Love, Lipstick and Lies (23 page)

I’d had a terrible experience when I had surgery in 2008, and it had almost put me off for life. But I knew that it had been down to me having too many operations in just one week. I’d had an anaesthetic when I’d had some dental work done, a general anaesthetic a day later when I had my boob job, and then another a few days later because there was a problem with my arm feeling numb, and finally a fourth anaesthetic when I had surgery on my prolapsed womb. Result, I had overloaded on anaesthetic and made myself extremely unwell. The pain had been excruciating, worse than anything I had ever experienced. Worse, I hope, than anything I will ever experience again. But this time round I was only having one operation so I was confident everything would be fine.

The last couple of times I have had breast surgery in LA but this time I went to Belgium. That might sound a bit random, but I was recommended this particular surgeon by the cosmetic nurse who does my Botox. Apparently she’d had ‘work’ done by him, including a boob job, and I thought she looked really good, an excellent advertisement for his skills. So off I flew to Belgium for a consultation. It was good news as he thought it would
be straightforward to give me the boobs I wanted. Yes! I was still after the pert, high, stuck on look. I had never stopped wanting that!

People will say that I’m getting more and more fake as I grow older, and that’s probably true, but I’m turning fake only so far. I may
look
fake but my personality is one hundred per cent real. Some of my friends suggested I should have a brow lift, but I didn’t think I had reached the age where I needed that. Overall I didn’t think I was in bad shape for a woman of thirty-four who’d had three kids. People ask me if it’s harder getting older when you’re a model, and you’ve made a living out of your good looks, but I’ve always accepted that I’m getting older, and been relaxed about it. I always make sure my hair, eyebrows and nails are ‘done’, but otherwise I’m pretty casual and don’t think I have to look a certain way.

I think if you have surgery you should have bits done over time, rather than reaching a certain age and thinking, Right! I’ve got to have everything done at once! Because that’s when people end up looking so radically different that everyone who sees them thinks, WTF! My motto is: a bit here, a bit there. But I don’t rule out surgery on my face eventually, such as a brow lift. I’m too young for it at the moment, but as I’m getting older I would never say never … And I’m in the lucky position where I’ve got the money and can afford the best surgeons. I’ll probably end up looking like Joan Rivers! In all honesty, can you see me ending up as an old wrinkly? And now I’ve got a younger husband …

I’m still a big fan of Botox. I get it done every four to six months, in my forehead and around my eyes. I really don’t see it as a big deal. One time I didn’t have it for six months and I could see the difference in the lines around my eyes. That’s down to me abusing my skin in the sun – take note, you young girls. If you don’t wear sunscreen, and if you go on sunbeds, you might be the colour you want to be, but it will catch up with you eventually, as it has me.

As for facial fillers – years ago I had some in my cheeks, but not any more because I heard that if you have too much filler, it can drop and leave you with that puffy-cheeked chipmunk look. No, thank you!

I mentioned my pot belly to the surgeon. Yes, yes, I know. After three kids, I’m not going to have the taut stomach of a twenty year old, but still, if there was something I could do … I thought I could have some lipo, get it all tightened up. I’ve had lipo before and it made no difference – that was on my legs – but I thought it was worth asking. But when I mentioned it to the Belgian surgeon, he said he wouldn’t do it. That I would end up with a huge scar, and if I wore low-cut bikini briefs the scar would be visible and I wouldn’t be happy. Then he showed me some pictures of people who’d had it done … and bloody hell! That put me right off! I’d never be able to wear any of my teeny-tiny bikinis again! Well, not unless I wanted to frighten small children.

The fact that the surgeon refused to perform the op reassured me that he was a good and reputable doctor.
Definitely not the sort to take the money and not care about the consequences. His charges were reasonable as well. It was going to be half the price it had cost me to have my last surgery in LA. But I wasn’t going abroad because it was cheaper than having it done in the UK; it was purely because this man had come so highly recommended.

I would never advise people to choose someone just on price; you have to do your research. I don’t want women to look at me and think, Well, if she’s had boob jobs and Botox then she must know about it and it’ll be all right for me to do the same. You have to make sure the surgeon, or cosmetic nurse, you go to is a good one.

