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We have moved

2006-10-23T18:25:00.001+01:00

Due to some technical problems, coolnina97 has moved to letters from london. Please bookmark the new address until further notice.

Nicole Ritchie looking starved

2006-08-15T18:32:00.000+01:00

This is the latest picture of Nicole Ritchie that's causing gasps (and comments to the ilk of 'eat a burger' or 'fat bitch!') on the blogosphere.

I thought she had gained a bit of weight recently, but it looks like she's lost it again, and has gone beyond thin - veering dangerously towards anna territory. She could take a few pages out of Heidi Klum's book on how to be slim and toned without starving the crap out of yourself.

Photo: c/o thesuperficial

Smoking while pregnant

2006-08-14T19:17:00.000+01:00

I know this might piss some people off, because they've done it, or their mums did it, or their grandmother's did it. And while I don't want to offend anyone here, I'm afraid I can't fence sit when it comes to smoking while pregnant. I have a very strong negative reaction to it, especially in this day and age, when we know, or at least should know (unless you've been living in a cave) how harmful it is to an unborn child to be exposed even to regular second-hand smoke, never mind a smoking mother.

Perhaps, you may argue, our mothers and grandmothers weren't aware of the full extent of the dangers of smoking during pregnancy - fair enough. But these days, I think to be aware it and still consciously do it, is incredibly selfish and indescribably negligent.

I've held off posting about this, because it seemed inconceivable to me that someone who has been voted 'Celebrity mother of the year' here in the UK, not once, but twice, is allegedly still smoking, despite being three months pregnant.

I've now seen it reported in two magazines, and a number of websites, and according to Star magazine:

A close friend of Kerry's family confirmed she is definitely smoking, saying: "She cut back when she was pregnant with Molly, 4, and Lilly Sue, 3, but has never given up."

For those of you in the USA or who don't read tabloid mags, Kerry Katona is one of those people in the UK that was in a band once, and now does commercials and has a column in OK magazine, but is still mysteriously viewed as some sort of celebrity, and is accordingly hounded by the press.

She has been quoted as saying, "My doctor said: If you're more stressed about not having a cigarette, you're better off having one. The stress harms the baby more."

OK, not all babies suffer visible negative health effects from smoking mothers, but the percentage of those that do, makes the odds incredibly dangerous, and certainly not something you'd want to risk. According to stopsmokingnow.co.uk

A German study showed traces of NNK, (nicotine-derived nitrosaminoketone) which is one of the strongest cancer causing agents found in tobacco products. It was detected in 22 of 31 newborns of mothers who smoked during pregnancy.

I appreciate it's a hard habit to kick - having quit myself, and still occasionally having one once in a blue moon when I have too much to drink. But surely the fact that you are carrying and therefore responsible for a life inside of you, is incentive enough to give up? The closest I can come to imagining what a fetus must experience, is having bronchitis or asthma and being stuck in a car with a smoker with the windows wound up. Something I've in fact experienced while traveling by taxi in Athens during a snow storm.

Photo c/o here

Tyler's back

2006-08-14T18:40:00.000+01:00

After just over a week's absence we can all breathe a huge sigh of relief - wwtdd.com (What Would Tyler Durden Do) is back with a sexy new look. It's my favourite celeb goss source (up there with The Superficial) not least of all, because they post huge, great quality pictures with most entries. They also don't slap annoying watermarks all over their photos like Splash News. In fact, I avoid using photos from Splash not because I want to claim that the photos are mine (as if!), but because the watermark obscures the picture and is annoying. Give us some credit guys, I for one do my best to link to my source whenever I use and image or qoutation, you don't need to brand the crap out of things with your name.

Welcome back Tyler Durden!

PS: They are having a few teething problems with their new server so the site's a bit slow at the moment.

Photo c/o endevil.com

The Body

2006-08-14T18:02:00.000+01:00

There's a 'dispute' between Heidi Klum and Elle MacPherson at the moment over who rightfully owns the title, 'The Body.' According to people.aol.com in the latest Victoria's Secret commercial, Klum states:

"They call me The Body - and now I have a bra named after me."

MacPherson's camp responded with:

MELISSA EDWARDS, spokesperson for MACpherson's underwear company Elle MACpherson Intimates, tells the New York Daily News, "We saw that and were like, 'Oh my god!' We were initially flabbergasted. "We have numerous press clippings in the office referring to her as 'The Body'. Everything from Harper's Bazaar to Vogue to the recent Sports Illustrated calls her that. In terms of public record, that name belongs to Elle." The 43-year-old Aussie is particularly riled because she uses her moniker on a range of products, including skin-care line Elle MACpherson The Body, her lingerie brand and a fitness video. Source

I'm not a big Elle MacPherson fan, not because I have a beef with The Bod, but she doesn't really register on my celeb radar. I am however a huge fan of Heidi Klum's - mostly because I think she is fantastic on Project Runway - smart, likeable, and more than anything, she comes across as being genuine. But Heidi, as much as I think your body rocks, and your hair, and your dress sense, I think Elle's right on this one; as long as I've been reading Cosmo and following the super model craze (a long long time - sad I know), the term 'The Body' was coined for Elle.

More photos of Heidi showing off her great body here.

Photo of Heidi Klum c/o wwtdd.com

Before & After

2006-08-13T17:51:00.000+01:00

I love a good before and after shot showing the power of Photoshop. A good reminder to all of us, that when something looks too good to be true, chances are, it is. Herewith my latest finds (click on photos to enlarge):

Laila Rouass, from the TV series Footballers' Wives. Thanks to Louise for the tip.

Victoria Beckham. The pic on the left was a pap snap taken in the last week, when VB unveiled her new pob (posh bob). The pic on the right appeared on a recent cover of OK! magazine.

I found this before and after on a graphic design Photoshop tips site. More here.

And finally, this re-touched portfolio pic I found here.

See here for more on photo manipulation from wikipedia.

Kosher restaurants and dodgy old photos

2006-08-11T09:26:00.000+01:00

Well it's Friday morning, and having drunk wine for the first time in about two weeks last night, I'm feeling a little hungover today. We ate in a kosher restaurant with Greg and Zoe last night, called Six-13 and the food was great. Usually these guys have to stick to fish or vegetarian options when we eat out, and it was nice to be able tuck into some really delicious rib-eye steaks along with them, and for once not feel guilty they couldn't do the same.

I was a little worried about going to what is effectively my first kosher restaurant - aside from a place I had lunch at years ago in South Africa. Could I show cleavage? Did Robert have to wear a yarmulke? Would they do steak? (I was dying for a steak).

Well, the good news is, for one thing - it looks just like any new, stylish, modern restaurant. Secondly, you do not have to be Jewish or have to wear a yarmulke to eat there. And last, but certainly not least, the food is modern-European and you can eat pretty much anything you would anywhere else. The difference lies, and Zoe really is the one to ask about this in more detail, in how the food is prepared, and that you do not mix meat and diary together. But I haven't really wanted a glass of milk with my food since I was about 10, so it wasn't really an issue. Seriously though, a lot of sauces are made with diary products - things like cream, butter etc, and I think it was a relief for those guys not have to check everything, and just be able to sit back and enjoy their meal.

Right, and onto the land of celebrity:

The picture at the top is non other than George Clooney as a kid. Yup, I thought Friday was a perfect day to provide a link to dodgy celeb photos. I mean, if George can go from that to being voted one of the hottest men alive, it gives the rest of us a bit of hope - no? There's also a great one of Angelina as a teenager - who'd have thought it?

And for those of you struggling with post-baby weight, Gwyneth Paltrow has some incredibly sage and revolutionary advice. Wait for it folks...she says you need to... work out. *Gasp* I don't know about you, but I was astounded. Work out? Who'd have thought it?

"It's all lovely when you are pregnant; but when you are not pregnant and you haven't been for a couple of months and you are still carrying tons of extra weight and everything's all hanging and sagging, you think, How is this ever going to go back? But it does. If you do a lot of working out." Source

And finally, it looks like Lindsay Lohan is getting herself into even more trouble. Firstly, her digs, the Chateau Marmont, is apparantly fed up with the noise and constant stream of mates coming and going from her room. And secondly, someone who worked with her on Herbie: Fully Loaded has issued an anonymous statement about what a nightmare she was to work with, not unlike those made by Morgan Creek.

These young actors just don't appreciate what a saturated market they exist within. In the old days you could be a lot more rock n' roll, these days you mess up - you get fired, and when people stop seeing your face in movies and on the red carpet they forget all about you, and move onto the next best thing. It really is a matter of 15 minutes of fame in the broader scheme of things.

Photo c/o people.aol.com

Before you fly

2006-08-11T09:13:00.000+01:00

I received an email from Virgin Atlantic last night and this is what they have to say about the current hand-luggage/luggage and security proceedures when you fly:

Flights Departing From UK Airports
Passengers may take through the airport security search point, in a single (ideally transparent) plastic carrier bag, only the following items. Nothing may be carried in pockets:

pocket size wallets and pocket size purses plus contents (for example money, credit cards, identity cards etc (not handbags)).
travel documents essential for the journey (for example passports and travel tickets).
prescription medicines and medical items sufficient and essential for the flight (e.g., diabetic kit) However liquid medication e.g. insulin may only be carried with supporting documentation from the owners Doctor that verifies it as authentic.
spectacles and sunglasses, without cases.
contact lens holders, without bottles of solution.
for those travelling with an infant: baby food, milk (the contents of each bottle must be tasted by the accompanying passenger) and sanitary items sufficient and essential for the flight (nappies, wipes, creams and nappy disposal bags).
female sanitary items sufficient and essential for the flight, if unboxed (e.g. tampons, pads, towels and wipes).
tissues (unboxed) and/or handkerchiefs.
keys (but no electrical key fobs).

In addition to this please note:

All passengers must be hand searched, and their footwear and all the items they are carrying must be x-ray screened.
Pushchairs and walking aids must be x-ray screened, and only airport-provided wheelchairs may pass through the screening point.

Flights Departing From US Airports
The Transportation Security Administration (TSA) will be implementing a series of security measures. Although the TSA is not restricting the carriage of hand luggage all items are being hand searched at the departure gate and this is causing significant delays. It is therefore strongly recommended that you carry only the most essential items to speed up the security process and minimise flight delays. \

The TSA have advised that the following measures are to take place with immediate effect: \

No liquids or gels are allowed past the airport security checkpoint and they are not allowed to be carried either in hand luggage or on your person, except:

Baby formula, breast milk, or juice if a baby or small child is travelling.
Prescription medicine with a name that matches the passenger's ticket.
Insulin and essential other non-prescription medicines.

In addition, customers may not bring liquids and gels purchased inside the airport onboard the aircraft. Examples of liquids and gels include beverages, shampoo, suntan lotion, creams, toothpaste, hair gel and items of a similar consistency.

Virgin Atlantic advises its customers to ensure that only items complying with these requirements are carried on board aircraft. All other items must be placed in checked baggage or left behind.

General Information for all passengers
Excess baggage charges will be waived to facilitate the carriage of additional checked baggage that would otherwise have been carried in the cabin.

We have been advised that customers in possession of non-compliant items will be stopped at the security checkpoint and re-directed back to the check in hall. With the additional security measures applied at the security checkpoint and the departure gates, passengers are advised to make their way quickly through security and arrive as early as possible at the departure gate.

Customers are advised not to carry personal belongings, which are valuable, or fragile without ensuring it is covered for loss or damage under their own personal possessions/ travel insurance. We cannot accept any liability for such items including laptops or cameras should passenger still wish to carry them.

Regular updates on the situation will be available on our website. However, if you feel that you need to speak to our Contact Centre, please expect delays.

Further information may be found at
http://www.dft.gov.uk
http://www.tsa.gov/

Victoria Beckham's new haircut

2006-08-10T15:34:00.000+01:00

I'm feeling pissed off today, though probably not nearly as pissed off as the thousands of people stuck at some or other airport, or those who've had their flights cancelled due to the latest terrorist threat.

Robert and I are due to travel to New York for a few days this month, among other things to visit with close friends who cannot make our wedding, and now this happens. It upsets me because more than it being inconvenient, it's worrying. It scares me to think that there are some stupid fucks out there who board a flight with every intention of killing everyone on board - including themselves. Like I wasn't already afraid of flying, now I have this to worry about.

I guess we can be relieved they managed to stop it from happening - we hope. Right now they are saying no hand luggage at all. Does that include handbags? Robert tells me it does. And what if you chuck your purse, keys, and everything else into your check-in bags, and they lose them? I don't even want to think about it.

What about tampax? Robert tells me apparently you can take that along in a clear plastic bag. Gee, great. In the old days when my grandparents traveled, they actually had clothes made or bought for a flight /cruise - people dressed up back then. I still like to wear something relatively smart when I fly, but without the ability to refresh my makeup, why bother? Anyway, I know there are more important things in life than whether or not you can reapply lipstick at 30 000 feet, or be able to disguise your tampax in a suitably attractive handbag, but I'm not running for office dammit, I'm just a woman who wants to travel safely to New York with her fiancé, and likes to be presentable.

