possible time?

For weeks, I've been trying to pluck up the courage to tell my newsagent that me and my other half are no more. You see, he's such a lovely, friendly chap that I haven't the heart to let him know his daily chats with Jon will be no more.

The crunch came last week when Jon picked up the last of his belongings and headed off to his new life in Burgess Hill. As he drove away I headed to the shop determined to pop in and out quickly before the subject could be raised.

Then came one of those moments where your heart stops, your stomach drops and you're momentarily lost for words.

"He's gone then", the newsagent sighed as I approached the counter. It's just as well I was lost for words. A split second away from blurting out the details of our break-up I noticed he was watching a TV under the till showing Glenn Hoddle's resignation press conference.

If old Hodd's reincarnation theory holds any ground I think I'd better come back with one of those time delays they sometimes use on live broadcasts. That will guarantee my brain always engages before my mouth opens.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.