I stepped into unknown territory last week. I was accepted, albeit briefly, into a group of the dreaded ‘Orange girls.’

This is a strange species of girls we have all seen dressed up to the nines and tanned to the max on a Saturday night or swanning around the local shopping centre under a mountain of bags and shoe boxes.

This is the sort of person I dread living on a desert island with......I can only imagine the amount of luggage and the argumentswhilst I explain that they don’t have plugs on desert islands, “But where can I plug in my GHDs? AAAARRRGGGHH”.

Being a bit of a misfit myself..... Too odd to be ‘cool,’ too cool to be odd.... I was quite taken with the idea of a night out with the popular kids. So this is who I could be if only I kept my mouth shut a bit more and danced less like a lunatic?

They were funny to a point and they were fun at points- traits that I have always looked for when selecting my own trusty girlfriends. But these girls have their priorities a wry. And, it seemed simultaneously, had applied every beauty product they could get their beautifully groomed paws on. I also notice that they are all the same colour as the boots I’m wearing… bit awkward?

I looked around and, as my better judgement had always asserted, they were an unnatural colour. Orange. If this was an ‘orangest’ competition, they were all doing marvellously, but I couldn’t believe not one of them stopped and considered that this wasn’t the colour that people ever went, no matter how long they spent in the sun. And every magazine under the sun has chuckled at Jodie Marsh for her over-acquaintance with the old fake tan. Surely that would switch a light on? But they seem to love their glowing colour and everything that is associated with it.

Me and a friend rant over this topic, feeling frankly sorry for these girls, who, lets face it, are chavs with a social stepladder.

I’d never got such a close look, so I made the most of it. Up close, I saw they weren’t all they were cracked up to be. For some, the make-up was pasted on for a reason! Jealous you say? No, but we’ll come to that later. They didn’t have perfect skin, the years of sun bed abuse (before they got stuck into the fake tan) and the pints of foundation they used were betraying them already. They were more then mere mortals, they were fighting a losing battle that they’d started with themselves and had all had a manicured hand in continuing.

Credit where credit is due- if you give people credit for being slim- they were all slim. Even thin in a couple of instances. I wouldn’t be surprised if the underlying competition between this type of girl produced eating disorders. They all appeared to have the necessary 'rack' as well, although, considering all the other corners I found they were cutting, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a wonder bra or two at work here. I didn’t ask! The effortless, natural beauty I thought was emanating from these girls, that probably made many girls loath and long, was in fact, a bit of a scam.

And their motives behind such treachery to their fellow woman, as though you didn’t already have your suspicions… “men”. These girls, I thought, are future WAGs. They will be preened and sufficiently left to their own devices to lunch with their other WAG friends. In return they would only enough of an attention span, or a lack of it but with the ability to act interested, to support their man on the sidelines. Or comfortably from a private box. Their ambitions might even make them wonder if they couldn’t turn their hand to a bit of… umm journalism… if the right column became available. Money was mentioned more than once in the evening, in the context of him having it.

And this is the minor celebrity world we’ve found ourselves in. Where you only need sleep with a C-List ‘celebrity’ and you can be sure of column millimetres for the next few weeks. Well done girls, you offered sex to a bloke, on a plate, and low and behold, he said yes. The proceeding kiss-and-tell obviously shows how affectionately he, and even you, held the moment.

Unlike my girlfriends, these are the kind of girls that sell themselves short, even if they think they don’t. Why would they want a man who wants them dolled up 24/7 and will pay for them to have bigger boobs? Where’s the surprise when you really do make an effort? And money is something, but nowhere near the top of the list, what about, a sense of humour, a sense of fun, kindness, humanity, humility, and interests other than football, fast cars and conventionally attractive women? Me and my serial singletons are definitely not putting up with any less then our respective versions of male perfection.