In other news:

Looks like we may be getting a glimpse of baby Suri. Reports have it that Annie Leibovitz (my favourite celeb snapper) is shooting pics of the little one, and they will appear in Vanity Fair magazine this autumn. Most babies look like scrunched-up little old men when they are born, so maybe it's a smart plan on their part to have waited. I'm sure their little girl (wow, perhaps she does exist!) is going to be very cute, though I sincerely doubt she will be as beautiful as the most beautiful celeb baby ever - Junior Andre (Katie Price and Peter Andre's baby).

Britney Spears reveals she has in fact lost it completely, and according to In Touch Weekly magazine, has given Feders a black Amex card with no limit. According to the mag it's “to prove how much she trusts him.”

I can think of a hell of a lot of other ways you can show the world you are happily married and trust your partner, other than committing financial suicide. Like, why not pose in innumerable severely airbrushed pictures on the cover of OK! magazine? If it's good enough for the Beckhams ... .

And on the subject of Victoria Beckham, she revealed a new hair do this week, and I have to say, I like it. Its modern and edgy, and its probably giving her scalp a well-deserved break from all those horrid extensions. Not to be bitchy or anything (who, moi?) but her skin looks kind of weird in the above image - almost painted. Is she taking to airburshing her skin with makeup now?

Photo c/o Now Magazine, 16 August 2006.

And so it begins

2006-08-09T09:48:00.000+01:00

Looks like Heather Mills McCartney had one of her security guys break into Macca's house because he had changed the locks - and the police were called out. Asked to comment her rep said:

"She (Mills-McCartney) said it was hilarious. It was just a complete mix-up." McCartney had frozen the couple's joint bank account and sent Mills McCartney a letter complaining about three bottles of cleaning liquid that were taken from his home to her office. Source

It's not entirely clear what (a) the frozen bank account, (b) the nicked cleaning fluid, and (c) the alleged break-in had to do with each other. Did Mills break in to steal the cleaning fluid? Did she break in because he froze their bank account and then stole the cleaning fluid as retribution? Are any of these things related at all, or was her rep merely mentioning them to show what a mean old so and so Macca is?

What is however clear, is that when a man as rich as Paul McCartney starts writing disgruntled letters because of cleaning fluid, then you must know this divorce is going to get very, very ugly.

Photo: c/o the superficial.com

From Russia with love

2006-08-08T22:49:00.000+01:00

I came across a website tonight called russianladies.com - don't ask! Having met my soon to be husband on an internet dating site, I'm certainly not in a position to (nor do I) sniff at this method of meeting someone. However, I think there is a distinct difference between a dating site like match.com which allows people to describe indepth their character, interests and the sort of person they are looking for, and one that reads like a product sales catalogue.

On russianladies.com the women seem to be allocated approximately four lines to define their interests and hobbies, and self-description. The rest of the profile is taken up with more pragmatic details of their height and weight, and fear not - if it's not displayed in a measure you are accustomed to, they have a link which reads: (Click here to use metric/kilograms system for your search). They must also state if they have children, and whether or not their children live with them. And finally, and probably most importantly, they have to state whether they speak English - which is displayed in a sort of graded system, e.g: 4 - Proficient. Speaks well enough for telephone, or, 2 - Poor. Needs dictionary to communicate.

And if you are still unsure as to just how beautiful these 'beautiful Russian ladies' are, there are images and testimonial blurbs of satisfied customers. I don't know what's more creepy - the fact that some of these guys look old and weathered enough to be these girls grandfathers, or the fact that most of them refer to the women they've met in the plural, rather than 'that special one'. The word 'escort' comes to mind, though I'm sure it's a perfectly legitimate dating service. *Cough*

The whole thing looks a bit like a lingerie catalogue, and there are pages and pages of these women, some of which are quite beautiful (admittedly if you go for the overly-made up look). It strikes me as bizarre and somewhat sad that these lovely young women want nothing more than to meet and marry a man (even a 75-year-old Mr. Burns lookalike), with the prerequisite being little more than him being a Westerner. One does wonder what sorts of situations they find themselves in once they get off the plane. Scary.

Photos and testimonials c/o russianladies.com

Snakes On A Plane - yes, really

2006-08-07T19:36:00.000+01:00

On Saturday night, after sitting through the third intentionally upsetting road safety ad, and 6th overly-long, incomprehensible, and made to win awards but sure as hell won't win the client any new business commercials, we eventually got to the upcoming movie previews.

Enter: Snakes on a plane.

No, you read right, Snakes On A Plane - that's the name of one of the movies previewed. The plot wasn't exactly clear, aside from the fact that there are a plane full of people flying somewhere, and then suddenly, a lot of snakes too. Snakes in the cockpit, snakes in the overheard storage, snakes coming out of the oxygen masks, snakes everywhere. There is much panic, well, naturally, I mean, when was the last time you had to fight off a truckload of snakes on a flight? But before we completely lose hope, enter: Samuel L Jackson, who we can assume (and only pray to god) saves the day.

It looked like a hybrid between an Indiana Jones movie - you know, the kind where he walks through the burning catacombs into a nest full of nasties, and the The Poseidon Adventure - where only one brave and level-headed chap can lead the way to safety through all the madness.

As the preview ran, which was done in a style redolent of low budget 70's horrors, members of the audience began turning to their boy/girlfriends or mates and asking what Robert and I were asking each other, namely, "Is this a joke?" Well, I got home and IMDB'd it, and apparently not. It's classed as an Action/Horror/Thriller, and the official plot line states:

"On board a flight over the Pacific Ocean, an assassin, bent on killing a passenger who's a witness in protective custody, lets loose a crate full of deadly snakes."

Its not exactly clear how this assassin (a) got what effectively looks like the entire Amazon jungle's snake population onto the flight in the first place - especially with USA airport security these days, and (b) how he himself expects to survive once he has released them. Lastly, doesn't it seem a little bit like overkill using all these snakes to kill just one guy?

I'm probably being way too pragmatic in the face of artistic genius, and should just trust in the creative process that is 'Snakes On A Plane' to transport me to a better place for two hours or so on a Saturday night.

I think a quote from the character Nelville Flynn (Jackson) sums up the spirit of the movie best:

"I've had it with these mother fucking snakes on this mother fucking plane!"

I don't know about you, but I'm booking my tickets now.

Photos c/o imdb.com

Slow day in the land of stupid

2006-08-07T16:48:00.000+01:00

It's been a very slow day in celebville, and one of my favourite gossip blogs has been down all weekend, leaving me chomping and the bid for new leads.

Of the trash I did manage to dredge up, it's good to know that some things never change. And in the land of stupid:

Britney buys her 1,7089000th Starbucks while looking very pregnant, and actually smiling for once - now that is new! (Nice legs)

And Paris and Stavros have broken up again. This time over a text message argument that transpired at P-Diddy's party.

"Paris was clapping at Diddy's trampoline antics while Stavros was on the other side of the pool, glaring at her," a source told the London Mirror. "He began texting Paris to come over, but she refused, sending him harsh messages on her diamante-covered Blackberry. Eventually, she stormed over and yelled, "Don't you trust me? Get over it!" Source

I guess when you are that rich and stupid, you no longer actually get up and walk to where your boy/girlfriend is standing to have a conversation - far better to do it over text message, while maintaining steely eye-contact. I mean, like there's any other way?

And when Puff Daddy isn't causing couples to breakup with his seductive trampolining antics (what are they like 8-years-old?), he's shooting a bond-style commercial for his new fragrance, Sean John.

Photos c/o people.aol.com

Big Fat Blog

2006-08-06T22:41:00.000+01:00

While doing research for one of my various posts today I came across a blog called 'Big Fat Blog' which defines itself as 'The fat acceptance blog'. I read through some of the posts and it was an education, and more so a reminder that there are people out there who are larger than the acceptable norm, which these days is anything from a size 12 upwards, and who are happy that way. They don't want to diet, they don't want surgery, and more so, they want people to stop 'trying to help them,' because they don't see being overweight as something which is a problem that needs to be solved.

I came under some fire earlier this year, when I became obsessed with losing weight and working out, and admittedly posted about it in a similarly obsessive manner. And after the initial indignation and feeling wounded (the usual response when someone else points out that the object of your obsession is not what everyone else holds important) it made me realise just how terribly arrogant and indeed hurtful it must have come across to some people. To assume that just because you have found your own personal Jesus in the gym, that everyone else should too, is very shortsighted, though not entirely uncommon in the newly converted. Have you ever noticed how recent non smokers are the worst at making exaggerated fanning gestures when someone lights up in their presence?

But back to me upsetting people - reading through 'Big Fat Blog' it makes me realise that there are people out there who don't beat themselves up for not having a certain thigh circumference, and who don't aspire to look like Demi Moore (circa Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle) in a bikini. There are also, as I'm reminded on a daily basis (not least of all after looking at pictures of corpses and poverty in Gaza and Dafur) more important things in life.

In response to the argument that being over a certain weight or BMI is unhealthy and in some cases even dangerous, Big Fat Blog's response is, so is being very thin. I think both are extremes on a scale - putting the body under enormous strain, which means things like organ functioning is at risk.

While I appreciate, and indeed envy, that some overweight people may be comfortable and happy with the way they look, having been very overweight myself in the past, I also know what a strain it put on my body. I had a lot of problems with my ankles and lower back, and had to see a physiotherapist regularly, something I haven't had to do in years since losing the weight. Similarly I watched a programme where a young girl exhibited symptoms of adult diabetes (which can result in blindness and even death), and after losing weight over even a month-long period, showed no signs of the illness.

I think the ideal, for me at least, is to find that place that exists between the excesses - which is, to coin a cliche, about being healthy. This is not about being a certain dress size, but about having a healthy relationship with food, and while you don't deny yourself, you also don't abuse it. I think more than anything, the emphasis should move away from what people look like, to focusing on this relationship to food. Therein, I'm sure, lies the rub.

Check out Big Fat Blog here.

Toni Colette gets a stylist - finally

2006-08-06T21:50:00.000+01:00

I love Toni Colette. She's one of those actresses that is prepared to transform herself (read: doesn't mind putting on weight for a role or looking like a real person who hasn't spent 10 hours in makeup), and she chooses appropriately gritty characters. She is, as one person wrote, an actress and not a movie star. A description I think any self respecting actor who takes their trade seriously and considers themselves a technician would be proud of.

But as much as I love her transformations on-screen, there really is no excuse for some of her red-carpet outfits or hairstyles for that matter. I mean, the outfit on the top left is a good example of not just getting it slightly wrong, but ugly charity shop wrong - and not even vintage-chic charity shop either. And what's with the crazy sunglasses? The photo above that, is just a very bad dye-job - with the grey peeping out from the sides. I mean, you have a premier, even if you don't have time to book a stylist to come to your house, surely there's time to nip down to a chemist and get a box of hairdye and stick it in your hair for 30 minutes?

I found some pictures taken this year, among others at the 'In her shoes' premier, with Toni not just looking red-carpet presentable, but in fact rather beautiful. In a series of photos taken with her and Cameron Diaz (who played her younger, irresponsible, and hot younger sister in the movie), she's actually a lot more attractive than Diaz.

Who knew a great dress and new hairstyle could make such a difference, or rather, the damage a wrong haircut and fugly outfit could do?

Bad dog!

2006-08-06T19:33:00.000+01:00

A guard dog by the name of Barney went nuts at a children's museum's ripping apart a collection of rare teddy bears, including one owned by Elvis.

"He just went berserk," said Daniel Medley, general manager of Wookey Hole Caves near Wells, England, where hundreds of bears were chewed up Tuesday night by the 6-year-old Doberman pinscher named Barney. The collection was valued at more than $900,000 and included a red bear made by Farnell in 1910 and a Bobby Bruin made by Merrythought in 1936. The bear linked to Elvis was owned by English aristocrat Benjamin Slade, who bought it at an Elvis memorabilia auction in Memphis and had lent it to the museum. "I've spoken to the bear's owner and he is not very pleased at all," Medley said.

Personally I love the picture of Barney looking repentant. It's like he's saying, "I couldn't have possibly done all of this. Could I?"

See here for more forensic photos of Barney looking guilty and the carnage he caused.

Source
Photo c/o: splashnews

Mel Gibson's mates defend him

2006-08-06T12:22:00.000+01:00

So Mel Gibson's Jewish friends have come out in his defence, saying he's normally such a great guy, and hell, he's friends with them, so he can't possibly be anti-semitic. He's just an alcoholic and therefore says weird shit when he drinks. This is like being friends with someone who's a rude arrogant fuck with the waiter, but maintaining he's a great guy normally. Yeah right.

I can understand that some people get angry when they drink, it's not uncommon. And sure, when you get angry you can become agressive and probably be inclined to start fights. And if you're some macho-type, you'll probably threaten to beat the crap out of someone. I imagine there is also a fair bit of swearing and generic abuse.

But how in hell's name to you explain something as specific as "Fucking Jews... The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world," and still maintain that the guy doesn't have a beef with Jewish people in some way or another. I'm sorry, I'm just not buying it.

Miami Vice not so nice

2006-08-06T11:53:00.000+01:00

Robert decided being stuck in the house for two weeks probably wasn't any good for my sanity, and with my cough down to only an occasional bark, took me to see Miami Vice.

This film suffers from a syndrome not uncommon in a lot of high budget hyped films of its kind in that it has all the right ingredients but just somehow fails to work.

