Buxom blonde soap legend Gloria Grayson is headline news again, thanks to her starring role on TV’s biggest reality show, ‘Reality Rehab’.  In a world exclusive, Gloria reveals the personalities and pleasures she can’t live without.


When it comes to make up, more is more and I’ve often been likened to Marilyn – Manson that is, not Monroe. I didn’t become Britain’s sexiest soap icon without sporting more slap than Ronald McDonald.  Which reminds me, is it lunch time?
I’m currently starring on reality TV but I’m not a fan of the genre. When I started out, becoming famous required talent and hard graft. You had to go to stage school, tour the provinces, sleep with TV executives…

These reality oiks walk into a house with CCTV cameras and walk out megastars! The world’s gone mad.

As former star of Britain’s top soap ‘Jubilee Road’, I can’t get from one end of the Waitrose confectionery aisle to the other without a dozen selfie requests.

​So along with my mobile, keys and emergency macaroon, I’m never without my scarlet lipstick. That said, I’m not keen on sneaky paparazzi shots taken when I’m putting out the bins, have accidentally parked in a disabled space, or set the dog on a Sun reporter.


As two times holder of ‘Rear of the Year’, the public could be forgiven for thinking my love life’s as peachy as my rear end.
No way!  I endured a hellish marriage to alcoholic love rat actor ‘Mad’ Tommy Mack which was no picnic (Ooh, Picnic bars, I love those!)

If you’ve ever opened a newspaper you’ll know my ex- husband’s so bad, he should have a bounty on his head. But that’s another topic (Bounty… Topic… I’m ravenous and I’ve only just had lunch).

We split over his affair with a certain dyed redhead actress, who shall remain nameless.  Oh alright then, Lianna Lowe. I came home one night and found an unfamiliar, budget brand g-string in our bed (size 16, since you ask).

When your love life stinks, a spray of Chanel No 5 is like a breath of fresh air.


My pedigree Maltipoo Baby-Girl is my constant companion and something of an addiction.  It’s spooky how much we have in common; both well groomed, both glamorous and both capable of eating our own weight in banoffi pie.
Baby-Girl’s in ‘Reality Rehab’ with me, fighting the flab. Before rehab she’d never eaten dog food and weighed roughly the same as a snow leopard or pop sensation Justin Bieber.

​I spoil my little sausage-gobbler rotten, she has a bigger designer wardrobe than I do and why not? Some people bitch my Baby-Girl’s a child substitute but they’ve got it all wrong –  children are dog substitutes!


My name’s Gloria and I’m a chocoholic. I could claim I’m devoted to the posh stuff but where cocoa’s concerned, I’m a total tart.  KitKat, Twix, Crunchie, Munchies, Mars Bars, Snickers… and that’s before I’ve got out of bed!

An unkind lady journalist recently pointed out my curves are a little more generous these days. Rather ironic, as the tabloid reporter in question was a 16-stone cake monster with a backside that could fill the O2 Arena!

​I knew I’d gained weight when my masseuse asked if she could do the other thigh next week,  and I couldn’t find a Slanket to fit me. Life’s a bitch and then you diet.