Dearest ducks,

What a day and night we've had...your loyal correspondent here writes to you with sad tidings a plenty - I was voted off after the 3rd challenge! Travesty! Oh justice! O! Woe, woe and thrice woe.

It all began after a particularly arduous 2nd service, where, if you'll remember the infamous 'salt-gate' episode occurred. Dear god the shame. But after drinking 2 value cans of own brand cola, some beef and onion hula hoops and contraband Haribo stolen from Sir Ben's stash in the library I found my second wind - literally - and rushed around the kitchen with the others madly prepping for episode 3...

Yes, that's right, the ITV cheapskates could only afford 4 days at Maunsel House, stately pile of the 7th Baronet of Somerset and all round good-time guy, cad and commoner-hater. Therefore the producers announced the twist that we would be filming through the night the 3rd episode of the 5-part challenge as a time-saving measure. Good job I'd had drink all of that sugary cola and those 3 cups of tea, where the 4 of us that remained had to share the same teabag. Catering here is not so great, as you might have gathered.

JBR came in possibly hungover this morning. Today he had value multipack salt and vinegar crisps and a Tesco’s ham sandwich. He looked fucking grateful too! Oh the glamour. If you do get the chance dear readers, please look old JBR up on Google images and appreciate the likeness he has to a leathery pissed lizard. I have been forced to study his face for the last few days at alarmingly close proximity and it really is uncanny.

Anyway, back to the sad tale of yours truly and my elimination, The bombshell of the 3rd challenge was dropped and we were told that we would have to cook hundreds of canapés for a cocktail party, the canapés were our own creations (one recipe only, 80 canapés each) I made my own sundried tomato bread and smashed broad beans with mozzarella. P was on foul form all day and had to be reprimanded for bullying of the other contestants (not me, I hasten to add) as he said in his own words; "If you'd told me that I'd be having a conversation with a fat, tattooed, skint girl last week I just wouldn't have believed it. I never socialise with people like you. But for some reason I think you're great!" Ah, fantastic, I had unwittingly won the old buggers heart just by being good old me. And I didn’t even want to. Was rather hilarious thinking to myself that it was funny that he liked me but I secretly hate him and so I briefly lost my inner monologue and did a snorty laugh in his face. I think he took it as a sign of affection. Foolish man!

The 4 of us remaining - A, P, R and myself whizzed around for the next few hours - each with a camera in our face. Sometimes I'd catch something that one of the others was saying and become entranced. Did I sound like as much of a twat as them?! Yes, I fear, is the answer to that. In an amazing fit of foresight I spent the entire session gabbing to anyone and everyone that asked, about how I thought my dish was the weakest and that I deserved to go and that I thought I'd go. I also did a lots of saying "I'm not at all competitive... it really wouldn’t bother me if I left... the other 3 are SOOOO amazing" etc.

After a short break drinking more hazardous beverages and spending a particularly satisfying 5 minutes dreaming up ways of elaborately trapping and killing P using only my wits and an assortment of potato peelers, a mandolin and very, very dense ladle, it was time for our canapés to get out to the 3 or 4 eager diners that had attended the 3am fake cocktail party.

Then came the moment of truth...I don't want to ruin the show for you, so all I'll say is that I might have shed a little tear or two and gushed on about what a great time I'd had and how the other 3 were the best...but that would surely risk spoiling the surprise of seeing one of your oldest and dearest friends make a twat of herself on telly, and I wouldn’t want to do that! So you will have to watch the whole ghastly charade for yourselves!! Or at least the 3 hours of top quality entertainment that features MOI. Three out of five ain't bad.

But just a word to the wise, if you do happen to see a weepy writer getting booted of a reality cookery contest and then swearing at her competitors and shouting into the camera "turn that fucking thing OFF!" then remember to have some sympathy for her, as chances are she just been hugged and kissed by JBR the lizard man himself. That's probably what set her off.

So, my friends, I will be in from tomorrow and very much at your disposal for chats/tea/drinks/me to cook you something nice, so please get in touch so that I can try to be normal again.

I do hope I didn’t let any of you fine folk down; I did have a great experience you know. And its even re-ignited my blogging fever so I will let you know the address of my new blog set up if you fancy a read a long a day.

With much love to you all, ties I signing off to finally sleep.

Chloe xxx