Firstly, the first three quarters of the film draaaaaaagggsss on - and this is coming from someone who likes serious stuff and is normally quite happy to sit through establishing scenes. Secondly, the two leading men have zero character development, and indeed you learn very little about them at all, which means you don't really give a shit either way what happens to them. There is none of the original Miami Vice banter between the two, and no chemistry either. Sure, they look good, but there's very little depth there.

Also, the film is confusing as fuck - and this isn't just because I haven't been out the house in two weeks. Robert felt the same (and he's a smart chap) and similarly other movie reviews I've read have said the same thing. Just one example of this, is that he film opens with this whole emphasis on a white supremacist group, and then you don't really hear much more about it, nor does it appear to have any bearing on the storyline as a whole. Later in the film the so-called white supremacists appear to be nothing more than henchmen for a Columbian Crimelord and his Asian female girlfriend/business associate. It doesn't make sense, much like the rest of the movie.

According to a review on IMDB:

It's been widely reported that Michael Mann had to feverishly edit this film
just to get it into theaters on time, and in many ways that shows. There are
multiple loose ends that are never tied up or explained, and several plot
threads seem underdeveloped.

Colin Farrell was unbelievable and simply staid - I don't get the fuss about him, well at least not from this movie I don't. The most developed character, and indeed the best acting came from the female lead, Isabella, played by Li Gong. In my opinion she stole the show.

And if you want to go and see it because you like explosions and shoot-out scenes, be warned, you have to wait until the end of the movie to get your fix.

Disappointing.

Photo c/o us.movies1.yimg.com

Bridezilla update

2006-08-05T15:45:00.000+01:00

So it's four weeks until our big day, and I've finally calmed the hell down. I think it was getting sick with what the doctor calls Tracheitis - an illness more common in kids (also know as croup), that forced me to slow down and take stock of what was important.

Getting sick also means I haven't seen Guy (my personal trainer) in three weeks - he took a week off on hols and then I got sick for two - and haven't been to the gym in two. I lost a bit of weight from being sick, but imagine I will regain it when I get my apptetite back and am able to eat more than a Miso soup and pretzel in a day. I've been advised to take another week to 10 days off of exercise for my chest to completely clear up, and then I think I'll probably try and get a few days a week in at the gym, though just a bit of running and weights to stay toned.

All the main stuff has been put in place, and I eventually got all my RSVP's in, so now we can start with the fun business of table planning. Fortunately there aren't any feuds (at least that I know of) which will make matters a lot easier. We are also lucky enough not to have any ex-husbands/wives or step-fathers/mothers to have to worry about at the head table, so the parental units on both sides will be happy, which is important. God knows I've heard the horror stories of having to juggle a father and mother who no longer speak, and both want their second wives/husbands to sit at the head table. Frightening.

I've asked my mom to do the father of the bride's speech, because my dad passed away when I was a teenager, and my brother died a few years ago, leaving it up to her to 'give me away' so to speak. I think she'll be great, god knows she's not shy, but I hear she's nervous. She also doesn't drink which means slipping her a shot to calm the nerves isn't looking likely. People worry a lot about speeches, and I have to say, I've never had a problem with public speaking. I think the trick is to note down a few key points on a piece of paper and just talk around those to the audience, as you would an individual. Keep it relaxed and natural, and when in doubt, brevity is your friend! I'll also be reminding her that embarassing (what she no doubt finds cute) childhood anecdotes will not be required.

Now that all the key planning is out of the way, the fun stuff begins. My mom was telling me about a gorgeous pair of gold and black suede highheels she bought, and it reminded me I still have to buy shoes myself. Bridal shoes can be tricky; they have to be pretty, but at the same time not too high so you can survive an evening chatting to people and having your toes stood on on the dancefloor. I toyed with the idea of getting a pair of Jimmy Choos or Karl Lagerfields, but I'm also a pragmatist, and with the length of my dress, they won't be visible - so why spend that much money? I'd much rather splash out on some sexy little numbers (shoes that is) that will be visible for nights out on our honeymoon.

There's been one or two grumbles from our non-tie wearing male friends, but I'm not relenting. As far as I'm concerned, it's going to be a very elegant affair, and if the ladies can take the time and the trouble to dress up, and in my case, squeeze myself into a formal somewhat uncomfortable dress, then the least the chaps can do is wear a tie for an evening. I mean, come on - how hard can it be? These guys with their complaints - try getting a bikini wax, your eyebrows plucked, highlights, a facial, full-body exfoliation, teetering on 6 inch heels, and wearing a girdle sometime.

Photo c/o lycos.fr

Britney spears is classy

2006-08-05T14:58:00.000+01:00

I had the misfortune of coming upon this video clip of Britney Spears, shot handheld style by hubby Kevin - I think. There's nothing particularly amazing about it, except of course that it's a good reminder that just because you can look like this doesn't mean you can't be a loud gum-chewing, uncouth, whiney, hillbilly eejit. Yes, I know I've said in the past we should leave Britters alone to get on with her burrito-eating flip-flop wearing life, but when I see something like this, much like the rest of the world, I have to ask myself - why did I ever think she was hot?

I think the cherry on top has to be the loud burping. Surely there is nothing more becoming on an woman, or man for that matter, than that sound, and more so, them finding their own bodily emissions funny. What a girl, definitely the sort you'd like to take home to meet the parents.

On a separate and far more appetising note, I've discovered two restaurants worth mentioning:

Firstly, there's Roka on Charlotte Street. It's the only restaurant I know of that does robata Japanese food in London, though saying that I'm not as big a Japanese foodie as Rufus is, so there may be others. The food here is damn good, and the whole place oozes class - which, admittedly, is reflected in the bill. The preparation area is decorated with beautiful bright coloured fresh veg, and the mouthwatering smells are enough to get any appetite up. The food is very very good - especially their robata menu. Their sashimi is OK, but expensive I found for what you get. I'd definitely stick to the robata menu, which is after all their specialty.

Next is Zest, which is a new dim sum restaurant that has opened on Great Portland Street. Their dim sum (there is a fried and steamed menu) is delicious and excellent value. In fact, their food is so good it rivals Hakkasan's - except it's a lot cheaper than Hakkasan, and they don't have soft-shelled crab. They also don't boast a celebrity clientele, though on the numerous occasions I have eaten at Hakkasan, I have never once seen a celebrity there.

The biggest problem Zest has is its location. Nearly every restaurant that has opened in that spot has closed within a few months, primarily, I think, because people don't really associate that stretch of Great Portland Street with restaurants. The food here is good though, and as it's local to me I want it to stay open - so please check it out.

Zest Bar Restaurant Lounge. 195 Great Portland Street. W1W 5PS. 020 636 8982.

Photo: c/o logicalentity.com

Too many kids!

2006-08-04T08:14:00.000+01:00

This article appeared in this week's issue of Closer magazine, about a woman who has 13 kids, and at the age of 42 is heavily pregnant with the 14th.

It's pretty typical of a lot of articles we see here in England, and they invariably include that despite the fact that the family has little income, lives in a four bedroom house, and never goes on holiday, they have a lot of love to go round, which is after all what counts. Oh yes, that and the fact that Tracy enjoys having babies so much she just never wants to stop. It's not mentioned in the article, but I'll bet my socks they receive some sort of government benefits too.

I'm all for big families - I was one of four kids, my dad was one of five, and my mother one of a more modest three. I hated my siblings while growing up though - their mere existence was one less toy or moment of my parents time, and for the most part, we fought. Being the youngest I was often the brunt of their jokes and a convenient scapegoat for their misdeeds. It was only in my mid teens that I came to really get on with and enjoy their company, and now we're all pretty close and form a strong support network for each other. So big families defintely have their benefits, but the bigger the family, the less cash and parental attention there is to go around - it's a simple fact.

When I see these people who despite having a meagre household income, willingly have 10 or 15 kids, I always feel immensly sorry for the children. Forget material stuff like clothes and toys, even on a basic level, things like school trips or extra lessons, or sports materials, these things cost money, and the more kids you have, the less they are going to be able to enjoy these extra opportunities. And in a world that increasingly demands higher standards of education and a degree even to fry a burger, what about university fees? Then there's being able to spend one on one time with your children, helping them with their homework, or even throwing a ball around with them - essential bonding stuff. And this doesn't even take into account the fact that one of your children may develop a severe learning problem, or a chronic medical condition, which requires not just more money, but a good deal of your time.

And what also often happens in these immensely large families that don't live in a communal environment, is that kids are forced into parental roles from a very young age. Because I don't care what you say, but with 13 kids, and a baby on the way - you sure as hell don't have time to look after everyone. Sure, it's good for kids to learn responsibility, but they should also be out playing and being kids, and not be forced to have to play mom on a daily basis, when they themselves are still children. I saw a programme on TV, and this little girl was like nine-years-old and having to get her toddler sister up, dressed, and fed each morning. God knows there's plenty of time to be an adult, when you are an adult, why force kids into that role not through third world poverty or some tragedy, but your own cognizant selfish actions.

Tracy's husband, despite grinning in the photo, has to work seven days a week to help support his large family. But, according to her, "Neither of us would have it any other way. We'll have enough time to spoil ourselves when they are all grown up."

Photo: Closer Magazine, issue 198

The Beckhams get airbrushed - again, and the descent of good television

2006-08-03T22:08:00.000+01:00

There's nothing quite like (yet another) absurdly airbrushed picture of the Beckhams on the cover of OK magazine to get me back to blogging, albeit mid-cough. I've written about how I think the Beckhams have some kind of 'airbrush only' photo deal with OK magazine before, and it's beyond me why any of the so-called celebrity magazine columnists haven't picked up on it yet. I mean, just look at this picture (click to enlarge), the woman has no detail on her skin - at all, and they've done quite a bit of work on David too. OK, so all celebs get airbrushed on their CD covers and in photo shoots (I have a mate who actually does this retouching stuff for a living), but there's a point where it just becomes absurd and looks painted. Poor Victoria Beckham, it's like she asks for it.

In this week's copy of Now magazine, there are some extremely unflattering photos of Kerry Katona in a bikini, topless, tucking into a hamburger while on holiday in Spain. It remains a mystery to me why this woman continues to get so much coverage, after all, she'd done very little aside from a few Iceland ads (which admittedly she's good in), since I don't know when. Are our own lives so boring and lifeless that we have to put even arbitrary talentless people on a pedestal? I think it's a very strange development in popular culture, the same one that has given rise to such shows as Big Brother.

I watched the second and third series of Big Brother and then stopped. I'm not a TV snob, god knows I watch my share of crap - but it has to be compelling. I just fail to find a bunch of superficial, and in many cases, boring people with a severe case of wannabedom compelling viewing. I actually knew someone, who when they couldn't sleep, would put on the telly and watch the contestants sleeping. Jaysus - what happened to reading a book or even a good old fashioned wank? The phrase 'get a life' comes to mind.

The best thing that ever came out of Big Brother in my humble opinion, is Jade Goody. Despite being severely challenged in the intelligence department (and I'm being kind in my description), she's a sharp little business woman, and has earned celebrity status by working hard on various TV and promotional projects. She's funny and doesn't pretend to be something she's not. I read her column in Now magazine, because unlike the insipid Zoe Williams (who tries to be witty but never actually says anything no doubt for fear of litigious action) Jade has an opinion, and says exactly what's on her mind, often mirroring exactly what the rest of us are thinking.

On George Michaels recent Hampstead Heath shenanigans with the intrepid Norman she writes:

"What the hell was George Michael doing on London's Hampstead Heath the other day?' I didn't even realise that people picked up men in bushes these days. George is loaded, his boyfriend isn't that bad looking (that bad looking - classic!), and yet he chooses a horrible, crusty man to fondle in the woods."

Another show I don't watch is ITV's Love Island - filled with another bunch of unremarkable D-listers. This years show has however got everyone (read: crappy magazines I buy) talking because of model Sophie Anderton's constant crying and shameless obsession with someone called Shane Lynch. Nope, don't know who he is either.

What I don't understand is why on earth anyone, who values their public persona or indeed wants to promote it, would willingly sign up to do a show that's about getting it on, or in Sophie's case, not getting it on with other D-listers in Fiji. It's like they go through their entire deluded narcissistic lives thinking how hot they are, and then go on a show in front of thousands (I'm hesitant to say millions because I'm not sure how many viewers it has), to get rejected. Talk about setting yourself up.

Aye yaye yai! what happened to good old fashion TV like Dallas and the A-Team?

Photo: This weeks copy of OK magazine

Mel Gibson's mug shot

2006-08-01T16:00:00.000+01:00

This is probably old news to a lot of you now, but sick or not, I couldn't let a Mel Gibson anti-Semitic rampage go unblogged.

Firstly I saw he was arrested for driving under the influence. Then, the next day on people.aol.com, I saw he had issued an apology for things he had said when he was arrested. The apology included these rather enigmatic phrases, "and said things that I do not believe to be true and which are despicable. I am deeply ashamed of everything I said."

Naturally I was intrigued, I mean, what could he say that was so bad that he had to issue an apology? Surely when you are drunk and a celebrity, cops are quite used to hearing stuff like, "Hey man, do you know who I am, I'm the Hoff." But no, it's a lot (lot) worse than that.

