You Only Live Once (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

LIGHTS, CAMERA,
PANIC!

After the birth of Princess I actually had a decent amount of time off work, in contrast to when I had Junior. Then, I had rushed back to work and recorded a fitness DVD within three months of giving birth. I’m sure this must have contributed to the post-natal depression. As well as trying to get fit again, I also dieted and it was too much for me, both physically and emotionally. I’d become dangerously anaemic during my pregnancy with Junior and had lost far more blood than was normal during the Caesarean. I should have rested for longer after the birth. Also, poor Harvey had ended up in hospital for several weeks – and all this during the run-up to my wedding to Pete. It had been a very difficult time. But after Princess was born, I did take time off work which, to my surprise, I absolutely loved. I am really driven and love filling my day with work. Yes, my name is Katie Price and I am a workaholic! But back then I just chilled for four months, and bonded with Princess, and felt close to Junior, Harvey and Pete. It was such a happy time and I felt blessed to have my family.

My first major work commitment, after maternity leave, was for Pete and me to record our own chat show for ITV2, to be called
Katie and Peter: Unleashed.
When the idea was initially suggested to us, I was all for it. It sounded like a great opportunity for us to try our hand at something else, and I love a challenge. Straight away I thought of all the cheeky questions I would like to ask the guests – you know me, I like to push it! And I wanted our show to be different from everyone else’s.

By October 2007 I was so used to being on television. I had filmed several series of the reality show with Pete; I’d appeared on
I’m a Celebrity
. . .
Get Me Out of Here!
and long before I’d met Pete I’d filmed several documentaries about my life for the BBC; plus I had been interviewed many, many times on TV. So all in all I was feeling pretty confident about doing the show. After all, how hard could it be to sit in front of a camera and ask questions? When you watch chat-show hosts in action they make it look so easy, so effortless, so relaxed, don’t they? As if it is a piece of cake. I was about to discover that it was anything but . . .

The idea was to make
Katie and Peter: Unleashed
part reality show – with footage of Pete and me behind the scenes in the run-up to the show – and part chat show, with guests and sketches. As it drew closer to transmission the nerves kicked in and I started to realise that presenting a show and interviewing guests was very different from recording a reality show and being interviewed. And while I don’t mind pressure and love being given new challenges, I felt under-prepared. After all, I’d had no previous experience of presenting or being a chat-show host.

At least we were given the chance to record a rehearsal show in front of a live audience. But even in rehearsal my confidence deserted me. To be honest, I was shitting myself! Our guests included the actress Claire King, who was lovely, thank goodness, and very easy to interview. Instantly I felt Pete was a much better presenter than I was; he seemed so much more relaxed and at ease, both when he chatted to the guests and when he did pieces to camera. He was a natural in front of the camera, whereas I had to work at it a bit more. I had done my research and prepared the questions I wanted to ask the guests. That wasn’t the problem. What bothered me was when the director started talking in my earpiece while I was doing the interview, firing instructions like ‘Ask them this question’ or ‘Get them to wrap it up now’. It was only what you would expect the director to do, but it was so hard having that going on in one ear while looking as if I was listening to my guest at the same time. As for trying to wrap up the guest, you can’t suddenly stop them mid-sentence; you have to make the conversation flow. And then there was the autocue . . . Let me be the first to admit it: I become a robot when I’m reading it, I know. I lose all expression in my voice and in my face, I just can’t help it. I really cringed when I watched myself back. But in my own defence, I had absolutely no training.

Anyway in spite of me being a robot and struggling to cope with the old talkback (that’s the term for the director talking into an earpiece), the rehearsal show went well. But then it was the real deal and the six-week roller-coaster started. The show was based round having three guests, and from day one finding those guests was a problem. The production team had drawn up a massive list of possible guests, but they kept getting turned down. The feedback the team got was that many potential guests, a lot of them big names, had the idea that our show would be tacky and that it wasn’t the kind of thing they wanted to appear on. Pete and I had been guests on Jonathan Ross’s show earlier in the year. We had put him on the spot and asked him there and then if he would be willing to come on ours. He tried to wriggle out of it on air, but when I pointed out that we had come on his and it was only fair that he came on ours, he agreed. Well, he never did. And I think that was really out of order, Wossy! I reckon he was scared of what questions I would ask him because, yes, I would have come up with some proper cheeky ones for him. Well, why not? A lot of his material is very near the mark.

