Before a big event, I’ll go to see my friend Jules for a St Tropez spritz. He says I turn up a crinkled, grey husk and, when he sprays me, it’s like watching someone come back to life. I’ve got my red-carpet outfits on rotation – I don’t mind wearing the odd thing again, and I am too nervous to borrow anything in case I spill something down it. I run and I am toned, so if in doubt, I whack the old pins out.
My main issue is trying to create shape, because I am like an upturned spring onion. I am bulbous at the top, then I sort of whittle away, and my feet are like the green bits. I try to create – with clever use of a skirt and tucked-in top – a waist and hips. Generally, though, I wear the same uniform: think Jedward on a down day. I like skinny jeans with Nikes or brogues. I can’t do heels – I look like a cowboy in drag. I’ve a terrible gait, and I’m more at home in wellies, riding boots or trainers. With my dad being a farmer, I was raised in a welly.
I am 40 and have been putting on makeup for 25 years, and I’m finally getting better at it, though I still use my fingers to put on eyeshadow, like I’m playing with my mum’s makeup. Smashbox do mascaras that stay on, and eyeliners that sharpen themselves, so that means I’m not nicking my daughter’s sharpener from her pencil case. If I wear lipstick, my lips take over my face – I’ve got one of those mouths – so I stick to gloss or lip balm.
I’ve never been that good at blowdrying my hair, but now that it’s longer, it’s easier. I’ve a fringe as well, which hides a multitude of sins: instead of Botox, I am just growing my hair over my entire face.
• Sara Cox presents the Great British Pottery Throwdown on BBC2 this autumn.