According to the leaked police report, and c/o thesuperficial.com (and numerous other reputable sources), Gibson's tirade went like this:

Once inside the car, a source directly connected with the case says Gibson began banging himself against the seat. The report says Gibson told the deputy, "You mother f****r. I'm going to f*** you." The report also says "Gibson almost continually [sic] threatened me saying he 'owns Malibu' and will spend all of his money to 'get even' with me." The report says Gibson then launched into a barrage of anti-Semitic statements: "F*****g Jews... The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world." Gibson then asked the deputy, "Are you a Jew?" The deputy became alarmed as Gibson's tirade escalated, and called ahead for a sergeant to meet them when they arrived at the station. When they arrived, a sergeant began videotaping Gibson, who noticed the camera and then said, "What the f*** do you think you're doing?" A law enforcement source says Gibson then noticed another female sergeant and yelled, "What do you think you're looking at, sugar tits?"

According to people.aol.com, the effects of his unbelievable comments are already starting:

The impact on Gibson's career may have already begun. On Monday, ABC announced it had canceled plans for a miniseries about the Holocaust that Gibson's Icon Productions had been developing.

How can a person who is so clearly anti-semitic have anything at all to do with a production about the Holocaust? Unless of course he was planning on using the miniseries to say it never happend, like his father.

The official police report (scroll down).

Photo: Official police mug shot c/o tmz.com

Celebs in trouble

2006-07-29T21:53:00.000+01:00

Lindsay Lohan received a warning letter from the management on her latest movie 'Georgia Rule' for her no-shows, tardiness, and general diva-attitude. The letter included the words, 'we refuse to accept bogus excuses for your behaviour' and 'you have acted like a spoiled child.' Ouch!

Paul McCartney has filed for divorce from Heather Mills McCartney blaming the split on her 'argumentative and unreasonable behaviour.' Mills is said to be peeved, and according to her spokesman, "She does not feel the need to repudiate claims that she may be headstrong or feisty. She is hugely disappointed that matters of such a confidential nature should be aired in public and feels it is inappropriate to speak about such delicate matters when a child is involved.”

Well it certainly makes for a change from the usual and oft qouted celeb 'irreconcialable differences.' Here, finally, we have a couple of people who admit they are getting a divorce because, gosh golly, they can't stick each other. The papers are saying this is probably going to be one of the most expensive divorce's in Britain. I recall reading a while back that Mills was happy to settle, but have a feeling that with McCartney putting on the gloves like this, she's going to pack a mean punch of her own and make full use of the lack of pre-nup.

And finally, when his not making bloody films about Jesus, holier than though Mel Gibson gets bust on suspicion of drink driving.

PS: Thanks to those of you who asked - I'm still sick, but thank god it's a lot cooler here in London now, and the only sweating I'm doing is down to a good old viral fever and not the heatwave. I'm praying I get better soon, because on Friday it's a month till we get married and bikini wearing time. That's bikini wearing on our honeymoon - not our wedding. Right now I've still got enough flab on my stomach and thighs to rival any self respecting Mars Bar eating truck driver, and I haven't been able to go to the gym all week.

Photo: c/o thesuperficial.com

Brangalina & Shiloh immortalised in fugly wax effigy

2006-07-27T22:38:00.000+01:00

So I'm sick for two days, and what happens in my absence? Only the ugliest, creepiest waxwork creation of Angelina, Brad and baby Shiloh - that's what. You know you must be super famous when people make scary effigys that don't even look like you out of wax. More pictures of the fugly thing here.

I contracted a weird coughing virus this week, and as it happens, got called with a bunch of work. Work is good and always welcome, but why is it the moment I get sick, and a temperature, and can hardly focus because my eyes are running and burning, suddenly loads of people need things from me? Other days, when I'm fit and healthy - there's me watching Oprah and painting my nails, I mean, running 5k, doing research for my book, helping the needy.

And in celeb news:

- Another alleged (unaccompanied by any photos) celebrity sighting of Suri Cruise.

- According to her recently laid-off pool man Britney spears is not very nice.

MSNBC reports:

"I was hanging out a little bit,” ex-employee Jon LaLanne told In Touch Weekly. “She came out screaming at Kevin for lying around, then looked at me like I was to blame.” The next day, LaLanne, says he got a call from Spears’ people, telling him not to report for work.

She probably thought he was one of Spenderline's layabout mooching buddies, or maybe she caught Kevin and the poolman ... .

- Prince's wife has filed for divorce. I had no idea Prince was even married. I wonder if it was on the grounds that he wears more makeup than her, and clothes better suited to Icescapades performers?

- In pictures, Scarlett Johansson opens wide for Letterman.

- And last but not least, no post would be complete with out a drunk Hoff incident, so here it is. The latest is that the Hoff's people deny that he was turned away from boarding a BA flight at Heathrow for being too pissed, and say it was because he was sick.

According to MSNBC:

The Sun reported the actor had been told he could not board the flight because he was drunk. Witnesses told the newspaper Hasselhoff appeared to have trouble standing and told staff he was upset about his divorce from Pamela Bach. The divorce was finalized Wednesday in a Los Angeles court. Source
Photo: c/o wwtdd.com

George Michael knows sexy when he sees it

2006-07-25T07:48:00.000+01:00

This great hunk of spunk is Norman Kirtland, a 58-year-old jobless van driver, and according to the News of The World, George Michaels most recent cottaging partner.

The NSW appeared to bust Michael and Kirtland as they were coming out of the bushes, and 'When challenged George, 43, was wild-eyed and trembling. Trying to hide his face under a baseball cap, he screamed: "I don't believe it! F*** off! If you put those pictures in the paper I'll sue!" '

He then apparently left in his Mercedes, while his love interest, Norman, drove off in a van with a 'grubby, stained mattress visible in the back.'

The most amazing bit is that the NSW then actually followed this Norman chap back to his flat and got an interview out of him, after he answered the door naked that is, 'pulling on grimy shorts' as he invited them in.

Said Norman: ""I don't even like George Michael. And I didn't recognize him immediately. He sort of came up and got close. He looked kind of brown so I said to him, 'You're not totally English, are you?' I told him I'd come all the way up from Brighton and he said, 'What? Isn't Brighton good enough for this sort of thing?' I told him it's highly dangerous at 2am. You'd get your throat cut. He told me I could contact him on the Gaydar website and we just started kissing.

Check this out for the full story and pictures. They even have a 'sex shame slideshow' - I kid you not.

I love all the NSW references to 'grimy', 'dingy', and 'grubby,' when referring to Kirtland, just in case we didn't quite get how sordid the whole thing is supposed to be - classic.

Thanks to wwtdd.com for the initial heads-up.

Picture: c/o newsoftheworld.co.uk

Per Person

2006-07-24T20:16:00.000+01:00

So you hire a wedding planner, because they're supposed to make your life easier by organising and sourcing things for you, so you don't have to. And if you're lucky, you find one who takes it upon his/herself to locate the best available deals on your behalf. That is if you've got a planner who is used to dealing with budgets, and I have a feeling ours isn't. The last time we met, Miguel was telling me about a couple of his Japanese clients, whose only specification was that they had the most expensive of everything - taking the catering price (per person) to just under 1000 Euros. They must have had some amazing wines at that price, which were hand-picked by the couple's male personal assistant, who flew in especially ahead of the wedding to oversee everything. I don't think my planner actually met the couple until the day of the wedding.

Though we have a fairly decent budget, no one likes to feel they are paying a lot of money for something which they know they can get cheaper elsewhere. Food, wine and flowers - we're happy to spend a bit extra on, after all, these are the sorts of things you have to get right. But when it comes to smaller items, things that help create a mood, but are non essential and often not even visible, then I feel it's a good idea to shop around for more economical options.

Just this morning I was able to source our favours from an online American company for a quarter of the price our planner had found. Not only do they look nicer, but they are the colour we want, and are customized. Likewise on candles. I'm just annoyed that it's me that has had to have the initiative to shop around for these things, and more so, will now have to schlepp them to the South of France.

I love our planner - he is kind, has great taste, is enourmously generous with his time, and has a string of the best suppliers in his part of the world, so I know we're going to get something spectacular with them on board. However, and this is the same with regards to anyone you put in charge of something on your behalf, you do have to keep tabs on things in order to manage creep. Ultimately these guys are creatives and there mission in life is to actualise a vision. More often than not, they are deaf, dumb and blind when the word 'budget' is mentioned. I know, because I used to be a creative myself, and used to find the mere mention of 'budget' a vulgar utterance in the presence of my creative (and arrogant) genius. *cough* *cough*

Though having a planner does takes a huge weight off in terms of running around and organisation, your responsibility then becomes reigning them in to ensure you are not presented with a massive bill at the end of it all, and left scratching your head thinking, 'Jaysus, I didn't realise just how expensive candles were." Ah, but don't you remember, I told you, the candles had monograms, that were blessed by the pope and the holders were hand stitched by Buddhist monks, on a full moon, while chewing lotus leaves. I mean, duh!

And when it comes to weddings, you very soon learn to hate the words 'per person'. Everything - even down to the rental price of the individual napkin rings is priced per person. This is why when a friend of mine suggested, in the absence of his partner, he might bring a date who is unknown to either Robert or me, I nearly hit the roof. Not only were the invites for addressee only, thereby ensuring we only have people attend that we both know, but didn't this guy realise what this unknown date's napkin ring was costing us?

Honestly, it's this kind of crap that results in women losing a ton of weight ahead of their weddings. It's not that you go on any kind of diet, it's just who can eat when one the one hand you are busy keeping an eye on an ever ascending budget, and on the other having to politely tell your friends and family that your have to draw a line somewhere. And once all your RSVP's are in, if their spouse or girlfriend cannot make it, as sad as it is, it also happens to be one less person to pay for. Forget bringing the girl you just met but swear is your soul mate. Soul mate? Do you know how long it took me to do my table plans, and find you a place at the singles but not single table? Do you honestly want to screw up my boy-girl ratio? Do you?

The whole thing becomes an ugly case of brass tax, and I think the honeymoon was designed simply so that you can recover from all the haggling and politics, and spend the time writing long apologetic emails to everyone you've managed to offend in the run-up to the big day. Honeymoon indeed.

Famous weddings

2006-07-24T12:50:00.000+01:00

I came across these classic pics on MSNBC of some of the most famous and infamous weddings of our time.

Grace Kelly and Prince Rainer of Monaco, 1956. "The two met when Kelly was attending the Cannes Film Festival the previous year, and Rainer proposed with a 12-carat diamond ring."

Elvis Presley and Priscilla Beaulieu, 1 May 1967. "The reception at Las Vegas' Aladdin Hotel featured an elaborate banquet of everything from Southern Fried chicken to roast suckling pig."

Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio, 14 January 1954. Monroe filed for divorce in October of that same year. In 1962 (having rekindled their relationship), she was found dead from a suspected drug overdose, as they were preparing to remarry.

John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette, 21 September 1996. "Just 40 close friends and family attended the private ceremony; Kennedy wore his fathers watch."

Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, 1964. They were divorced after 10 years of marriage, but remarried a year and a half later, divorcing again not long after that.

Anna Nicole Smith and J. Howard Marshall, 1994. "The 26-year-old former topless dancer and Playboy centerfold wed the 89-year-old oil billionaire, who dropped dead 14 months later." Smith is still battling his son for her alleged right to half her late husband's fortune.

Lady Diana Spencer and the Prince of Wales on 29 July 1981. "750 million people worldwide tuned in for the ceremony... "

Aristotle Onassis and Jackie Kennedy on 20 October 1968. "With just a handful of relatives in attendance, Onassis and Kennedy tied the knot on the groom's private island of Skorpios."

Britney Spears and Kevin Federline, 18 September 2004. "Speculation in the media that Brit is about to bail has run rampant since the two tied the knot."

Pictures and qoutations c/o msnbc.com

Hen Night

2006-07-24T10:22:00.000+01:00

I celebrated my Hen Night with about 16 of my girlfriends on Saturday night. I was terrified for about two weeks in the run up to it, having nightmarish visions of what they might have planned for me. Eventually I resigned myself to the fact that there would be some embarrassment, but was adamant about one thing.

I started going to night clubs from the age of 15 or so, and at that time it was popular to draw in female customers by having 'ladies night' until 10pm, before blokes were allowed in. This invariably involved some sort of performance by a group of young men who would dance around like eejits in G-Strings, with badly styled long hair, and covered in baby oil. It didn't appeal to me then, and it still doesn't. It strikes me as the sort of thing that older ladies, whose husbands have grown enormous beer bellies and would rather watch sports than seduce their wives, go wild for. It's just not something that arouses any sort of feeling in me, other than abject discomfort and embarrassment on behalf of the poor fools jumping around in those stupid outfits.

"But it's supposed to be silly," my girlfriends chimed. Yes OK, silly. But the mere idea of being the centre of attention, while some greasy chap dances all over me, makes me cringe, and I imagine praying for a large hole in the floor to appear so it will swallow me up. Not fun - horrible, embarrassing and terrifying.

The girls respected my 'No Stripper!' wishes, but still managed to buy me an array of naughty stuff, including something that resembles a part of the male anatomy, smells of liquorice, and is edible. Enough said. There were other things too, but as they say 'What happens on a hen night, stays on a hen night.' Or rather, stays in my bedside drawer.