We started off with some good names, including Nicole Scherzinger from the Pussy Cat Dolls who was launching her solo career and Jack Shepherd from
Corrie
. I thought I did OK but Nicole apparently didn’t get the format and the critics weren’t especially kind. But then they never are. The audience liked it, though, and so did the viewers. That’s what mattered.

The show was fun . . . different. There were silly challenges between Pete and me, for instance, like guessing which model had had a boob job (of course, I won that!), which allowed us to banter with each other. Parts of the show were outrageous, and Pete and I made a good team, I think. But as the weeks went by it got harder and harder to book what I would call big names, though there were some exceptions, including Rupert Everett, Jermaine Jackson, Craig David and Boy George. Each week as it drew closer to transmission there would be a mad panic when the production team still hadn’t managed to book any guests. Some weeks we were so desperate it would be, like, ‘Fuck, who can we get on the show?’ and so we ended up with a lot of guests who had been on reality shows, and some of our friends – including Michelle Scott-Heaton, as she was then, and her husband Andy. And while it was great interviewing people we knew and liked, it would have been good to interview some people we
didn’t
know. But perhaps I can understand why people were wary about coming on the show because I can be cheeky, and loud-mouthed, and they probably weren’t used to that from other interviewers. Still, we didn’t let it get to us. The show had to go on and all that. I’d just think ‘Bollocks to you guys!’ about the potential guests who turned us down. They didn’t know what they were missing! An interview with the Pricey was bound to be an experience.

I’ll admit, though, that there were some aspects of the show I really wasn’t too happy about. OK, I’ll just come right out and say it: I thought some of the items were in bad taste. For example, when we had the mud-wrestling couple. I didn’t like it, it was too near the mark and I didn’t want to have it on the show. When I saw the sketch in rehearsal, I actually said to the producer that I wasn’t sure if I wanted that in, but they went ahead anyway and we did get stick for it. It felt as if Pete and I had no control, we were just there to front the chat show and had no real say in its format, and even though I understand that the production team were under pressure, I would have liked to have been more involved in the decision-making.

And then there was my look for the show. I wasn’t allowed to wear anything revealing, so there was no cleavage, no legs on display. I had to wear trousers and high-collared shirts or else knee-length dresses . . . almost frumpy, and so not me. I mean,
perlease!
Everyone knows what my signature look is and it certainly isn’t that. And it’s not as if I would have turned up for the show in a bikini. But there you go; I had to go along with what I was told.

No way do I regret doing the show, though. It was what it was, and now I feel I’ve been there and done a chat show. I would just be more cautious about doing it again, and wouldn’t rush in, but I’d never say never. It certainly doesn’t compare with my appearance on the Eurovision show in 2005. That is still my all-time top regret. I really don’t have many regrets but that still tops the list. That is in my own personal hall of shame. And as for the pink rubber cat suit with the diamanté belt . . . let’s not even go there, shall we?

There were lots of positives about doing the chat show. It was brilliant working with Pete, and we did spark off each other well. I’ve often said that we were like a battery in the way we worked as a couple – he was positive and I was negative. It was just the wrong concept for us. The behind-the-scenes parts didn’t really fit and weren’t how we usually filmed our reality show. They felt too staged and set up. But the interviews were fun. It was a good experience appearing in front of a live audience, and interviewing guests was good for my confidence. I did learn from the experience. I know the next time I do anything like that, I will make sure I am more in control.

And I loved getting back into work. We rented an apartment just opposite the studios because we would stay up in London one night a week. Princess was with us most of the time and sometimes we’d have the nanny with us too, so we could go out. You’d have thought that because we had the apartment and the kids were being looked after we’d have gone out partying, but we didn’t. We’d just go out for dinner at a restaurant near the studios. I didn’t mind. I was just happy to be with Pete and then back home with the kids.

