My greatest mistake: Jane Bruton, editor of 'Eve' magazine

'On a promotional trip, guess who missed her flight? I was in WH Smith, rearranging the shelves'

I used to be the travel editor of Wedding and Home magazine, and was a bit of a shopaholic. I went on a shopping trip to Palm Springs and fell in love with a pair of Gucci sandals. I came back to London and went straight round to Gucci, only to find that there was a waiting list two miles long. So I quickly popped back into the office, rang up the Palm Springs Gucci branch and put my size on hold, because I knew that the fashion team was going out the following week to do a shoot. I had to bribe the fashion editor, with the promise of a honeymoon weekend break in Florence, to go and pick them up on his day off. Which was great, no mistakes so far – but then I told a trusted fellow traveller/former friend, who proceeded to write about the excess of shopaholics in the London Evening Standard, quoting the whole incident. Don't tell any journalist anything – that's what I learnt from that one.

IPC had organised at great expense a roadshow to introduce our fabulous portfolio of home titles to all the Northern advertisers. We trooped off to the airport to get the plane up there, we all got there at the same time, met up, got our tickets... but guess who missed the flight? I was in WH Smith, rearranging the shelves so that Living etc took up all the shelf space and Elle Decoration was out of sight. So, of course, in Manchester the editor of Living etc was nowhere to be seen.

My first job was on Chat magazine as a sub. I took some time off to go travelling and ended up in Cambodia. It was before tourists were allowed in; the only way to get around was to have a UN press pass. I phoned up Terry Tavner, who was the editor of Chat, and she faxed the UN press office on headed paper, saying that there was a journalist doing a travel feature for Chat. Can you imagine, in Cambodia? Anyway, I got the press pass and ended up in a Russian Chinook helicopter. As we were taking off, I looked down and saw a camouflaged guy with a red scarf on his head and a big rocket launcher aimed at us. At that point I realised I was probably better off sticking with weddings.

Finally, when pregnant with my son last year, I read everything about childbirth – eyes open, brain shut. I decided that I knew best and I'd have my baby in the comfort of my own home, completely naturally, without drugs. What a complete idiot: it was a nightmare! Next time I'm having every drug known to woman – and a hairdresser.