So in mid September I booked myself in for surgery. The night before I was to have the op I was due to attend my friend Dawn Ward’s annual charity ball, which I always love. But I knew if I went to the ball I’d have to delay my surgery, which would be frustrating, and if I didn’t go to the ball I knew I’d feel I’d missed out. Crisis! At that point my very good friend Tanya, who was also going to the ball and is the most incredibly generous person, said that she would hire a private jet to fly herself, me and a private doctor to look after me, to Belgium straight after the ball, and then fly us back after the surgery.

‘No way!’ I said at first, but Tanya absolutely insisted and so we all went to the ball and left on the stroke of midnight to get to Birmingham airport. Cinderella had her pumpkin coach to whisk her away after the ball; I
had my private jet … I know which one I prefer!

I was on the operating table at 7 a.m. the following morning, not something Cinders ever had reason to say. I still love the feeling of going under and asked the doctor to give me the anaesthetic slowly, so I could enjoy every second of the sensation. I know – weird. The op went well, I recovered at the clinic for a couple of hours and then we flew back.

Ever-optimistic, I had thought that it wouldn’t take me long to get over the operation, but I had to rest in bed. I was sore and in pain. However, I am more sensible now and I do look after myself, not like after my second boob job when I went straight out to Britney Spears’s birthday party. No, this time it was cups of tea and watching TV in bed for me.

However, my recovery didn’t quite go to plan. I had kept the dressings on my boobs for twelve days as the surgeon said it would be okay to leave them that long, and that when I went up to London to see him on one of his visits there he would remove them. I didn’t realise that I had an infection in one of my breasts. As it was getting close to seeing the surgeon I thought I could get away with having a shower and washing my hair, instead of having a bath as I had been doing since I wasn’t supposed to get the dressings wet. But the shower sprayed water on one of the dressings and I peeled if off. OMG! What a sight that was! It looked as if there were ulcers along the scars. Yuck! It got worse when I checked out the state of my other boob. There
was disgusting green pus oozing out of the scar under my breast and there seemed to be a hole by the scar. The smell was vile; I thought I was going to throw up! I’d have to get them checked out that day, I realised. I put the dressings back on and got dressed.

But before I had a chance to do anything, Junior suffered an unfortunate accident when one of my horses head butted him and left him with a nasty cut on his forehead. I immediately rushed him to the nearest A&E department. He was very brave while they glued the wound together. Once I was satisfied that he was okay, I mentioned to the nurse that I’d just had a boob job and was concerned about the scars and could she take a look?

She checked them out and instantly thought there was a problem, but the doctor she called for a second opinion took a look and thought the wounds were healing okay. I was still uneasy myself, but trusted him to know what he was talking about.

Later that evening, I was with my friend Louise. She was recovering from surgery herself and all the pair of us were up to doing was chilling out on the sofa watching
Silent Witness.
Both of us suddenly became aware of this rank smell and commented on it. It was so bad that not even the scent of my Jo Malone candles could disguise it.

‘It stinks!’ Louise exclaimed, covering her nose.

‘God! I think it’s me!’ I told her. I went over to the mirror, lifted up my top and peeled away the dressing. When I pressed the hole under my breast a stream of
green pus shot out. Eeew! I thought I was going to faint!

Straightaway I phoned Tanya’s private doctor who had come with me to Belgium. He said that I obviously had an infection and must go to A&E immediately. He arranged for an ambulance to pick me up and phoned ahead to the hospital to ensure that there was a surgeon there to see me. The doctor I saw immediately thought there was an infection. By now the hole seemed to have got bigger and you could see the stitches unravelling.

He cleaned the wounds and arranged for me to see the breast surgeon, who works with women who have breast cancer. I saw him the following day and had a mammogram to check that the infection hadn’t spread. If it had the implants would have had to be removed. See what I mean about surgery carrying risks? But thankfully everything was okay. He was very reassuring and said that although the wounds looked so shocking, it was good that they were weeping as it meant they would heal. He gave me a course of antibiotics and I saw him weekly for the next month and had several more mammograms. The infection soon cleared up.

