By Elle Bellwood

 

Come Dine With Me

 

 

It’s the year 2025. I am 27 years old and I am living in a gorgeous apartment in Herne Hill with my two best friends. It’s a cold November Wednesday morning. I roll over to the other side of the bed, click my 6.45am alarm off and start to scroll through my notifications. Suddenly, my heart rate starts to increase, my hands clammy, I sit upright, alert and begin to read the following email.

 

‘Dear Elle Bellwood,

 

We are delighted to inform you that you have been selected to be on Come Dine With Me, series 258.

 

Filming will start on the 12th of January 2026 and you will be attending a different host every night in competition to win £1000!

 

Please respond to this email to confirm your place.

 

Congratulations,

 

Channel 4, Come Dine With Me.’

 

(Back to reality) Ha, that’s always been my dream! I would of applied as soon as I turned 18 but I don’t think it would be fair taking over my parents house, but trust me, as soon as I have my own pad, I am going to be on it.

 

I always think, if I did get on come dine with me, how would my evening unfold? What would we eat? What wine would we drink? What party game would I play? Will I enjoy the company?

 

I’m 21 now and I guess I will mature over the years (hopefully). However, this is how I would play it out right currently.

 

Let’s say I’m the third night out of the five. So these people aren’t strangers, more acquaintances and my goal this evening is to make them my friends. In addition, let’s agree they are all really lovely people and we have been getting on.

 

Firstly, I would of cleared the whole apartment. Basically making it look like I don’t allow my flat mates to sit on the sofa. Everything pristine, perfect and poised. 

 

The first guest knocks on the door. Mwah, mwah- I let them in.

 

On arrival they will all be greeted with a Hugo cocktail. Why Hugo you ask? Hugo is the name of my dog and it’s also a light, refreshing cocktail to start on. 

 

Half an hour later, everyone is bedded in, Hugo in hand and the conversation is flowing.

 

Ding, ding, I clink a ring against a glass. ‘Dinner is served!’

 

Everyone sits around the table, hopefully, impressed by the table decor (I love making a table look nice) and the evening begins.

 

I rush into the kitchen, probably in a sweaty panic trying to cook and time my first course faultlessly.

 

‘This is it. Do not cock up on national Television!’ I tell myself.

 

5 minutes later, I step back happy. I’ve been waiting 15 years for this moment.

 

I place 5 identically looking cheese soufflés in front of my guests and we tuck in.

 

At this point I can’t comment on how well they enjoyed the food (duh) but let’s just imagine that I smashed it.

 

First course done, we move on the main course. Beef Wellington. But shush, don’t tell them I used shop brought pastry. 

 

When the main is finished the producers probably pull us all aside asking us to recount the evening so far and give our verdict. (Scary!)

 

My entertainment would be inspired based around two games which will help to expose my guest’s personalities and opinions. The first game is the very iconic- Snog, Marry, Avoid. 

 

Imagine channel 4 at 6pm-

 

‘Snog, marry, avoid, Boris Johnson, Michael Gove and Jeremy Hunt- GO!’

 

(I’m not sure Channel 4 would allow this to be aired but we like to push boundaries).

 

The second game is a more tame version of Would You Rather.

 

‘Would you rather jump out of an aeroplane or deep sea tunnel dive?’

 

(I’m sure Channel 4 would allow this to be aired).

 

If all goes to plan, by the time the entertainment is over my melt in the middle chocolate desserts should be cooked to perfection.

 

I whack on some home made vanilla ice cream on the side and place two plump strawberries on top a sprinkle of icing sugar and we are done.

 

Mwah, mwah, I show every guest to the door. Ideally, my guests will leave, full, merry and satisfied.

 

I’ll tidy up the plates, shove the dishwasher on, pour myself a glass of prosecco and turn to the camera.

 

Take a big sigh, cheers my glass and say.

 

‘Beat that motherfu-‘

 

Cuts to credits.

 

Bellwood x