CHAPTER THREE

UNDER THE KNIFE

Once we’d finished the TV show there was only one thing on my mind: getting my boobs redone in LA. I had been all set to have my fourth boob job the year before, when Pete and I were in the middle of recording our charity album,
A Whole New World
. By then my implants were over nine years old, and I hated my boobs as they’d become saggy after having two kids. Even though all the surgeons I saw told me to wait until I’d finished having children, I knew I would have to get them done sooner. However, literally two days before I was due to have the op, I discovered I was pregnant with Princess. The op was off.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t plan it. So when I was out in LA in the spring of 2007 and was around seven months pregnant, I booked myself in to see Dr Garth Fisher, the cosmetic surgeon I had seen on the TV reality show
Extreme Makeover
, and whose work had really impressed me. He was also the surgeon Hugh Hefner, owner of the
Playboy
magazine empire, had recommended to me when I’d asked him for his advice. I’d posed for
American Playboy
in 2002 and had got on well with Hugh. As he’s seen a fair few boobs in his time, and knows what looks good, I trusted his judgement.

‘I want my boobs reduced . . . to be more pert and uplifted,’ I told Garth. ‘I like the stuck-on, fake look. I’m not a natural sort of girl.’

He took on board all my ideas but told me that he wouldn’t do the procedure until six months after I’d had Princess. I was a bit gutted because as far as I know you only have to wait three months in England. But even though I wanted this boob job so badly, I decided that I would be patient and take his advice and wait the six months and booked myself in for December 2007. And, just so you know, this wasn’t me acting on a whim, simply because I fancied new boobs – when you have cosmetic surgery, you have to accept that there will be a time when you need it redoing. It’s as simple as that. My boobs had passed their sell-by date. They needed an upgrade.

There has been so much rubbish written in the press about me and my body – like how I must suffer from body dysmorphia, the condition where people hate their own bodies and want to change them, or that I am addicted to plastic surgery. And do you know what? It is complete bollocks. I’m
not
addicted to surgery, I’ve just been open about what surgery I’ve had done – and then the press exaggerates it to make it seem as though I am addicted! I sometimes feel as if I can’t win with the press. I’ve admitted to having surgery and using Botox and fillers, and they still go on and on about it. Yet if you deny it or pretend you haven’t, they still try and out you. Journalists write that I’m so fake. Well, hello! I
admit
that I’m fake. So what?

I had my first boob job when I was eighteen because I wanted bigger boobs, simple as that. I didn’t do it to please any man, I did it for myself. I didn’t hate my body, I just thought I would look better with bigger boobs. I had naturally been a 32B/C which is probably a reasonable size for most women, but I was making my living as a glamour model and felt that I didn’t look as sexy or womanly as the other glamour girls. And I had felt unhappy with my boobs long before I became a glamour model.

To this day, I have not one single regret about having the surgery. My only regret is that I didn’t have one boob job which took me to the size I wanted to be straight away, because as soon as I had the first op, I realised I would have to have another – the new boobs just weren’t big enough. So, a year later I had another boob job, taking me to a 32D. I liked the size but I wanted to change the shape and, a year after that, had my third op which probably took me to a size 32DD. So, yes, three boob jobs in just over three years – not something I would have wanted ideally, but I finally got the boobs I wanted and they brought me a great deal of work and helped make me famous, so respect to the boobs!

And I don’t care about what other people say, I do what I think is right for me. I don’t judge other people for the choices they make. My boobs needed doing so I got them done. I’m not killing myself. I’d rather have an anaesthetic, with the risks that can carry, than smoke. Yet lots of people smoke, knowing full well how bad it is for them. I know I’m not ugly but if there’s any room for improvement, I’ll do it. I’ve been given one life, and if I want to make the most of my body while I’m here then I will. I had lipo-suction once, but what a waste of time and money that was! It was extremely painful and didn’t even make any difference. I’ve had my lips done, too, but that wasn’t permanent and I took the piss out of myself for doing it as I knew they ended up looking like a duck’s bill! I called myself Daffy Duck. You can get permanent work done on your lips but I wouldn’t. And I’d never have a face lift. I’ve see how horrific that can look, and if you ruin your face there’s nothing you can do about it. I don’t want a face that looks like a stretched cat’s face. I’ve seen a lot of those in LA and it’s scary . . . And however line-free and taut the skin is after a face lift, there’s always the giveaway of that saggy rooster neck. So, no thanks, believe it or not I do want to age gracefully, and I accept that wrinkles are part of that. But while there are such things as Botox and fillers that can improve the way you look, then why not use them? I don’t see any harm in that.