Louise, along with help from Jane, did a fantastic job of arranging an evening that was fun, a bit naughty, yet thoroughly elegant, which is more than I could have wished for. Some of my other girlfriends have their hen nights coming up, and I'm told one in particular is going to be the very antithesis of mine.

My friend tells me she wants tarty outfits (worn by the hen party), strippers, drunkeness, the lot! She's actually encouraging her bridesmaid to make it as tawdry as possible. And the weird thing is, knowing I'm not going to be the one who is the centre of some guy called Carlos's attention, I'm actually looking forward to it. Bring on the baby oil!

Getting it right

2006-07-21T09:49:00.000+01:00

I was talking to my soon to be sister-in-law Becky last night about our upcoming wedding and more so, the things that are a source of stress for me. For a lot of it she looked at me blankly like I was a complete nutter, and it's not the first time I've had that look when talking about our big day. Chatting to two of our friends earlier in the week, who are also getting married this year, they completely 'got' what I was worried about, and shared their suggestions of how they are handling similar problems. I guess unless you've done it, or are doing it, a lot of what people who are wedding planning talk about seems like insanity. And If I look at things objectively, a lot of the stuff is simply insane. This week I found myself asking our planner if he can source white high chairs, because they'll match our other chairs. Enough said.

Being a perfectionist doesn't help matters much either. I blame my parents. When my father (who spoke both English and Afrikaans fluently) used to check my Afrikaans homework at my request, he would often riddle it with red pen corrections and marks. I soon learnt to do it on a scrap piece of paper first, before transferring the corrected work into my school book. He'd hand it back to me with an annoyed look on his face and say, "Your Afrikaans is well and truly shocking."

If I asked my mom for help with something like a knitting exercise for Home-Ec, if she spotted a mistake, she'd often pull out rows of my hard work (that had taken me hours to do) till she reached the mistake, and tell me to start over. On occassion she'd even rewash dishes I'd already washed 'because they weren't done properly.' My parents believed in being honest, and more so, in getting things right. There was none of this soft and cuddly 'it doesn't matter honey it's good enough' stuff. Wrong was wrong, and you did it over until you got it right.

Similarly, my creative director and direct boss when I worked in advertising, was a consummate perfectionist. She felt nothing to delay a shoot, despite us going over budget in production time (it's no wonder our producer was stick thin and a chain smoker), or it being 3am and everyone being exhausted. She'd keep us all there until she got what she wanted. And seeing how savage the advertising execs and clients could be about a piece of work, I soon started to see that she had good reason. It was easy enough to please people by sending them home at a reasonable hour and not go over budget, but when it came to delivering the work, if it wasn't right, no one cared that you'd been nice or stuck to budget, you simply hadn't delivered.

She taught me that you should never settle for something that you are not 100% happy with, especially if you were responsible for it, just to please people. And although it doesn't always endear you to others, and indeed can make your life difficult, there is something quite wonderful about sitting back and enjoying something that is just as you envisioned it. In fact I've used this philosophy to my benefit while project managing a lot of building work in our home over the past year, and you'd be amazed at what people try and pass off as good enough, unless you draw a line about your specifications.

Knowing this about myself, I didn't want to get into the whole control freak thing when it came to our wedding, but lo and behold, I have, hence the white high chairs. I've found that running is an effective form of stress release, and yesterday I went to the gym twice. It's either that or taking up smoking again, and aside from my hen night (where I've given myself license to have a few cheeky fags), I don't want to pick up the habit again.

And now I need to look at those candle jpgs my planner sent me. Let's hope they are in glass holders ...

Demi Moore insults her royal hosts

2006-07-20T10:55:00.000+01:00

Demi Moore insulted her royal hosts recently, when she changed into a pair of jeans and a T-Shirt mid-way through an 1800's themed masked costume ball.

The ball was held for Princess Beatrice's (Prince Andrew and Fergie's daughter) 18th birthday party at Windsor Castle, costing an estimated $725,000. Apparently, of the 300 guests, among which were actual Lords and Ladies, Moore was the only one to change half-way through the event.

Having hosted costume parties in the past, it is an annoyance when some people don't dress up, because I feel it completely changes the mood and atmosphere of what you are trying to achieve for the evening. And at $725 thousand bucks, I imagine they pulled out all the stops to have something quite beautiful and authentic looking. So I can understand why her hosts might have felt annoyed with what she did.

I can however understand how restrictive certain outfits can be, especially something like a period ball gown. But come on Demi, you're a 40 plus year old woman, not a teenager anymore. In a situation like that I would have (a) checked to see if anyone else was changing and if not, stuck to what I was wearing or (b) if I had to change, for say, fear of no being able to breathe, then I would have changed into an easier to wear cocktail or evening dress, thereby not detracting from the elegance of the evening. But why lower the tone by wearing jeans? Really bad form.

Source

Kate Bosworth is disappearing

2006-07-19T21:02:00.000+01:00

It's hard to believe, but this beautifully toned young woman is actually Kate Bosworth. I gather this was taken around the release of the surfer film she featured in entitled Blue Crush in 2002/3.

Now why any woman in their right mind would think that a skeletal frame would be preferable to a gorgeously toned body like this is anyone's guess. Not sure what's going on with Kate Bosworth these days, but the girl looks dangerously close to anorexia, as you can see in the picture below right, and one further below, taken at the recent Superman Returns premier.

Kate it's not sexy, it makes people think of starvation and death. Please go back to your trainer and start eating some protein!

Celebrities on marriage and babies

2006-07-19T16:09:00.000+01:00

I just don't get this recent photograph of J-Lo (on the right). It looks as though it's been put through one of those aging computer programmes to show you what you will look like when you hit 60. Maybe married life with Marc Anthony is really really stressful.

And in other news, Pamela Anderson is getting married to Kid Rock. On her website she writes:

Yes. I'm finally getting remarried...it's been a whirlwind...spontaneous but well thought through. Feels like I've been stuck in a time warp. Not able to let go of MY family picture...it's been sad and lonely and frustrating....I've raised my kids alone in hope of a miracle. Well my miracle came and went. And came back and came back because he knew that I'd wake up one day and realize that I was waiting for nothing. I'm moving on...I feel like I'm finally free....I'm in love. I'm happy....I see the light...sounds dramatic but it's true.....I know some women can relate to this....My children are getting older. They know the truth and they are strong, smart kids. They love their Dad. They love their new Step Dad who they've known for years...time will pass. Wounds will heal. Some people may never grow up. Actions speak louder than words....watch!

Maybe it's just me (and having spoken to my grandmother this afternoon I have a whole new healthy dose of cynicism to impart), but if you date a guy and it doesn't work out, the fact that he just keeps coming back doesn't necessarily mean he's the right guy for you and you should give in and marry him. He may well just be tenacious, a stalker, like your cooking, or enjoy the makeup sex you keep having with him and know you shouldn't. My advice (for what it's worth) is if it doesn't feel right the first few times round, chances are, it aint right, even if his tattoos are spelt correctly.

And finally, a rare opportunity to see Linda Evangelista with fat arms. OK, ok, so they aren't really fat, and actually just look human and un-twig-like for once, thanks to her pregnancy. Evangelista, who is 41, is on the cover of the August issue of Vogue. And according to MSNBC, "she's the first model, not a Hollywood star, to be featured on the magazine's cover in more than a year."

Last but not least, Britney finally got an apology from the British National Enquirer for saying what everyone knows to be true, except for Spears herself it seems, and according to people.aol.com the magazine published the following retraction:

"In the 5th and 12th June 2006 issues of the U.K. Enquirer, we published articles under the headlines 'Britney Marriage is Over!' and 'Britney and Kevin: And Now Their Divorce!' " the Enquirer said in its latest edition on newsstands on Tuesday. "Contrary to what our articles might have suggested, we now accept that their marriage is not over and they are not getting divorced," the British National Enquirer added. "These allegations are untrue and we now accept Britney's position that the statements are without foundation. We apologize for any distress caused," it added.

As much as I think K-Fed is a loser and Britney should throw his sponging ass out of her life, I also think the poor woman has been through enough grief at the hands of the tabloids lately, and it must nice to get this sort of apology for once.

Picture c/o people.aol.com

Ken Livingston doesn't believe in aircon

2006-07-19T13:55:00.000+01:00

In case you haven't heard, or melted yet, London is experiencing a heat wave. Today temperatures are set to soar to 36 degrees.

While I was doing the washing-up I heard that eejit Ken Livingston on the radio telling people to avoid using air conditioners as they emit even more heat out onto the streets. Now, perhaps he has a point there from an eco perspective, but I think it's virtually impossible trying to work without air con in temperatures like this. I wonder if old Ken tells the building manager to turn off the aircon in the Gherkin, or wherever his office is. Hmmm, somehow I doubt it.

I also heard on the radio they are going to let schools in Westminster out at 1pm because the temperatures in classrooms will be dangerously high. In addition they plan on taking precautions by putting gritt on the roads for fear they will melt.

Good grief - good old rainy London, who'd have thought it?

Personally I am thanking Jesus, Mary and Joseph that I don't have to take a tube anywhere today because that is a nightmare scenario for someone that doesn't like closed spaces or crowds, especially now in tourist season. And in this weather, add to the mix searing 40 plus degree temperatures inside those sardine cans we call the tube. In addition, everyone will be sweating (it's hot - people sweat, fact of life), and a good percentage of those people will disregard basic personal hygiene. With my luck they usually stand right next to me, with their armpit sickeningly close to my face as they reach for the hand-rail. Usually they will have eaten garlic or curry for dinner the night before. Yes indeed, I am very happy I am not making use of Ken Livingston's glorious (non airconditioned) public transport system today.

And if you are unlucky enough to have to, remember to keep a big bottle of water with you and stay hydrated.

Picture c/o: julieleung.com

The dress

2006-07-19T09:19:00.000+01:00

I went dress shopping yesterday, what an experience. Growing up in South Africa we didn't really have designer shops. I'm not sure if that was a sanctions related thing, or perhaps we just weren't considered a viable market back in those days. If you wanted a nice dress for a function, you tried a boutique, inevitably owned by a snooty woman who wore too much makeup, had big hair, and a fondness for sequence and beading. Failing finding a dress in these overpriced little shops, you had a dress made. My sister had a collection of taffeta and satin numbers thanks to all the dances she was asked to. I had one - enough said.

I'd been looking for a very specific dress, which Louise tells me was my number one mistake. Having something so clearly in your head (that you don't actually know exists) means you are less open to alternatives should you fail to find it. Well, if you are looking for a summer evening dress right now, let me just warn you, you will struggle, as did I. I have been in every single shop in central London (ok not quite, but it feels that way), both high street and designer, and it aint looking good. Yes there are nice dresses, and some of them did actually fit me, but the pickings are slim.

The tall skinny gay shop assistant at Liberty summed it up: Looking at me like I was some sad deranged woman when I told him what I was looking for, he sagely replied, "Oh my, you've left it late. The new season is in - the fabrics are all heavier and darker. I have customers buying their winter coats already!" I looked down at my red blistered feet and wondered who the hell goes winter clothes shopping in London during a heatwave, and then I remembered: Women who step out of air-conditioned cars into air-conditioned stores and back again, or their stylists.

Eventually I thought fuck it, I'm not going to worry about price and just go and try on stuff and see if I find something. It's this kind of desperation that leads to a blatant disregard of credit card damage, the sort that has landed more than a few women in trouble with their banks or husbands.

Now if you want to shop designer in Central London, New Bond Street is the place to go. However, the key is not to be intimidated, because it's easily done. Shops like Donna Karan, Dolce & Gabanna, Gucci etc, have fearsome looking men in black suits with ear pieces guarding the doors. It's quite terrifying actually getting up the nerve to go in, but once you do you'll find these guys rather courteous and in some cases surprisingly friendly.

Also, contrary to popular belief, although you may only see skinny mini's on the catwalks and red carpets wearing designer kit, these designers are not idiots and know that a large portion of their client base require bigger (read human) sizes. I couldn't believe it when the tall thin Japanese assistant in Celine informed me that they had a size 40 should the 38 not fit.

To summarize my experiences, because I went into every bloody shop along that strip (even the super scary ones) the people at Donna Karan (not DKNY) are very friendly, as are the people in Dolce & Gabanna, less so in Armani. Because the garments mostly cost what it would take to run a small African country, they are understandably nervous of people simply browsing (more so touching), so they approach you fairly quickly as you enter the shop offering assistance. The trick is to look confident (and not terrified) and say "I'd like to browse please," in which case they do tend to back off. Alternatively, tell them what you are looking for and let them help you.

Be warned though: When they assist you by bringing a whole lot of dresses to the change room for you to try, chances are you will not have had an opportunity to vet the prices, so make a point of checking the labels before you fall in love with the dress or let them work their sales magic on you by telling you how fabulous you look in it. I tried on some stunning dresses in Donna Karan, one of which was so expensive I nearly choked, and ensured I put it on and took it off extremely carefully lest I damage it in any way. Despite being on sale, it was still way over my price range, but it was nice to try something like that on.

