I would like to apologize to those of you, who have known me of old and are shocked and disappointed to find that I'm not really the person in this photograph. I'd like to - but I won't, petals! Because that would just be patronising, wouldn't it? After all, surely everyone knew that it wasn't really me? As if someone as famous, glamorous and well travelled would have to stoop so low as to stick her whole arm up Ronnie Corbett's U-bend! No, I can't deny the obvious fact that I have been dishonestly using a photo of Judith Chalmers on my profile for six months.
It was my own silly fault for taking notice of my celebrity clients' advice. To be fair, I should know better - most of them are pissed as farts by the time Pointless is on of an afternoon!
It all started when I joined Twitter to find a man. Joan Collins said I'd NEVER get a sniff with a boat race like mine. She wanted to give me one of her 'Quicklime' makeovers, but as she'd only done one before - on Dr Gillian McKeith - I decided to plump for the safer option. It was the old, old story, I'm afraid. Ugly woman posts a photo of someone far, far more glamorous to attract a man. It works a treat! And before long they're buzzing around her like flies on half an Angus Whopper in a wheely bin. Then all of a sudden, before you can say Bob Hoskins is small but perfectly formed, she's living a lie.
But you know, petals, at some time we all have to pull our fingers out and come clean. I was saying that very thing to Russell Brand the other day when I was scrubbing his bedroom wall with my scourer. As it happens, I scrubbed so hard, the pattern came off the wallpaper and we had to cover the wet patch with a photo of June Whitfield shaking hands with the Prince of Wales. Luckily little Katy Perry didn't notice and she still doesn't know that her husband's a . . . but that's another story.
I knew full well that nobody would ever really believe that a woman as gorgeous as Judith Chalmers would be a spinster. Just look at her - HOT TO TROT! That hair, those eyes, the determined chin and the way she clung tightly to her handbag, so nobody could grab it and find the stolen pension books inside. I knew that one day, I'd have to come out, but I was just too afraid that everyone would be disappointed. In the end the matter was taken out of my hands when @MrsStephenFry and her friends Mrs Norton, Mrs Winton and Mrs Biggins, performed an intervention on me at the Cuppa Cabana. It was terrifying at first - especially when a ghost claiming to be my Uncle Willy appeared and told me the Sellotape had fallen down the back of the washing machine (I'd been searching for it for weeks!) - but apart from the odd slap across my face, it was quite enjoyable and I agreed to reveal my true self to you all.
Yes I admit it! I can't deny myself any more. I'M A WOMAN! A celebrity cleaner. An orphan, cruelly abandoned because I had a nose like Queen Victoria and rejected every single day of my life since then. I can't help it if you've all imagined me as a man, can I? To be honest, you wouldn't be the first. We had a High Court barrister at Cynthia Payne's Luncheon Club who liked to imagine I was a man too. Sadly, we had to cut off his membership after Environmental Health found out that 'Waste Not Want Not' Cynthia was cutting up the cucumber afterwards and putting it in the sandwiches.
Well, that's about all I want to say, petals. I do hope you'll understand. I'm still me, @IvyManilow Cleaner to the Stars, with all my parts intact - and as the Queen Mother used to say when I moaned about cleaning her commode after her weekly All Bran - "Just put your rubber gloves on - and if you don't like it, you can lump it, petal!"
Love Ivy Manilow (Miss) x x x