With chocolate, cream and ice masterfully executed (hopefully to both your own and your partner’s satisfaction) in part one of my guide to food sex, it’s now time to think out of the box a little more.

Read the article on Askmen.com

We all like to experiment, and bringing food into the bedroom is a popular idea.  Strangely, it always seems to be one introduced by men and used on women. If done right it can be amazing and they do say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Food and sex are definitely two of my favourite things but they don’t always go together.

Read the full article on Askmen.com

We’re back at yours and things are getting steamy on the sofa. Dinner went well, and bits of clothing start to come off. All of a sudden I’ve got to go, remembering that early morning meeting I have (erm…on a Sunday). So what went wrong?

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I’m just back from a very relaxing long weekend with my folks in France and finally over my utter frustration with Ryanair. To be honest, the whole flight experience wasn’t as bad as when I last travelled with them (note: never use ryanair if you need assistance – crutches, wheelchair etc - even if you book) This time the flight was actually pain free and I even got away with oversized bags and excess weight, but then again I was paying twenty five pounds a bag!

The thing is, they are the only carriers from the UK to my mum’s region in France, so there is no choice but to use them. Having this monopoly means they can set their own rules. For example, on the internet my flights were advertised as eighty pounds. When I paid, the exact same flights ended up costing one hundred and fifty. Daylight robbery. To be honest, I blame my mum as much as Ryanair, she gave me the most ridiculous list of shopping she wanted me to bring over. They haven’t lived there for long and there are a fair few things they miss, so my luggage included bacon (x6), Cadburys fruit and nut (x10), batter mix (seriously!) and English books along with all sorts of other crap they wanted. No wonder I had excess weight!

Other than that my weekend was great. I try not to go to France for more than a long weekend as I’m so gluttonous there. The food’s great so I eat way too much and the wine, let’s not go there. So all in all and uneventful, relaxing weekend of sunbathing and overindulgence. What more can I ask for?

The first thing I did when I got home was to see the new Batman film – WOW!

“Ellouise Moore is clever. Very clever. It may not be an adjective often associated with those who are, or have been, full-time professionals in the often-derided occupation of ‘dancing’ (a much-loved industry euphemism for slipping off your knickers in exchange for snapping up some cash). However, when it’s referring to a ‘retired’ 28 year-old lady with an enviable property portfolio; a stunning house; a gleaming sports car; a charming boyfriend and a published book to her name, then it doesn’t even seem to come close.”

Read the full review on Chic Today…

“…a pretty heart-warming tale about a girl who dragged herself up from nothing, took advantage of a lucrative industry and can now walk with her head held high, displaying incredible strength.”

Read the full thing on Lucy Felthouse’s website.

This week was pretty busy for me and that all began on Tuesday when I was laid up feeing sorry for myself. Hannah – who’s in charge of the publicity for the book – called me with a request for me to be on the Trisha show. After some gentle persuasion on her part I reluctantly agreed. My hesitation was nothing to do with Trisha, I’d done her radio show a few weeks ago and she was lovely. My reluctance was due to the nature of the show. I’m very non-confrontational and that seems to be polar opposite of what the show is about, not to mention I had no intention of airing my dirty laundry on daytime TV.

Hannah’s assurance that it was a special show on the sex industry and would be great publicity for the book meant I was booked to film the show the following night. As soon as I confirmed, my phone started ringing, non-stop. The first few calls were about the book, my experience, my views etc.. Then came the calls about the time and transport. Then health and safety and security calls. It started with a very detailed health and safety questionnaire. Then it all took a strange twist with some questions I certainly hadn’t been asked before.

“Am I, or have I ever been addicted to drugs?”
“Do I have or are there any signs of mental illness in my family?”
“Am I or have I ever contemplated suicide?”

Needless to say, I answered ‘umm, No’ to all the above. But she carried on, criminal convictions, any regular contact with child services amongst others. By the end of the long and arduous ‘risk assessment’ I was left with two thoughts 1. What kind of people do they get on this show. 2. Even if I was a drug addicted criminal with two children in child protection, serious mental problems and constantly contemplating suicide surely I could just answer ‘no’ to all of said questions and be on the show tomorrow!

Before I had time to go much further with that train of thought my phone rang again. This time they were asking me to bring three forms of ID and supply two references they can call when I arrive. Hmm, this is more hassle than it’s worth, but oh, what’s that, my phone ringing again! “Hi Ellouise, what do you look like?” I was stumped. She reeled off from her list, height, build, hair colour, eye colour and what will I be wearing on the show. Are they kidding me, I really started to think this was some kind of prank. But oh, no, it was just the Trisha show. The conversation ended with them asking if they could call me back between ten and eleven for a few more detail. A FEW MORE DETAILS!! They already know more about me than I do.

The next day, and several phone calls later, I got in the cab for the studios. They managed to call me twice in the cab to confirm that I was actually in the cab. But then again I am a drug addicted criminal that’s mentally ill and contemplating suicide. I finally got there and was put in a room and asked to sign contracts, one being not to talk or write in the press anything to do with my time on the Trisha show. So the story ends here. But how I wish I could tell you the rest!! All I will say is Trisha was lovely and I spent several hours in an empty room with the voices in my head as my only company thinking of an adequate revenge for Hannah!