What’s happened to ambition? And what will it take for girls to realise that ‘lads’ are not at all what they’re cracked up to be? I love lads. I have loads of mates that are lads. But would I walk down to the local football pitch every Sunday and then to the local pub for the real football afterwards? To watch over-paid, over-acting, men running around? With a bloke whose love for a GAME is frankly homoerotic? I think not. And then have him talk about it afterwards?? I don’t mind football, but I know enough men who are not obsessed with it and enough who are to know who I’d like to waste my time with.

Me and a friend rant over this topic, feeling frankly sorry for these girls, who, lets face it, are chavs with a social stepladder. Feeling fit to burst I go for a shower, and then, genius, I run back into my room and say to my friend, “I’m about to burn my knickers, let alone my bra. This is just ludicrous.”

And there it is, another score on the chalkboard for the natural coloured girls I love, they talk about boys, they talk about clothes, and they’re beautiful. But none of them glow in the dark!

Female First- Kirsty Styles

I stepped into unknown territory last week. I was accepted, albeit briefly, into a group of the dreaded ‘Orange girls.’

This is a strange species of girls we have all seen dressed up to the nines and tanned to the max on a Saturday night or swanning around the local shopping centre under a mountain of bags and shoe boxes.

This is the sort of person I dread living on a desert island with......I can only imagine the amount of luggage and the argumentswhilst I explain that they don’t have plugs on desert islands, “But where can I plug in my GHDs? AAAARRRGGGHH”.

Being a bit of a misfit myself..... Too odd to be ‘cool,’ too cool to be odd.... I was quite taken with the idea of a night out with the popular kids. So this is who I could be if only I kept my mouth shut a bit more and danced less like a lunatic?

They were funny to a point and they were fun at points- traits that I have always looked for when selecting my own trusty girlfriends. But these girls have their priorities a wry. And, it seemed simultaneously, had applied every beauty product they could get their beautifully groomed paws on. I also notice that they are all the same colour as the boots I’m wearing… bit awkward?

I looked around and, as my better judgement had always asserted, they were an unnatural colour. Orange. If this was an ‘orangest’ competition, they were all doing marvellously, but I couldn’t believe not one of them stopped and considered that this wasn’t the colour that people ever went, no matter how long they spent in the sun. And every magazine under the sun has chuckled at Jodie Marsh for her over-acquaintance with the old fake tan. Surely that would switch a light on? But they seem to love their glowing colour and everything that is associated with it.

I’d never got such a close look, so I made the most of it. Up close, I saw they weren’t all they were cracked up to be. For some, the make-up was pasted on for a reason! Jealous you say? No, but we’ll come to that later. They didn’t have perfect skin, the years of sun bed abuse (before they got stuck into the fake tan) and the pints of foundation they used were betraying them already. They were more then mere mortals, they were fighting a losing battle that they’d started with themselves and had all had a manicured hand in continuing.

Credit where credit is due- if you give people credit for being slim- they were all slim. Even thin in a couple of instances. I wouldn’t be surprised if the underlying competition between this type of girl produced eating disorders. They all appeared to have the necessary 'rack' as well, although, considering all the other corners I found they were cutting, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a wonder bra or two at work here. I didn’t ask! The effortless, natural beauty I thought was emanating from these girls, that probably made many girls loath and long, was in fact, a bit of a scam.

And their motives behind such treachery to their fellow woman, as though you didn’t already have your suspicions… “men”. These girls, I thought, are future WAGs. They will be preened and sufficiently left to their own devices to lunch with their other WAG friends. In return they would only enough of an attention span, or a lack of it but with the ability to act interested, to support their man on the sidelines. Or comfortably from a private box. Their ambitions might even make them wonder if they couldn’t turn their hand to a bit of… umm journalism… if the right column became available. Money was mentioned more than once in the evening, in the context of him having it.

And this is the minor celebrity world we’ve found ourselves in. Where you only need sleep with a C-List ‘celebrity’ and you can be sure of column millimetres for the next few weeks. Well done girls, you offered sex to a bloke, on a plate, and low and behold, he said yes. The proceeding kiss-and-tell obviously shows how affectionately he, and even you, held the moment.