Anyway, back to December 2007. Back then I didn’t get nervous about surgery. I knew there were risks to having any operation and it wasn’t something to be taken lightly, but as far as I’m concerned, surgery happens every single day and you could just as easily die in a car crash, right? My opinion is different now after my experiences some six months later when I had to have more surgery, but back then it all seemed very straightforward to me – my boobs needed doing so that was that. And once I’d had a third child, they really, really needed redoing. End of.

Garth knew exactly what I wanted my boobs to look like, but you can’t exactly choose what size you are going to be and say to the surgeon, ‘Right, make me into a 32D,’ because you don’t know how the implants are going to fit in with your existing breast tissue. I knew I was going to end up with a different scar after this surgery, called a keyhole or anchor scar which goes round the nipple and straight underneath, instead of the scars I had from my other ops, which had just been underneath the breasts. But as I don’t do topless modelling any more, the scars weren’t really an issue for me. I was just relieved that he wasn’t going to take the nipple off, which I had thought they did during the op and which gave even me, with all my experience of surgery, a bit of a weird feeling. I mean, it grossed me out!

I had only planned to get my boobs redone but as Garth is such a good plastic surgeon, me being me, I thought I would ask him if there was anything else he could do to improve my appearance. So as I stood in front of him in my underwear, I said, ‘If you could change anything about me, what would it be?’ And he replied, ‘Your nose.’ Well, I had never had a problem with my nose. I thought it was quite distinctive – I think the expression is that I had a Roman nose. In fact, the surgeon who did my first-ever boob job had also said that he could improve my nose, but I had never been bothered about it before. But then I thought, ‘If I can make it perfect, why not?’ And I’ll be under the anaesthetic anyway, so it’s like killing two birds with one stone. It wasn’t a major procedure, he didn’t have to break my nose or anything, just shave a bit of bone from the arch – making my distinctive nose more pretty and feminine, a cute ski-jump nose.

I had also decided to get the veneers redone on my teeth. I’d had the existing ones for years and they were starting to wobble a bit. I needed to be in LA for eight days to get my teeth done as that’s how long it takes, as it involves several trips to the dentist, and I thought that would give me more than enough time to have the boob and nose job too, recover, and do a bit of shopping. I couldn’t wait to be back home and showing off my new look!

Pete came with me to the hospital as I went into surgery. He really didn’t like me having surgery – a feeling that was to intensify six months later – but he did understand in this instance that my boobs needed redoing. I was the one being light-hearted and joking, and he was the one being more serious and intense, telling me how much he loved me. Of course, I told him I loved him too, but I was also excited about finally having the op, knowing that afterwards I would have my new boobs. And, yes, I know that this is going to sound weird but I was actually looking forward to having an anaesthetic. I loved having them . . . or at least back then I did. I’ve different feelings entirely now after an experience in August 2008, but that comes later.

People used to ask me why I liked anaesthetics, as if there was some deeper psychological meaning behind my attitude to them. Was it because I couldn’t handle reality? That it was the only time I could let my guard down and be fully myself, able to show vulnerability? Or was it just that I liked the sensation. Yep, it’s the last one. I loved being put to sleep, loved the dreamy sensation of going under. Who knows why? I certainly don’t like the experience of being in hospital, I just associate hospitals with pain and want to get out and back to normal as soon as possible.