But my week improved. I had tickets to Jill Scott on Friday night at the Brixton academy. I’ve been to a few gigs at the Brixton Academy and have always stood downstairs in the stalls - packed and overheated but you feel like you’re right in there, a part of it. This time, I had tickets in the circle - the seated gallery. As it was unreserved seating I was there relatively early and even though there was already an impressively huge crowd, managed to get good seats three rows from the front.

. The circle is disappointing. Looking down you have a great view of the stage but it’s only marginally better that watching it on TV. There was no electricity or atmosphere and as you could hear everyone downstairs in the moment, I felt like I wasn’t a part of it all. Half way through, I decided the seating area wasn’t for me and snuck in down stairs. The heat hit me, the atmosphere was electric and the bass vibrated in my chest – I remembered what concerts are supposed to be about. From here on she could do no wrong. After the slow jams and humorous vignettes on relationships she pumped things up with some of her classics and the five thousand-strong crowd went wild.

A fantastic end to the week. Next week’s looking pretty good too. I’m heading to France to see my mum for the first time in months, so other than having to deal with ryanair (the bane of my existence) a great week to come!

Find out what you men need to do to ooze style and class in my most recent Ask Men column.

I spent the weekend stressing, fretting and generally feeling sorry for myself. One simple reason, on Monday I had an MRI scan. Now, I know people have these all of the time and I was in no way concerned about it, until I received a letter explaining the procedure and possible side effects. So all weekend I’ve been fretting about this bloody scan. Monday came, I reread the time and place and headed down there somehow managing to get the time wrong (no surprise there!) typically it’s the first hot day in weeks.

It was horrible; I had every right to worry. People say, it’s just a scan, it’s nothing. Liars! After they put an eight inch needle through my thigh into my hip joint, filled it with liquid and dye till I was in excruciating pain feeling as though my hip was about to burst, they then gave me an aesthetic and stuck me in the scanner for twenty minutes. The scanner itself was fine, a bit like being in the world’s smallest (and loudest) electro club. The whole process was soon over and I was free to go home with a numb hip, strange gait and a desperate need for sugar. I’m so glad it’s out the way, but the rest of the week will be spent recovering, walking with a cane, over indulging (my new fixation is chocolate croissants) and pleading the sun to come out. Typically it’s on a week I could really do with being able bodied – invites and commitments I’ll just have to dodge!

On the upside, I’m filming for the Trisha show on Wednesday (what to wear?!) and going to see Jill Scott on Friday at the Brixton academy. Every summer comes and goes with me making plans for all the things I really want to do but never actually going to anything. Then I’m depressed when winter hits that I’ve missed my whole summer. This has been the case for as long as I can remember. Not this year, I’m making the most of this summer. I might not make the festivals – the thought of being covered in mud and sleeping in a tent is really not appealing – but a few galleries, seeing a film at Somerset house, and the odd gig is on the agenda. But first a few days lying on the sofa watching daytime TV and trying to pick my next book to read – any recommendations will be grateful!

I went to see Erykah Badu on Monday night at the Brixton Academy (a first) and she was show stopping. After dinner in a Colombian restaurant (another first!) we navigated around swarms of ticket scalpers competing for the most inventive pronunciations of Erykah Badu. Inching forward in the queue I noticed - to my amusement - a guy leaning by the stage door obviously trying to look as cool as he possibly could. It wasn’t the pose that cracked me up, or the gold hat, oversized gold sunglasses or large jacket on a hot summer evening. It was the fact that he was wearing seven belts. Yep, seven. They were overlapped, hanging half way down his bum, diamante buckles, leather, studded. Pretty enlightening but not a fashion trend I intend follow any time soon. We decided to call him Jimmy Seven Belts, naturally. The place was heaving and like a sauna but the gig was more than worth the queues, crowd and the sweltering heat. Halfway through, the guitarist comes forward to do a solo and lo and behold it was Jimmy Seven Belts!

Tuesday I had another great night – two nights out in a row, a real rarity for me! I went to Ebury - my publisher’s - summer quiz. It’s a yearly event for publishers, book sellers, esteemed authors and…me! I was, in typical fashion, late after a showdown with my SatNav and a frustrating hunt for that elusive parking space. Once there and holding a cold glass of wine I started to relax and enjoy. A bit awestruck, I spotted Piers Morgan, Dave Gorman and a rather excitable Rory McGrath. Feeling totally out of my depth, I downed my wine and ‘mingled’ with the literary types.

Our team, heroically, came in last - but we definitely had the most fun, everyone else took it so bloody seriously! Our excuse for total failure was that we were right at the back so couldn’t overhear the other tables discussing their answers. And how is anyone expected to know the Earl Grey was a British Prime Minister? Exactly. We did bag the ‘Booby’ Prize which, to me, beat the winners prize.

They won champagne, and to mark our failure we got wooden spoons. But not any wooden spoons, ones with a story… A famous female chef had been bought a set of fantastic Le Creuset spoons on the release of her recent book but she turned them down, as she apparently ‘only uses a certain brand’. So I’m now the proud owner of her spoons. A Booby Prize I think not, and they match my pots! Okay, so I’m easily pleased.

So, on a roll and figuring nothing could dampen my spirits, I decided to tackle about five months worth of paperwork and bills. Bad idea. I won (I can actually use my desk now) but bear the scars of battle.