Is this red carpet day?

Thanks to the Sunday Times, Grit dons her posh frock today, and stands blubbing on the stairs, shedding salt tears and dribbling snotty slime on the carpet, which just happens to be red.

Between blubbing and wiping her nose on her arm, Grit fulsomely thanks everyone she has ever known for this brief second of notstardom; this day which sees her occupy the same magazine as Russell Brand and an advert which asks me if I am dripping with sweat.

Gritty thanks might start with the little grits and the Mother Ghost and, after five hours with rivers of weeping, could get down to the one-eyed neighbour with the dodgy leg and the woman with red face and bleached hair who came round to poison the kitchen rat.

Really, they all need thanks. And I bet they would love those thanks to come from a woman who routinely humiliates herself in public. But thanks must be said. All these people are in Grit's world, and without them and the rich lives they lead, I would be a lesser human being. They jolly me up something royal when I am beyond despair and they tell me there are worse things to do with my life than this.

Like rat catching. That is surely a job so repulsive I am grateful my job is to gad about England amusing myself historically, pretending to home educate triplets, and pausing only occasionally to rant at Ed Balls. I might thank him too. Or perhaps not.

But there are so many of you who need a big smackeroo. And I promise I do not drip sweat and have not cut out that advert which promises a solution for only £299.

Thank you especially to those who return almost daily to be bludgeoned to death by gritsday. You know who you are. The reader in Southampton who will not give in; the dutiful person in Bath; the person looking for the pigeon; the people in Cambridge who dread me visiting that fine city once more; the upstanding readers who google for bali men naked and my newest reader, hopefully searching what to do with old grit.

And finally, there are blogfolk out there who have a special place in my blogheart for their good bloggy deeds and their infinite patience, and that is Belgian Waffle, Potty Mummy and Michelle.

Go and say hello to them, because now I have to take off my frock, and mop up the floor.