Yet despite going into shops that dress the rich and famous and trying on an array of things (not all of them as beautifully made as others considering the price!), by 5.30 I still hadn't found what I was looking for, even if I did disregard the price. Having given up completely (I mean, if I can't find a dress in Donna Karan, what hope do I have right?) and making my way to meet Robert, I stopped in at one final shop.

The tall, skinny, gay assistant (why are they all tall, skinny and gay?) who resembled Andy Warhol (but taller and Italian), approached me and made no bones about looking me up and down. I told him what I was looking for (there was no time to browse) and he barked, "Whatta size you are?" and then proceeded to reach out and touch my stomach and hips. I kid you not. I was so caught off guard I didn't have a chance to react. I suppose these guys are so used to working with models and clothes horses that they think it's OK to just touch you. Anyway, it wasn't remotely sexual, but I did't even have a chance to suck my gut in, and I think that's what most annoyed me.

He chose three dresses for me, one of which was a shorter version of something I'd seen Victoria Beckham in recently, which embarrassingly, gave me a bit of a thrill to try on. It looked good from the waist up, but the material at the bottom was made for someone who has no cellulite. Ergo, not me. By this point he also had me in a pair of gorgeous jeweled high-heel sandals (these guys really know how to sell) and was fawning over how great I looked. I pointed out the visible cellulite in my thighs (and you know its bad when it shows through fabric!) and he was like, "Ohhhh (breathing out at the same time), yeah, ok nexta dress!"

And then finally, I found it. It was one that I had pulled off a nearby rack as I was being marched to the dressing room by Italian Warhol. The first one was too small, despite it being my size, "De cut is very small," said while eyeing my stomach again. Fortunately, the next size up fit like a glove, albeit a very well fitted glove (read: god forbid I gain weight before I need to wear it.) I hadn't even given the OK yet, but sensing my moment of vain weakness (even my butt looked good - miracle!) Warhol started pinning the hem. When I suggested an inch shorter he smacked my hand away, "No! Eez more elegant dees way." He then approached with the most beautiful jacket (with belt) I have ever seen up close, and proceeded to put it on me and make adjustments here and there. I looked back at myself in the mirror and thought to myself, 'Oh my god, I look fabulous.' But it was just too expensive, so I looked at Warhol and said no. He nodded his head sadly and sloped off to put it back, not unlike a dissapointed child.

Looking at myself in that outfit it made me realize, we put celebrities on pedestals for being so gorgeous, but if you put on a beautifully cut garment that costs a fortune and have your hair and makeup done, chances are you'll look like a million bucks too. It's all very cosmetic at the end of the day - a sort of smoke and mirrors illusion, and certainly worth remembering when we feel inclined to knock ourselves.

On the way to the counter to pay for my new dress, which was expensive but fortunately not quite small country GNP expensive, I stopped briefly to admire the jacket, and then quickly reminded myself that I really didn't need it. No I didn't. Keep moving Lucille, just keep moving... .

Just added: I spelt Donna 'Karan' incorrectly, now corrected. It's with an 'a' not an 'e'. Shows you how much I know about designer clothes. Thanks to Derya for the tip.

Lindsay Lohan had bad skin, apparantly

2006-07-18T09:34:00.000+01:00

When she's not minxing around for GQ, Lindsay Lohan is getting paid a cool 2 million to say that she used to suffer from bad skin.

In a new commercial for Proactiv, which appears to be a product for acne sufferers, she talks candidly about spots and breakouts. Not sure if it's a smart move for her to be advertising acne products, what with her being considered such an uber cool sex symbol and all, but having worked in advertising and seen some truly appalling celebrity performances which certainly did not justify their hefty pay packets, I'd say she's not bad actually. Very relaxed in front of the camera, and dare I say it, almost believable. I say almost because everyone knows Lindsay Lohan is like way too cool to ever get a spot in her life.

Picture: c/o wwtdd.com

Carmen Electra and David Navarro call it quits

2006-07-18T09:16:00.000+01:00

According to their reps, Carmen Electra and David Navarro have separated. I hate to say it, but when I heard they were getting married initially, I was like "What???" Personally I think it's never a good idea to marry a man who (a) wears more makeup than you, (b) models his facial hair on satan's (c) does stuff like this with other men.

Sorry Carmen, but all the warning signs were there girlfriend.

Pictures:
Top: Navarro and Electra c/o people.aol.com
Bottom: David Navarro and Tommy Lee c/o wwtdd.com

The real deal

2006-07-17T13:43:00.000+01:00

Following my post on how I don't think Victoria Beckham is anorexic, I saw two genuinely anorexic women this week. One entered a clothing shop I was in, which is one of those rag and bone set ups that occasionally sell samples to the public. She was statuesque - over 6 feet, in her 40's, and incredibly gaunt. There were two small Italian girls hogging the makeshift dressing rooms so we all sort of tried on stuff over what we were wearing.

The tall women turned around at one of the racks and took off her top, and every single bone and vertebrae in her back was visible, thinly covered by skin. It was hard not to look, and at the same time feel a bit sick to my stomach. I don't mean this in a figurative judgmental way, I do genuinely feel quite unsettled and sometimes sick when I encounter a person that is that emaciated. I have a feeling it has something to do with watching concentration camp footage on television as a child.

Yesterday Robert and I were shopping in Tesco and another anorexic was paying at the counter. I think she was even thinner than the first woman, and I was amazed she was still mobile and not bed ridden, because she looked at deaths door. Her stage of anorexia appeared quite advanced and she had a layer of downy hair all over her skeletal arms and face. It was terribly sad, and I suppose one can only guess at what drives people to such alarming self harm.

I think there is a difference between women who diet to become thin or stay thin in order to accomplish a certain aesthetic ideal (admittedly some of them do take it too far), and women (and some men) who starve themselves to a point of a severe skeletal appearance. In the case of the latter it is certainly a serious psychological disorder, and I remember reading that of all the disorders it has the worst recovery rate. Trying to convince these girls that they are not fat, and that they need to eat or they will quite literally die is near to impossible.

On a far more positive note, Marcus had a party on Saturday night and I took it upon myself to effectively deal with all my wedding stress by getting drunk. I don't think I was the only one, which made me feel only slightly better when I woke up the next morning in a panick, trying to remember my embarrassing actions from the night before. Had I danced badly to a Gypsy King number? (check). Did I have long-winded bumbling conversationss that made no sense and inevitably bored the crap out of the person on the receiving end? (check). Had I gotten touchy feely affectionate with my friends, telling them how wonderful I thought they all are (double check). OK then, a fairly typical evening out - nothing too serious.

Victoria Beckham's 'thinspiration'

2006-07-14T08:44:00.000+01:00

On this week's cover of Now magazine the headline screams: 'POSH FIGHTS BACK ' I don't have an eating disorder. I'm just disciplined.' Earlier in the week, OK magazine also featured a (stupendously airbrushed) inset picture (not the one above) on their cover with the byline, 'I'm not anorexic, I eat like a pig.'

Now, maybe it's just me, but judging by the fact that she's all skin and bones, I think it's highly unlikely she eats like a pig, unless of course she's talking about pigging out on fresh air. So I think Now magazine may well have the more accurate quote.

Further on in the mag there is the usual blog-style page by Zoe (their supposedly witty columnist), with a little piece entitled 'Don't blame Posh!' Apparently, according to Zoe, pictures of VB are being used as thinspiration on pro-anorexia sites, and she's getting flak for this. Zoe goes on to sagely comment that this is a good reminder that anorexia is mental illness (lest we forget) and though it's very sad for the sufferers and their families (what insight!) it isn't Posh's fault.

So, what she was getting at in a very badly written indirect manner is that Victoria Beckham is being blamed for setting a bad example for women, especially younger women, by establishing unrealistic thinness standards.

I used to think this whole concept was absurd, I mean, who the hell models themselves on celebrities, or Victoria Beckham for that matter? But then I heard that when the skinny jean launched at Top Shop, their size 4 and 6 selection sold out in something like 2 days. For Americans, that's sizes o and 4.

I suppose a lot of younger girls do look at women in magazines and aspire to be like them, and unfortunately, well at least in the UK mags, someone like Victoria Beckham is continually in there with her sour face and emaciated frame. But before we start running in all directions screaming, and pulling at our clothes and hair in desperation, a recent pole revealed that Kate Winslet, Colleen Mcloughlin and Charlotte Church came out trumps in terms of what women considered ideal body shape, with VB being voted the worst. Which is a healthy sign that the women in this country are not the complete fashion slave eejits the media take them for.

Anorexia is not new, it's been around since the dawn of time, and though fashion trends can have a hand in it, a lot of it also has to do with a sense of self loathing, an attempt at gaining control, or in some extreme cases, a desire to commit suicide over a prolonged period. I don't think VB is anorexic, but I certainly think she has an eating disorder, and definitely denies herself. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the fact that she is scrutinized by the public 24-7, and in the recent World Cup situation, it was a blatant attempt at gaining publicity over the much younger, much prettier other footballer wives and girlfriends.

Do I blame her for setting a bad example? It's a tough one, on the one hand I think she's just a sad unhappy individual with body image issues, who happens to be in the public eye. But by turning around and saying something like, 'I don't have an eating disorder, I'm just disciplined' (if that's really what she said), she is implying that being that thin is a matter of discipline, and to be otherwise (by association) is to be undisciplined. So, there we have the whole control thing - classic eating disorder symptom - and a very direct message to other women.

Still, this is nothing compared to some of the sewage that has spilled out of the mouth of Liz Hurley in the past, with such jewels as: "I've always thought Marilyn Monroe looked fabulous, but I'd kill myself if I was that fat.'' And when asked which item of clothing she would ban in an interview, she said, "Anything that is too small or too tight, unless you're slim and toned." I'm sick of seeing flab bulging out all over." Yes, this coming from a woman who showcased one great dress, and now considers herself to be a fashionista despite wearing exactly the same style of dress for the last 10 years (tits out, slit up to the thigh, more often than not white) and white jeans. What a risk taker! Thanks for that Liz, but I don't think your opinion on what's hot and trendy really counts.

Shoot the stylist

2006-07-13T16:05:00.000+01:00

Ok, so Sarah Jessica Parker is no spring chicken. Nor has she ever been a conventional beauty. She's pretty in a quirky way, though nothing can be said about that gorgeous ballet toned body of hers. Admittedly she got a bit skinny there for a while, but she seems to be looking healthier these days, now that she doesn't have to wear size 4 designer kit for Sex & The City.

But the recent cover picture of her on Good Housekeeping is so horrendous it defies explanation. I posted the top pic, because that's a pap snap - and while she's probably got a shit-load of makeup on, I doubt it's been airbrushed - or if it has, not hugely. This photos shows that despite a few new lines around the eyes, she's still a very attractive woman.

Now how, I ask, did the people at Good Housekeeping manage to come up with the monstrosity below? Jesus, I didn't realise it was actually possible to make someone look this ugly without the use of prosthetics. Perhaps it's some new makeup look they are teaching over there in America - 'crystal meth soccer mom'? She looks like she's been stung in the face repatedly by dozens of bees, and is trying to smile through the excruciating pain of it all. Nasty nasty nasty.

Top pic c/o: absolutenow.com
Good Housekeeping cover c/o: gofugyourself.typepad.com

Whose day is it anyway?

2006-07-13T10:44:00.000+01:00

Rumor has it that Katie Holmes's parents may not attend her Scientology wedding service to Tom Cruise. They are devout Catholics, and wanted her to have a Catholic service, which apparently Katie wanted too, but realised she didn't stand a chance against the machine that is Tom Cruise and his weird cult, I mean, church.

A friend of mine who is also getting married this year, said to me somewhat sadly I thought: "Everyone goes on about how it's your big day, but it very rarely is," referring of course to the way parents can take over shamelessly. In fact I don't think I have spoken to anyone that has gotten married recently or is about to get married, that doesn't get a pained expression on their face when the subject of parental intervention comes up.

We circumvented the whole dad's old squash buddy, his wife and four kids problem, by paying for our own wedding, which gave us license to not only have exactly what we wanted, but also the final say as to whom we invited. But I think we've come to discover that we're also quite blessed with parents who are respectful of our wishes, because another friend of mine and her partner are also paying for their own wedding, but their parents are still trying to dictate the guest list.

I think it's definitely a generational thing. My parents used to get invited to loads of weddings, and sometimes they didn't even know the bride and groom that well, and in some cases had only a tenuous link to the parents. I just never got that - and neither Robert nor I wanted to have people at our wedding that we both didn't know fairly well. I don't think the parents were overjoyed about this, but they've managed to remain refreshingly silent about the whole thing - at least in front of us that is.

My sister came round this week and we tried on my wedding dress. It now zips right up without me having to breathe in so much that I risk breaking a rib. There is also none of that doubling up of the skin on my back, which is a relief, nor those horrible bits that hang over the side of the dress by the underarms. The waist is still pretty cinched, but I reckon another couple of kilos and it will be comfortable enough to wear for the duration of the ceremony and party, and not require a dress change.

I'd like to go and find that Russian dress maker in South Africa and throttle her. She told me, when I initially tried it on, that I only need to lose five kilos. That dress is a size 8 and when I tried it on back in December, I was almost a size 14. I should have known by the way it didn't even remotely zip up, and how she tried to hold it closed from behind with both hands (beads of sweat developing on her forehead), that it was much smaller than I thought it was. Five kilos my ass.