I wasn’t feeling so jokey when I came round six hours after the op. I felt terrible. My nose was really uncomfortable in the cast. It was itching like crazy and I couldn’t breathe out of it as it was packed with gauze. I had a gross taste of flesh and blood in my mouth that made me want to retch. As for my boobs, they were extremely sore but I can deal with the pain if the result is going to be good. But when I looked down at them, I was really shocked. ‘Oh my God!’ I said to Pete. ‘Look at the massive gap between them!’ Straight away I was not happy and knew I would have to get them done again. I know people will think I was exaggerating, but I so wasn’t! Fake boobs don’t usually fall to the sides when you lie down, like natural ones do. But these fake ones did. You could have parked a bloody car in the gap! I was gutted.

There had been a delay of a few days before I could have my boob job, which threw my schedule, and because we had been away longer than we had planned, Pete had to fly home then to see the kids and so my sister flew out to be with me. I really missed the kids. Princess was only six months old and I had never spent this long away from her before. I spoke to Junior and Harvey every day but I really wanted to be home with my family, but all my other appointments had been put back because of the delay to my boob job.

A few days after my op I returned to the dentist’s to have my new veneers put on. Yet again I had to have an anaesthetic, which I knew wasn’t ideal as I’d just had one, but my teeth had to be done. I didn’t realise anything was wrong immediately after I’d had the new veneers, probably because I was so drugged up. But the following morning – ouch! It felt as if someone was putting ice on the front four teeth on the right side of my mouth. So I was on painkillers for my boobs
and
for my teeth, and generally feeling very sorry for myself.

‘Only one thing for it,’ I said to my sister Sophie. ‘Some beauty treatments and some retail therapy.’

First up was the hair. I wanted a change . . . a dramatic change. I’d been blonde throughout my pregnancy with Princess and in the months afterwards, but now I wanted to go dark, really dark. Black, in fact, an intense blue-black. And that’s exactly what I did – and I loved it. Next I had some filler put in my lips. It only lasts six weeks so I thought, ‘What the hell?’ Oh, and I had all my Botox done too – I have it injected into my forehead and round my eyes. I have it done every four months and I love not having wrinkles. One of the celeb mags printed some rubbish about me worrying that I had gone too far with the Botox and that I was concerned that I couldn’t move my face at all. I’m like, yes! Job done. Why do you think I spend all that money on it? That’s how I want to look!

Retail therapy next. I was still weak from all the surgery and so when Sophie and I hit the shops, I wasn’t with it. I admit, I looked a mess. I was wearing really comfy clothes – tracksuit bottoms, a big jumper and my UGGs – and I had my nose cast on. It probably wasn’t my best look but . . . oh my God! You should have seen how the shop assistants in the designer stores looked down on me as soon as I walked in. They seemed to be wondering how someone who looked like me could possibly afford to buy anything there. They were so snotty, it was a proper
Pretty Woman
scenario – you know, when Julia Roberts goes into one of the stores in Rodeo Drive, still in her hooker gear, and the assistants are so rude to her? So in Dior I picked up a bikini while one of these snotty assistants was hovering nearby, clearly terrified that I might try and steal it, and she said, ‘They come up very small.’

‘I’m just looking,’ I replied, not liking her attitude.

‘It is very expensive as well,’ she replied. And straight away a gremlin started up in my belly and I said, ‘I don’t care, I can buy what I like, money isn’t an issue.’ But she repeated how expensive the bikinis were. I was well pissed off! I said to Sophie, ‘I feel like telling her that I can buy every fucking handbag in this shop if I want!’ Then Sophie picked up a Louis Vuitton bag and the assistant exclaimed, ‘Excuse me, that’s my own bag!’ She obviously thought we were going to nick it because she had us down for some kind of lowlife.

Then we wandered into Louis Vuitton and I ended up buying a grey monogrammed scarf and a bag, and the bill came to something like $4,500. And as I was paying the assistants were busily scrutinising my card as if I’d nicked it or as if it was fake. ‘It is going to work, you know, why are you looking at it like that?’ I said. And all the time I was thinking, ‘What is your fucking problem!’ Because they really were looking at me, as if to say, ‘The likes of you couldn’t possibly afford this.’ And they were hanging on to the goods until the transaction had gone through, as if they were scared that I was going to run out of the store with them without paying. So bollocks to them! How dare they look down on their customers like that?