IHAVE two fictional role models when it comes to journalism – and I fail to match up to either of them.

American author Hunter S Thompson created my first – rather worrying – journalistic precedent in his 1960s novel The Rum Diary.

Reporter Paul Kemp, who was played by Johnny Depp in the film released last year, is an idealist and a hopeless drunk.

The rest of his colleagues, in their Puerto Rico offices, are even worse. They don’t turn up, they hate each other with a passion, and their paper is set to go under.

I realised how far off I was from Thompson’s vision of the journalist at a party, this weekend.

It was at a brilliant bash. The kitchen lights had been swapped for a disco ball and seventies lighting, there was a buffet featuring homemade cake, mini pizza and the world's biggest block of cheese.

I clocked the alcohol supplies – there were at least 20 unguarded bottles of wine.

That was more than enough to fuel a journalist horror story. It could have inspired The Sauvignon Blanc Diary.

However, I was happier with my role as the 11-year-old school disco dancer. All it took was a few songs - the Britney Spears’ track Baby One More Time and Garbage’s hit Cherry Lips – and I was off.

I answered the central question posed by The Killers' top song Human. I was Abba's Dancing Queen, and Yes sir, I can and did boogie.

My bare feet were so battered from my jiving that the next day I woke up feeling like I had run The Three Peaks.

At one point during the night I was even shown how to play the ukulele. This is not something I imagine Thompson’s characters would attempt.

So, I am left with my second role model – Lois Lane.

And unless I can find a lycra-clad, flying superhero to fly through the window of my Kendal garret, I think it’s unlikely I’ll be able to live up to her example either.