You know the rain we had yesterday morning? Well, that followed us over to London and started unleashing it's fury at the exact moment the premiere for brüno got underway. Which was nice. It was also around the same time my texts stopped delivering to Twitter... (according to our page - I sent about 10 messages simultaneously at 3am this morning). At least we managed to have a chat with some of the (surprisingly) young folk who'd been waiting in line since before midday to get a glimpse of brüno's kugelsack (the footage of which will be up shortly). We also got to do an opening link in front of Buckingham Palace (after being asked the nature of our business by some bobbies), before the deluge of precipitation. We only had a gale force wind to deal with (honestly, I look like Bonnie Tyler)

At 5.55pm, Alex Zane took to the wee wet white stage (which had been erected in brüno's honor) to introduce bruno, and engaged in some extraneous patter about London being the fashion capital... obviously for a good 3 minutes longer than Zane was prepared for. At 6pm on the dot, brüno made his entrance, trooped up a wet carpet with approximately twenty, lean, fellow Beefeaters in tow. They were following him up to the stage, and were happily going about their marching band routine when (presumably) the choreographer jumped in, grappling with one model (any excuse), insisting he stayed behind brünofor a few beats, while the other side continued to merrily march back down towards the crowd. We made ourselves believe it was all part of the act... otherwise that poor choreographer takes himself far too seriously.

After brüno mounted the podium to partake in a little speech ("I hope to meet Prince Harry as I hear he's a total slut… he'll shtick it in anything"), the celebrities started pegging it up the carpet, due to the wind and rain. Matthew Horne was whisked passed to the photographers, as was Nigella Lawson. She did acknowledge us in the 'press pen' *squeals like a pig*, saying "I'm sorry, I'm not my own person" (indeed, she appears to be part shelf) while pointing at the PR bird who was propelling her towards the photographers. A shame, as I wanted to ask her what "tart she'd teach bruno to master". Rachel Stevens also bolted towards the photographers, which is fair enough considering she got mugged last week.

Then we managed to get the lovely Isla Fisher's attention. She appeared, as if by magic, down by the entrance of the Empire cinema, and dutifully posed for photos and signed some autographs. As we crowed her name she apologised profusely and said she had to head in as she was "too cold". Two seconds later I spotted the Kings of Leon (yep, the entire band) strutting up, but my coos of "Caaaleeeeb!" were only met with a big grin and a brisker walk, as the rain fell down in fat droplets. Yep, that's why they didn't come over... the rain. In fairness though, it would appear they paused for photos for the briefest of seconds.

It was at this point that a plume of blind panic blew through the press pen. I could start hearing people saying "My God, is ANYONE going to stop?!" Then Peaches Geldof arrived. And everyone looked at their shoes in unison… "I'm not speaking to her, are you? She's dial-a-quote anyway… Is she wearing a… What the f*** is she up to now?!" She was only tottering up the carpet (after being ripped away from autograph hunters by Pixie. Impressive work given she's as wide as your average boney blade of grass), in a dodgy wedding dress... holding hands with another girl... in a dodgy wedding dress(Apparently she's a stylist [?!?] from L.A. called Sandra S). That should please the lesbian community.

At last! Someone stopped… Mark Feehily from Westlife and his fair boyfriend (of 4.5 years), Kevin McDaid. A recurring question was "So, how long have you been together (4.5 years)". The others ensnared included Jo Wood, and Jenny Frost (noticeably sans bra), who expressed a carnivorous alternative when asked if she was asked if there was any truth in Kerry Katona's claims of an Atomic Kitten reunion (something along the lines of "I'd rather eat my own kidney with a spoon"). Sophie Ellis Bextor also stopped for a few words despite the size of her (um, interesting?) frock. When I asked her how she was bearing up in the cold she said "It's not cold at all!" I stared back in disbelief, from under my hat and array of layers. She must have the hide of a rhino… or a new single out this week.

The likes of Beverly Knight and Gail Porter also worked the carpet, with one journo beside me mumbling "They're ALWAYS at these things and we never know what to say to them... I mean, WHO wants to know anything about Beverly Knight?! And as for Porter, you can only ask the obvious - and then what?!" Nothing, as far as I was concerned, as we'd been promised (collectively) "one question with brüno" and he was on his way over… The man was on FIRE, and not just because his kleine shorts were probably chafing up a storm. He'd been vaulting himself in varying directions around the carpet, making sure he got to at least pet nearly every one of his fans, conducted several on carpet interviews with Sky and the likes, and then shot back ridiculous yet scintillating retorts to the wall of questions we were firing at him (again, video footage will be with you shortly). I asked him a question about Sacha Baron Cohen, which garnered a particulary entertaining response. But, alas, there was no time to ask him if Klaus (his initmate bleacher) had found the heads of any other action figures up his arshenaller (brüno divulged on his Facebook that, one time, the head of his David Beckham doll had once been retrived from the area).

And then it was over before it began… around the same time the rain decided to clear up. Our next mission was to make it to our plane which was departing from Heathrow in roughly an hour and a half. 85 minutes and a river of sweat later, we arrived at gate 84 with two minutes to spare - only to see passengers sauntering off the plane we were due to be on. Once seated (35 minutes later), we were informed that Aer Lingus were introducing their new "Southern Fried Chicken Hot Wrap". Given It was 10.00pm and I'd looked sideways at a slice of salmon at 3pm, one was ordered. If you happen to find yourself in the same position several thousand feet in the air, it might interest you to know that there's a chance encounter with some chicken half-way through the proceedings. Otherwise, expect a reenactment of the pizza house scene from Top Secret. That's some flubber masquerading as cheese in there. You've been warned.

Don't forget, you could be one of the first people in Ireland to survey the wonder that is fire extinguisher aided love. We have a number of tickets to a preview screening in The Savoy, Dublin which is due to take place on Tuesday, June 30th. Make your way to our competitions page to deposit your entry.