Ollie Locke - Laid in Chelsea - My Life Uncovered

Of course, I’ve asked myself if there’s such a thing as ‘happily ever after’. We’re supposed to believe it when we watch the great romantic Disney films, but who’s to say what happens after the camera stops rolling? Maybe after Beauty and the Beast Belle realised she was terribly shallow and ran off in search of a better-looking man? Perhaps once Ariel from The Little Mermaid was on dry land she decided that it wasn’t love she wanted, but a Ferrari and a credit card?

We all want to believe in love, but can we trust that we will end up with the right person, have three children and a Range Rover? Have we forgotten what love is all about? A house in the country and a wardrobe full of Sloane Street clothes is wonderful, but neither of these things will send you flowers for no reason, hug you when you’ve had a truly shit day, or handle morning-breath sex.

I want to bring back some of that belief in love, simply because I love the idea of being in love. In this book you will hear all about my life and my great loves – those that have helped make me into the person I am today, and those whose memory should definitely be taken and buried in the graveyard of failed romances and never spoken of again. But for now I’m happily digging them up to show that no matter how bad things get in the romance stakes, you should never give up hope that things will get better again. And, of course, I’ll reveal all about those relationships that you may already be familiar with from a little show called Made in Chelsea .

During the 10 years I’ve been dating, I’ve had some amazing experiences and I have gathered a lot of stories along the way. Some are good; others are bad. Some loves have lasted hours, days, weeks or months, and some have stood firm for several years. I feel like the girls (and guys) I’ve dated have given me the equivalent of a doctorate in relationships, and I want to share what I’ve learned with you. So, light the candles, pour the champagne and prepare to get Laid in Chelsea …

Let’s start way, way back, when I was a child. I grew up in Southampton and for the majority of my childhood I was the only boy in a household of females. My sister, Amelia, was two years older than me, which basically meant I was buying Tampax for toilet-stranded women from an early age. By the time I was 10 I’m fairly sure I could differentiate between ‘medium’ and ‘super plus’ using the box’s colour codes.

I loved my sister, but to be honest I did always want an older brother. Amelia wasn’t interested in digging up woodland creatures or playing conkers. She and my mum would always be in Marks & Spencer, with a chart to show which colours went best with her complexion while I played cars with the trolley. When I was about six, Mum was struggling to get the lid off a jar and I rolled my eyes and said, ‘It was obviously designed by a man.’ It was something I’d heard my mum say many times about various objects and I was probably trying to bond with her in the same way my sister did.

Because of my colouring, I often get asked about my heritage. So, to get the record straight, I have absolutely no idea why I’m so brown. My granddad on my mum’s side was a chauffeur to the royals and was also Oscar Wilde’s personal driver. He and my granny lived in a cottage in the Kensington Palace estate. My granddad on my dad’s side made it possible for people to take long-haul flights. He invented a fireproof tank for planes that prevented them blowing up if there was a fire mid-flight. Mum’s side of the family were never rich, whereas my dad’s always drove Bentleys and were very wealthy.

Sadly, both of my grandfathers died before I was born, but I was very close to my grannies and they were wonderful women – one of them lived until she was 103 years old.

I definitely think spending so much time with my mum, sister and grannies gave me a better understanding of females. By 12 I knew what Touche Éclat was (it’s make-up, lads) – at the time they only had one shade – and I’d also watch all of the girly movies of the day, tucked up on the sofa with my mum and Amelia. My upbringing also taught me from an early age how to show respect to women. I knew to stand nearest the cars when walking down the pavement with a woman, so if a car drove through a puddle I would get wet but they would be protected (at least I think that’s what we do it for!). It’s so hard these days because if you want to give up your seat for a woman on the train they assume that you think they’re pregnant, old or morbidly obese, but I’m determined that if I can find a way to be a gentleman that doesn’t put me in danger of being beaten up by a large boyfriend and his dog, I will do it.

When I was around four years old I had my first crush. I can still remember it; I was at a wedding on the Caribbean island of St Lucia when I met a girl called Emma. She was beautiful, with blue eyes and long dark hair. She was the daughter of family friends who were getting married on the island that week. I thought she was perfect. I remember seeing her for the first time when we were both with our parents and I couldn’t stop smiling at her. I probably looked like a right knob.

I must have been desperately trying to impress Emma, because I made the terrifically bad decision to make friends with the local kids and go and hang out on the beach with them in a bid to find a prize of a metaphorical slaughtered lamb for her.

After some Del-Boy-style negotiation (that may have looked like a very young drug deal), I ended up trading a pineapple I had pilfered from the wedding spread for a half-dead black and white sea snake. It was all they had to offer and it seemed like a great deal at the time.

When the speeches began I decided it was the perfect time to present my princess with her gift. I boldly marched into the reception dressed in my smartest clothes, smelling a little bit of dead snake and feeling very excited indeed. The best man was whipping out his comedy routine about the groom when I went straight to the top table and threw the snake onto the bride’s plate. She recoiled in horror and the whole room went silent. Even worse, this whole scenario was played out in full view of Emma. Why I didn’t attempt to hand it straight to Emma I’ll never know, but I suspect it was because I wanted to cause the biggest commotion I could to get noticed by the object of my apparent desire. Needless to say, the entire party was soon in uproar.

The bride looked like she was going to have a seizure, and the only person who seemed even vaguely amused was my father, because he knew how much I would have enjoyed that moment.

I got into so much trouble afterwards that I temporarily forgot about my love for Emma. I was sent straight to bed by my mother, who was less than happy with my behaviour, and was robbed of the opportunity to roll about the dancefloor to cheesy songs as all kids love to do at weddings.

It was only when I woke up the next morning that I turned to my mum and said, ‘Mummy, was she real?’ because I thought I’d dreamed up both Emma and the snake. Mum had calmed down by then so she gave me a hug and told me that I would meet the right girl for me one day, and that I might need more time and a different approach to find her.

Needless to say I was ridiculed mercilessly by Amelia and I didn’t get the girl either. My parents still laugh about that story now and it’s one that usually gets rolled out over the Christmas dinner table.

That was my first ever taste of heartbreak. Even at that tender age my heart was still rather bruised and my mum said I was upset for days about the fact that Emma would probably never want to marry me now.