Why on earth has “Doctor Totty” raised the Daily Mail’s hackles?

Dr Leah Totton

Dr Leah Totton has won The Apprentice and secured a £250,000 investment from Lord Sugar. She is a junior doctor, very newly qualified with a burning ambition to open facial filler and botox clinics where “trained doctors” will be doing the procedures and not rogue hairdressers that have been on YouTube and bought some silicone in B&Q.  I won’t be making an appointment just yet, and if I did I would be seeing a BAAPS registered consultant plastic surgeon but the law is such that people can do this and I would rather see the lovely Leah than my dentist who has also “been on a course” and has a fridge full of botulinum.  I don’t want to dwell on this too much, the industry is unregulated and she is exploiting that opportunity, the BAAPS spokesman has stuck his knife in her already. There are lots of GP’s and anaesthetists I know that are doing this and they are also not plastic surgeons so it isn’t just Leah sticking her neck out.

I caught sight of this article on Leah on The Daily Mail’s website (which I must give up reading as my daughter is starting to comment on the pictures too; nice dress, pretty, horrid dress, big bottom etc.  I will stop looking at it) saying how rubbish she is and then another one saying how she had made a few claims about having a company that didn’t check out. I can’t believe it really, what do they not like about her? She is beautiful, clever and looks like a Daily Mail usual suspect but they seem to have the knives out for poor Leah. She conducted herself impeccably, won the competition and even seems to be best friends with her runner-up. If it doesn’t work out with the facial fillers empire, I would be happy to see her gainfully employed in our hospital as a junior doctor. I also want know where she got that lovely blue dress from as I rather fancy it for myself.

Leave her alone nasty Daily Mail.


Crying and the three owl babies

When I cry for any more than 2 minutes the following happens: my eyelids swell up, my nose blocks completely, I have a red and blotchy face and I can’t speak for sobbing. It is ugly, I look like early anaphylaxis. This has impacted hugely on my ability to get what I want in life through crying, I am a revolting looking crier. Some women are pretty criers and frequently get what they want as small tears run down their cheeks making their eyes more sparkly and smiling little half smiles and hiccups. “There, there lovely girl. Don’t cry. Of course you can have a pony/I’ll never do it again/It’s not your fault” etc.

I hate these pretty criers, they seem fake to me snivelling about and manipulating people with their crocodile tears. Much better by far to be a swollen faced monster when you really are upset and then not cry again for months.

Children are exempt from this it seems, my children can howl and sob and seconds later look as Boden catalogue pretty as they did pre-meltdown. It was time for some major tears when I left for work the other night as they were tired and didn’t want me to leave. I managed to escape by reminding them about the owls in the working mummy’s best bedtime story “Owl Babies” by Martin Waddell which is much loved in our house. The story is that there are three owlets whose mummy has gone to get them some food. The three siblings anxiously await their mother returning to the nest, imagining that she is lost or a fox has eaten her. On her arrival back they are thrilled to see her “what’s all the fuss?” the mummy owl says very nonchalantly “you knew I’d come back”. It’s essential reading for small people with working mothers. Especially mothers who don’t want to cry about leaving their babies because crying makes them look like pigs.

Sarah and Percy and Bill

Sarah and Percy and Bill

What I’d do for a Diet Coke

Oh Gosh, it’s not often I feel like exploding but KBW’s summer holidays are taking their toll. Other people’s children and other nationalities method’s of parenting are wearing me a little thin. I am also struggling with the horribly bad holiday music, no decent chocolate, sand everywhere and the endless daily cycle of soggy swimming costumes and beach towels. The truth is though, it’s the lack of diet coke that’s getting to me. It tastes funny here and I am like a junkie without their fix. I can’t choke this alien diet coke down and have taken to drinking sugar free red bull which at least deals with the caffeine withdrawal. It’s all I can think about. Diet Coke, how I love it, I am dreaming about it. Dreadful gut rot and bad for my teeth undoubtedly but I am an addict. I can’t wait to get my greedy little hands on a can as soon as I land back in the UK. Until then, more sugar free red bull….