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The secret life of Christine Bleakley


It kinda seems like me and Frank have been on holidays for about the past five years, right?

But the reason is that our picture just appears in the papers every day and I'm wearing a different bikini each time. Coincidence, eh?


Now that Cheryl's a malarial divorcee, I'm the number-one Chelsea WAG the press all want a piece of.

Grazia will be putting me on their cover next.


Score! Get off the phone to Grazia, after telling them that if there's one thing I hate above all else it's constant publicity on the arm of a high-profile man. Oh wait . . . Just don't call me a WAG.


I wish those pesky photographers would leave us alone. I'll have to start looking less than fabulous by the pool to scare them away.

Only joking.


Think I'll wear my Chelsea bikini today. It'll really go with the sapphires on that diamond sparkler Frank gave me, that I happen to be wearing on my wedding ring finger. How was I to know that someone would take a picture?


I don't understand bookies' odds but apparently it's a good bet that me and Frank will get engaged before the next season.

To be honest, it's something I hadn't even thought about.


No picture of me and Frank in any of the papers today!

We've been upstaged in Ireland by BOD and Amy's wedding. Memo to self: text my agent to say he's totally fired. Again.