Photo: c/o vh1.com

Secret Agent Man

2006-07-13T09:55:00.000+01:00

I couldn't believe it either, but yet another Hoff materpiece has turned up: Secret Agent Man. I'm not sure which my favourite part is, because there's just do many of them you know? Right now I think it's a toss-up between him using the red lazer feature on his watch, or flying across the screen with a rocket pack attached to his back. Scintillating stuff.

Janice has her own show

2006-07-12T12:57:00.000+01:00

I had no idea who Janice Dickinson was until I saw her on Tyra Bank's series, America's Next Top Model, and after that, she stole the show for me. She's arrogant, rude, in your face, and yet, in my opinion at least, she revealed a genuine gut instinct with regards to which of the girls had it, and which didn't. Janice claims to have been the first true supermodel, and doesn't let anyone forget it either.

If, like me, you like watching her, if only for the morbid fascination factor, or staring at those massive fake boobs and wondering how much botox a human face can endure before exploding, she's got her own new reality TV show called 'The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency.'

The show tracks Janice starting up the agency - including recruiting new models, “You’re a thirty-seven ass? You gotta lose some poundage, missy!” Or in another episode, telling a model that what she really needed was “a big nose job.”

Dubbed the Simon Cowell of fashion reality TV shows, Janice isn't afraid to tell it like it is, or rather, tell it like she thinks it is. The way I see it, if you want to work in a cut-throat bitchy industry like fashion, best get a taste for it first with Janice to prepare you. Can't wait.

Photo: c/o goldenfiddle.com

Vertigo and baby Suri

2006-07-12T10:35:00.000+01:00

I went to see the doctor this morning and it turns out I have vertigo - some sort of inner ear problem that is causing my dizziness. It started a few weeks back, and has progressively worsened, with me being thrown off balance every time I get up, lie down, or make any sudden movements with my head.

It's even affected my training, and yesterday, while throwing punches at Guy (and trying very hard not to hit his sadistic face) I stumbled sideways with dizziness.

The doc has told me to lay off the boxing, or any quick responsive physical sort of exercises for a while, and to slow down how I get up and lie down. I've also been given meds to take three times a day, which will hopefully sort it out in a week or so. But he told me this sort of thing can also last for a few weeks. Fuck. I really enjoy my boxing - it's the only thing that makes all that crappy running around in the park worth it. Also, it's just over 6 weeks until our wedding, and this massively messes with my training plan. I'm just going to have to stick to slower movements for now, and perhaps focus on some weight training at the gym to keep up the toning.

And in the land of weird celeb baby sightings, or in this case non-sightings, what the hell is going on with baby Suri? Apparantely the kid has yet to be seen by anyone, and there's something strange about that birth certificate ...

Photo: Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes c/o msnbc.msn.com

Kate Bosworth is naturally small

2006-07-10T23:27:00.000+01:00

Of her recent dramatic weight loss (read: scary skeletal big headed alien look), Kate Bosworth says she's naturally small. Thanks Kate, like we haven't heard that one before.

And as per my previous entry (only this time accompanied by a pic) Lindsay Lohan says her new boobs are real, thanks to the weight she's regained. For your reference the left and right pictures are supposed to be the 'Before' and 'After' weight gain ones. Yeah, I can totally see the dramatic difference which would explain those knockers. I mean, that's if you can see past all that bulging fat.

Photos c/o people.aol.com

'Jump in my car' - the latest music video genius from The Hoff

2006-07-10T22:07:00.000+01:00

I'm writing this after being open-mouth gob smacked for about 10 seconds following an unfortunate viewing of the new David Hasselhoff 'Jump in my car' music video. There's so much that is skin crawlingly wrong and incomprehensible about it, I don't really know where to start.

Most glaringly disturbing is the fact that the girls he is trying to get to 'jump in his car’ (which happens to be none other than Kit car from Knight Rider), all look like 16 year old Viennese prostitutes. The fact that they are wearing skimpy gear and hanging out in what resembles a deserted alleyway doesn't help either.

Disturbing fact no 2. is that the Hoff is old enough to be their elderly father, and acts like the creepy uncle who tries to touch your ass over the holidays, and tells you what a big girl you’ve grown into, while staring at your breasts. *Shudder.*

Then there's the big question that we just have to ask (again): In this age of terrifically advanced film technology, affording even new start-up bands pretty cool videos, why oh why does the Hoff continue to make what look like 1980's (pre Thriller) shyte? I’m referring to the cheesy special effects (if one can call Power Point-type graphics special effects), bad lip synching, bad acting, bad everything. I may not be a film buff, but even I know shit when I see it.

After the last genius that was 'Hooked on a feeling', my sister Mags, who works in movies, thought it was so bad that it was clearly a joke. "There’s no way that’s real", she chortled, "it’s just too amateurish and badly made to be real. Someone's having a laugh." After seeing this one, I’m hoping to convince her that this guy is either off his trolley, incredibly tight when it comes to expenditure on his music videos, or thinks his German fan base are deaf and blind.

Recently he was refused entry to centre court at Wimbledon for being too pissed, and is qouted as saying, "You should let me in. Do you know who I am? I’m The Hoff.” I kid you not. The fact that he gets so rat arsed that he refers to himself as ‘The Hoff’, may go some way to explaining the weird shit that is 'Jump in my car'. I'm not even going to comment on the song itself.

PS: Look out for the scene in the video where he wears a T-shirt which reads 'Don't Hassle the Hoff.'

Photo c/o: davidhasselhoffonline.com

Don't go changing

2006-07-10T07:34:00.000+01:00

It’s less than seven weeks until we get married. Writing this, I realise (as we get nearer to the day itself) a lot of my blog entries are going to start off in this annoying countdown fashion, so I apologise in advance. I find myself increasingly hitting repeat on Billy Joel's 'Don't go Changing', and have developed dizzy spells when I get up or move my head in any sort of sudden movement. I think the latter could well be the result of my very low blood pressure, or it may just be stress.

We have still not received RSVP's for about 18 people, or a response to an email I sent out a few days ago reminding them they had until the middle of this month to reply. OK, so it's still 5 days to go, so clearly I'm being paranoid. But is it just me that would send an email straight back saying, 'Shit, sorry I forgot all about it - it's in the post/ I've lost it / Of course I'm coming - what do you think I'd miss it? / I'm really sorry, but as it happens I just can't make it / I don’t know yet - I've still got 8 days to decide, leave me alone you annoying woman.’

Robert reminds me that mine are the actions of (a) a girl (b) a somewhat obsessive compulsive person and (c) someone who sends a thank you card following a box of chocolates. I've decided to limit myself to one final reminder email on the 14th, and then will just have to assume that those that have not responded on the 15th (our cut-off day) aren't coming. I don't like doing this, it messes with my sense of control. I'd much rather get an absolute 'no' from them in writing (email or post) or in person, but what else can you do? Given it's holiday season people may also be away, and not near email, which (I have to remind myself) could also account for their silence. Hmmm, perhaps I might just resort to telephone calls - after all, I think it may just be acceptable (just this once mind you) to pull the no rsvp phone call chase up card.

When we decided to get married, I swore blind that I wouldn't become one of those girls that only talks weddings. Fortunately I'd never had a friend like that, and none of my friends who are getting married this year are like that either. I think we've all heard what at terrific bore it is, and didn't want to become bridezillas. I even started a scrap book (because that's what a bride to be is supposed to do, I heard) but soon abandoned it. I just didn't have the time or inclination to page through wedding magazines tearing out stuff. Admittedly most of the hard work was done for us via a selection of images on email we had to choose from, care of our planner.

From the early stages, I decided to see it as a big party Robert and I are throwing, and I've approached it from that angle. However, if you have ever planned a big event, you'll find that despite your best intentions, it does creep into your headspace and tend to monopolise most of your thoughts - especially as you near the day itself. A lot of things also exist in a sort of chain formation, and in order to get one thing done, you need to do another first, and so forth and so on.

On the plus side, the scales show I've lost weight - nothing like a bit of stress not to mention this really hot weather to kill your appetite. The women in Monaco didn't help either. My god, we went out to dinner on Saturday night, and I felt like I was at a Vogue after party. I cannot begin to imagine how much work goes into those bodies, not to mention the expense to paint and drape them. Even those with small children looked remarkably buff and beautifully put-together. Most of them smoke, which I suppose goes a long way to keeping weight down, albeit in a very unhealthy way. Still, it was inspiration for me to stop with the crap I've been eating lately, and not rely on the exercise alone to aid shrinkage.

On Sunday we had lunch with our planner at a little beach-facing restaurant in Nice. Nice is a lot less posh and a lot less like a European version of LA than Monaco is. But apart from the absence of thirty tons of gold and jewels, the women in the restaurant (mostly wearing bikini’s) also had good figures, despite tucking into large plates of lunch. I think there’s some weird French gene which enables them to eat what they like and stay thin. Grrr. I wonder if moving there for a few years will mean it rubs off on you? Hmmm ... .

And speaking of Monaco and beach bodies, looks like Pamela Anderson was there too, wearing the world’s smallest bikini.

Soldes

2006-07-09T16:22:00.000+01:00

I am writing this in the waiting lounge at Nice airport. Our suitcase finally arrived. Today. At Nice airport. The wonderful Jorge, our hotel concierge, had been calling Easyjet non-stop since our arrival, and had continually been told our case was nowhere to be found. He hit the jackpot this morning, being told it had turned up at Nice airport ready for us to collect - upon our departure. So much for Easy Jet promising to deliver it first thing yesterday morning to our hotel.

When we arrived in the Easyjet office, the vacant-looking young French woman, who was attractive in the annoying tanned no make-up way that only the French seem to manage, offered no apologies whatsover. In fact, she acted like she was doing us a favour when I asked her for a form so we can apply for some sort of compensation for the fact that we were without our suitcase for the duration of our trip, forcing us to buy clothes and cosmetics at the only shopping centre in the vicinity of our hotel, which, as it happened, sold only designer kit. I'd go further and ask to claim compensation for the emotional damage I suffered by being surrounded by some of the thinnest, tallest, most overly-glamerous women I've ever seen in my life while shopping. I've mentioned before how I always feel somewhat underdressed when in Monaco, and these supremely groomed amazonian clothes horses are the reason. I mean, who the hell goes shopping in 6 inch stilettos, a shorter than short cocktail dress, and that much makeup?

Despite the loss of our case, we had a great weekend and have finalised a lot of the details for our wedding which is a huge weight off. Robert also now owns a lovely white shirt from Gant, a T-Shirt from Juicy Courture, and some Chanel deoderant. I am presently wearing a white tennis dress from Lacoste (I never, ever, thought I'd wear a tennis dress, but the pickings were expensively slim), and own a beautiful dress from Paul & Joe, which I'm definitely NOT complaining about. Both were about the only things I could fit into, and certainly among the cheaper items on sale. This weekend I learnt and came to love a new French word - Soldes.

Dirty underwear

2006-07-08T10:03:00.000+01:00

It's a beatuiful day in Monaco, and just this very second church bells are ringing. The sky is the sort of blue you dream about for a holiday, and the view is stunning. I'm wearing a hotel dressing gown (one of those big white fluffy ones), sitting at the desk in our lovely hotel room writing this, waiting for our American breakfasts to arrive. All sounds perfect right? Well, it is, and I'm loving it, except of course for the small fact that we have quite a few meetings today with the various people involved in our wedding, and well, no suitcase with our clothes, cosmetics, and on a more basic level, our toothbrushes. Yes, those lovely folks at Easyjet managed to leave half a dozen passengers suitcases at Gatwick last night. God knows how you can fuck up something as simple as putting luggage onto a direct 1 hour 40 minute flight between the UK and Nice, but they did. We were told last night by the thin, tired looking French Easy Jet rep that our suitcases would be on the first flight this morning and delivered to our hotel. It's 12.30, and still nothing ... .

We shared a taxi with an annoyingly attractive Englsh couple from the airport. The women was a younger posh verion of Ulrika Johnson, all blonde, skinny and big boobs, and was enourmously helpful in terms of where we can shop for cosmetics and clothes if our suitcases don't arrive. The idea of having to go out and buy new clothes, or more so, having a valid excuse to do so is usually my idea of hitting the jackpot. But the thought of having to venture out in day-old knickers, or none at all, really doesn't appeal to me. Then there's the matter of my skin feeling like it's been stretched over a drum frame (thanks to a hot cloth and no cleanser or moisturiser), and stubbly under arms and a now (probably somewhat whiffy) tank top.

From past experience, I know most hotels are usually pretty good about supplying you with disposable razors and toothbrushes, so it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be. I guess I'm just fundamentlly annoyed, especially as we have quite a few meetings to get through today, and it's boiling hot outside - so yesterday's clothes and undies are definitely not appealing - even for shopping in.

On a seperate and more cheerful note, I am LOVING (caps sorely intended) the book The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger. While investigating some film reviews on the movie, I stumbled across a review of the book and was intrigued. The author is actually a very good film reviewer, but has a rather snooty attitude towards Chic Lit. So when he stated that the book was well written and that the movie sorely lets it down, I felt compelled to read it for myself. Still going to see the movie though, despite the bad review he gave it!