And once the wounds had healed I was left with the best boobs I have ever had. Perfect! I loved, loved, loved them! They were exactly what I have always wanted. High up, stuck on, ready to fire bullets! The scars were amazing as well; you could hardly see them at all. But little did I know when I had them done that I would soon be meeting husband number three … and having baby number four.

I’ve always loved dreaming up ideas for press photo calls to launch my products and books. I know that I’ve got to grab the attention and imagination of the press and give them something good to write about if I’m going to get publicity. I like to think that I always deliver!

I’ve dressed as an angel and been driven in a horse-drawn carriage along Park Lane for the launch of my first novel – they actually closed the road, get me! I’ve been a princess carried in a glass carriage by four handsome hunks. I’ve been a very sexy Mrs Christmas accompanied by reindeers and elves. I’ve been a space alien princess in a silver bodysuit and tiara made of iPods. I’ve been dressed as a Spanish flamenco dancer and ridden a rearing black stallion. I could go on!

In fact, the horse I rode for the press call for my novel
In the Name of Love
was my absolute dream horse. He was a black Arab stallion. I’ve always loved black horses, from when I was a child and watched
Black Beauty
and then later on from seeing the beautiful black stallion called Cancara on the Lloyds Bank adverts. I had the idea of riding a black horse for my press call and had already seen the horse I wanted in the film
War Horse
. I went along to the stud yard and the trainer rode the horse, who was called Dante, and demonstrated all the things he could do. It was incredible how Dante would respond to the slightest of commands.

At the press call I was supposed to walk him round the room in front of the waiting journalists and photographers and then give him the signal to rear up. But Dante was so finely trained and tuned to every movement his handler made that I must have given him the signal by mistake and up he reared straight away! I kept my cool and acted as if I had intended that to happen. Then, later, when I deliberately gave him the signal and he reared up again at my command, it felt amazing.

I thought the shots of me on Dante as he reared up were really striking. But my all-time strangest and most eye-catching press call has to be the one I did to celebrate the fifth anniversary of my company KP Equestrian, and to launch my new show jumps and show jackets, in March 2013. This was where I dressed up as a pink panto horse, a kind of crazy My Little Pony. I wore four dip-dyed shocking pink wigs, furry horse’s ears,
a t-shirt from my KP Equestrian range, a tutu, furry front legs, sky-high glittery heels, and the rest of the horse was attached to my waist. I think it’s no exaggeration to say that I’ve never seen another celebrity in such a bizarre outfit. I thought it was brilliant, and as I was three months pregnant by then it was the perfect way of concealing my bump.

But my manager and brother thought the horse costume was the worst idea they had ever heard of and were convinced it would damage my image.
Please!
I’m renowned for my outrageous outfits. The more outrageous the better. We had such a row about it that I ended up saying, ‘If you don’t like it then let’s not work together any more, because I know I’m right.’ I understand exactly how to work a press call. The sillier you look and the more fun it is, the more attention you will get. I’m not just going to stand there in a show jacket, it’s boring! The press want something funny to write about and take the piss out of, and that’s exactly what I was going to give them. I knew they’d love it.

Sure enough I got masses of publicity from the stunt.

By the end of it everyone knew that KP Equestrian was five years old, a huge achievement for a company when so many fail in their first year of business. There were plenty of shots published of my new range of show jumps and show jackets, so as far as I was concerned it was a job well done.

I am so proud of KP Equestrian. As you know, riding is my passion and life-long hobby, and to be able to
create a business related to that has been such a thrill for me. I had always thought that riding equipment, from clothes to tack to horse accessories, could do with an injection of glamour and glitz. Before KP Equestrian, you only seemed to be able to get clothes in dull greens, blues or browns. So boring! And the same went for horse equipment. I saw a gap in the market for items that were glamorous, feminine, and in bright colours. As the KP Equestrian website says: we are putting glamour into horse riding! We are the fastest-growing equestrian brand. Recently we brought out a pink fly rug and mask, and as one of my friends said, it looked like the horse was a pink Power Ranger. The pink is so bright it can probably be seen by Google Earth. My mission to turn the horse world pink is working!