Back from Russia with lots of love

We're told by the organiser it's going to be minus 20 degrees. I'm slightly stunned at the thought. I have been shivering to death in London's two-degree temperatures. There's nothing for it other than layering up, so I depart feeling frumpy.

Arriving at Heathrow I'm put to shame by the other girls - all dressed up and glamorous as always with their Forties travel suits and full jewellery sets, winter coats and scarfs dangling under their arms. I feel annoyed with myself for putting function before fashion. It's not like me to be the ugly duckling.

But stepping off the plane onto the concourse I'm happy about my state of dress. My breath creates clouds of steam in the air and the other girls' ankles are quivering with cold.

I nestle in my fur hood, rather smugly, until we arrive at our overheated hotel, where I'm free to ditch woolly socks and strip down to my underwear to get into full hair and make-up.

Octavia comes into my room and starts regaling me with the gossip about her latest conquests. She has recently become single, a fact that I love as whenever she's on her own she goes on the rampage and comes back with great stories.

"I wonder if I'll meet a Russian tonight?" she says, fired up as ever. We both hope so.

We all brave the elements again on the way to the venue - our false eyelashes almost growing icicles in the cold.

It seems they've splashed out on this party, Russian-style. It's a huge venue with hostesses in Grecian dresses in Parliament-brand blue, handing out cigarettes on trays. Rows of different foods line the tables and there's an interactive set. The theme of the party is "photo-shoot" and booths for the guests to get snapped in have been stationed all around the room - each with different props to make the picture that little bit more interesting.

The Russian guests are all extremely good-looking, especially the women, who are preened to perfection with long blonde hair and slender legs.

Our show goes down brilliantly, finishing with a spin of our nipple tassels while we are holding a giant flag. Suddenly one of Octavia's nipple tassels flies off and hits a photographer's lens.

A true professional, she doesn't stop spinning the other, but continues smiling as the applause gets louder. Clearly she didn't stick them down well enough because a moment later off comes the other, dropping neatly at another man's feet.

Both men just happen to be cute. It's so perfect, I wonder for a second if Octavia could have somehow planned it.

An hour later the two men find us by the buffet - each with a nipple pastie in his hand, proffering it up to Octavia with a grin.

"Call me later," she tells them both, handing over her card, "and we'll play pin the tassel on the Octavia."

Trust Octavia - one Russian's not enough. She's taking home two.