I don't have a particularly snooty attitude to what I read, though while my contemporaries were reading Jilly Coopers and Danielle Steele's back in highschool, I preferred Stephen King, and later graduated onto John Irving, Milan Kundera, and Tom Robbins. These days I find myself gravitating towards autobiographies, the last of which was Sharon Osbourne's Extreme which was suprisingly good.

As much as I love Marian Keyes, I simply cannot get into any of her best selling novels, despite trying on various occasions. Her short articles and blog-style books (Under the Duvet and Further Under the Duvet) are brilliant - very funny, self deprecating and relatable - but her literature just fails to draw me in. Similarly I just don't go for any of the masses of chic lit on sale, probably primiarly due to jealousy; most of the women who have written them are younger than me and published, and have better highlights. What's to like?

So with this in mind, I bought The Devil Wears Prada thinking I'd toss it aside after the first few pages had failed to draw me in, and have to say, I was wrong - it's fantastic. I haven't been able to put it down, and have had to force myself to do so, so I have something to read on the plane ride back to the UK. If you have worked in advertising, or any sort of media job, you will appreciate this book. And if you have ever had a nightmare of a boss, you will really enjoy this book. And if you like fashion - even better. Go and buy it today!

Right and now we need to call those Easyjet bastards and find out where the hell our suitcase is, which, I might add, contain a gorgeous pair of new black higheels I bought on sale and which are stupendously high and yet quite magically don't hurt my feet. Yes, quite simply put - a dream pair of shoes and I'm not giving those up without a fight!

Jodie Marsh asks no-one

2006-07-06T17:13:00.000+01:00

I had the extreme displeasure of stumbling upon this eyesore of Jodie Marsh while investigating links for my previous blog entry, and I'm trying to envisage a possible case scenario that might explain it.

Ok, so you're invited to some or other party or club opening. You're getting dressed up for it, and you ask your friend/boyfriend/mother/dog, "How do I look in this?" and well, you'd think they'd at least have the decency to be honest with you. Something like, "Well Jodie, that's an interesting choice of bikini there, if we can call candy on a string stuck up your bum a bikini. Um, it doesn't really leave much to the imagination does it? And, well, you might want to consider wearing something that doesn't display your cellulite quite as much." In the case of the dog, it might just throw up on her rug to show it's indifference to this hideous ensemble.

But no, nothing, not one iota, which is why we, the public, had to be faced with this nastiness.

Having thought long and hard about it I don't believe Jodie Marsh asks anyone what they think before leaving the house - and if she does, they should be collectively round up and shot.

Picture of Jodie Marsh c/o: index.hr

Lindsay Lohan's breasts are real and other lies we tell our children

2006-07-06T11:32:00.000+01:00

I went to visit my sister yesterday which required a tube journey, and therefore the purchase of Heat and Closer magazines (I had no choice you see). I wish my scanner was hooked up because there were literally dozens of things I wanted to post on here - including a particularly unflattering picture of Meg Matthews looking well, like Meg Matthews, and a cringeworthy one (when is there anything but?) of Jodie Marsh. Oh, well, you're just going to have to trust me on this I guess.
PS: The linked to images are not the ones in the mag - just for your ref so you can put a face, or rather breasts or bums to names.

And in a survey conducted by Closer magazine, UK women voted Kate Winslet as having the most desirable body shape, with Colleen Mcloughlin and Charlotte Church in the top 5. Most undesirable body shapes were Victoria Beckham, Jordan, and Nicole Richie. No surprises there I guess. Coleen and Kate I can totally see, Charlotte...hmmm, I'm not so sure. She looks OK, but as she gets older that diet of beer and junk food she brags about is going to catch up with her. The older you get the harder it is to shift the weight - trust me on this one.

And Lindsay Lohan says her boobs are 100% real - all thanks to her regaining a bit of weight. I think it's wonderful that god blesses some women with strangely elevated, perfectly rounded breasts that appear out of no where when they gain like 5 pounds. Truly amazing.

Photo: Lindsay Lohan on the beach c/o thesuperficial.com

Keira Knightly is skin and bones

2006-07-04T21:30:00.000+01:00

OK, so by virtue of the fact that I have some body image issues of my own, I usually quite like the slim look. And to be specific, I like the slim athletic look. But at the London premier of Pirates of the Caribbean II, Keira Knightley managed to shock even me with just how skin and bones she is looking.

I know she appears to be one of those annoying girls that was born thin and can eat whatever the hell she likes, but she looks positively emaciated in these pictures.

If I were her boyfriend I'd be afraid of severing a body part in the middle of the night with one of those sharp jutting out bones.

Picture c/o gofugyourself

Don't date him girl!

2006-07-04T15:09:00.000+01:00

Remember that scene from Boomerang? Eddie Murphy's serial womanasing character brings a hot girl (Robin Givens) back to his uber cool bachelor pad, and there's the crazy neighbor woman hopping up and down by the fence shouting out, 'Girlfriend! Girlfriend! Don't you date that man, he's trouble..." etc.

I think we've all been in a situation where we've dated (or known someone who's dated) a guy who is either a cheater, compulsive liar, psychopath, stalker, commitment phobe, or god forbid, all of the above. How we've wished we could warn other potential victims! Well, now you can. There's a new website called Don't Date Him Girl which allows women to post pictures and profiles of alleged no-gooders, and the best bit is it appears to be international.

I imagine it's also been used to settle a few 'hell hath no fury' bruised ego scores, but having read through some of them, there also appear to be some genuinely very unpleasant characters out there worth knowing about. Oh, and there's a search engine too, so if you'd like to run a quick background check on a potential new chap in your life, you can see if he's on there.

A common denominator appears to be an inability to keep their things in their trousers, and most of them are described as being narcissistic.

Herewith an example of a more humours one (accompanied on the site by a full name, physical description, and photo):

"Devon managed to have 3 girlfriends in one city at the same time! He used my car which he told the other girls belonged to him, got them to pay for repairs and even tried to sell it to someone! He cheated on his wife with a 16 year old and has a history of violence against women (inc a police caution)! Steer well clear. He seems like the nicest guy in the world. He'll say he loves you, wants to marry you etc etc but it's all lies!! In case you still think you can 'help him' it isn't worth it- (and) it really isn't true what they say about black men- well not in his case! "

To all the non-cheating guys out there who may have had a bad experience of their own, unfortunately this site only allows women to report alleged male cheaters. But it doesn't mean you can't start up a site of your own... .

Added: Guys who have been outed as alleged cheaters etc can have their say by emailing the site. Their side of the story then gets posted next to their profile. Sounds fair.

Picture: Eddie Murphy and Robin Givens in Boomerang c/o billed-bladet.dk

Janet Jackson's amazing transformation(s)

2006-07-04T11:22:00.000+01:00

From this in 2004

To this in January/Feb 2006

To this in June/July 06

More JJ pics here.

Pics c/o: wwtdd.com

Daniel Craig is still hot

2006-07-03T23:52:00.000+01:00

Those alcoholic Americans at my number 1 celeb gossip source, The Superficial have gone and booked a couple of days off so they can get pissed and enjoy their Independence Day celebrations - slackers!

In their absence, I managed to wade through the barrage of abusive comments following their latest post (some of which had nothing at all to do with their announcement, and plenty to do with what appeared to be age-old blood feuds between various commenters) and discovered another site apparently written by a guy that used to write for The Superficial. It's called WWTDD.com or What Would Tyler Durden Do (probably the coolest blog title I've come across in a while) and it's in the same sick & twisted, scathing attack on celebs vein as The Superficial. So I like it. I like it a lot.

What I like even more is the fact that I searched for ages the other day to find a decent pic of Daniel Craig stepping out of the sea in the new 007 flick , and only managed a shitty screen grab from the trailer. This guy has actual photos - which are another reminder of why I will be definitely be going to see it. Not sure about the shorts though, but who's looking at the shorts right?

And if WWTDD isn't enough, there's always MSNBC - which does an OK job of reporting on up to date celeb news, though not quite in the same colourful (read: acerbic, offensive at some time or another to every demographic on the planet, politically incorrect, and potentially libel) way.

Photo: c/o WWTDD.com

The Hoff takes on a chandelier and loses and other stuff

2006-07-03T13:29:00.000+01:00

While procrastinating going to the gym and doing work, I came across the following...

Donald and his new baby boy Barron. More celeb dad pics here. Awwww!

I don't know what it is either. I'd say a new trend, but it's so incredibly and utterly stupid and lacking in any practical application whatsoever that I'm hesitant to do that. So I shall simply leave it at this: Paris Hilton wearing a half glove. Any ideas welcome.

Last week here in London, the Hoff taught us just why swinging from the chandeliers while shaving is a bad idea, when he had to be taken to hospital following an accident which resulted in a severed tendon and glass in his arm.

OK, so I don't know if he was really hanging from the chandeliers when the incident happened, but how the hell else do you explain it? The papers aren't really saying. Hmmm, I suspect something kinky - I mean a man who wears these sorts of undies, it's got to be something kinky right? For Hoff fans such as my sister Chantell, you'll be relieved to know he is reported to be out of hospital and doing just fine. Phew. *Thanks to Zoe for the tip.

And in Australia, the PM wants to Axe their Big Brother show after a female contestant claimed a man held her down while another rubbed his crotch in her face. Charming.

Finally, on this day in 1971 Jim Morrison was found dead in a bathtub in his Parisian apartment by his girlfriend. Suspected cause of death - heart failure. Check out more 'on this day's' c/o the bbc.

More pics:

A rare photo of Salma Hayek looking frumpy
Mariah Carey gets it wrong again, and again, and again and again ...

Pics c/o people.aol.com
David Hasselhoff pic c/o gautez.net

Why we love Jade

2006-07-02T22:26:00.000+01:00

Ok - this really is the last blog of today, considering I've done 5 already, which is a worrying symptom of, well I don't know - blogarreah?

Robert was blogging this evening, and reminded me of just how funny Jade Goody's cluelessness was and indeed is. For non-UK peeps out there, Jade is a working class girl who gained fame, and indeed fortune, thanks to her popularity in the Big Brother house a few years back. Think Paris Hilton or Jessica Simpson in terms of stupidity, but add bags of personality and indeed strange likeability.

Herewith some of her classic clunkers c/o wikipedia.org while in the BB house:

Where is East Angular [sic], is it abroad?
Rio de Janeiro - that's a person
The Daily Mail is the post
Saddam Hussein - is he a boxer or summink?
A ferret is a bird
I had my first birthday when I was one
Who is Heinzstein?[sic]
Mother Theresa is from Germany
Sherlock Holmes invented toilets
The Union Jack is for all of us, but the St. George is just for London, isn't it?
I knew Lynne was from Aberdeen, but I didn't realise Aberdeen was in Scotland
What's a sparagus [sic]? Do you grow it?
I am intelligent, but I let myself down because I can't speak properly or spell
To fellow Big Brother contestant PJ after he revealed he knew someone who kept pet peacocks: You see those things... don't think I'm being daft... but them [sic] things that look like eyes, are they their real eyes?
Jonny, I'm not being tictactical in here
Big Brother Narrator- It is day 12 and Jade is putting toothpaste on her spots.
They were trying to use me as an escape goat [sic]
Do they speak Portuganese in Portugal? I thought Portugal was in Spain
That's asexual harassment
In the olden days they had wirelophones and they got music out of that
Is there chicken in chickpeas?

And what about the now infamous conversation she had with Spencer about the Cam or was it the Thames? Priceless.

Most recently she collapsed and had to be taken to hospital while running the London marathon, after getting confused about how far a mile was. According to wikipedia:

"Goody signed up for the 2006 London Marathon. She did not finish the course, collapsing after 34 km (21 miles) of the 42.195 km (26.2 miles) and was taken to The Royal London Hospital to recover overnight. The Sun newspaper reported that the final action of the "panic-stricken" Goody was shouting "I'm Dying, I'm Dying".

The reason why she couldn't finish the course (in her own words): "I don't really understand miles. I didn't actually know how far it was going to be."
"I'll be honest, I didn't take it seriously which is really bad of me because there's people out there who actually want to do the marathon," she said.
"I didn't realise how much commitment the marathon was. I had four training sessions, that's all I did. At most I could run half an hour on a treadmill," Goody said.

Before the race, Goody had seemed nonchalant of her poor efforts to train properly by announcing to TV chef Gordon Ramsay (who completed the course) "I've been eating curry and Chinese and drinking." She raised around £850 for her selected charity, the NSPCC."

God love her.

Jade's official website.

New stuff I like

2006-07-02T21:22:00.000+01:00

My brother-in-law Craig's photo a day blog.

The Post Secret blog. Ok, so I always thought this was pretty cool (thanks to Becky for the initial tip) and they update it each Sunday with new stuff - so remember to check. There's also a new book out featuring a cool collection of postcards. Thought provoking and in some cases, really interesting and creative stuff.

Not only is the new Yahoo beta email interface excellent, but their personalised browser and tab functionality (like Firefox) is great.

Love Coke, but don't like the calories? Hate the taste of Diet Coke? Try new Coke Zero, tastes like Coke (OK, really quite close to) but without the sugar - loving it.

I don't know how many products I've tried that say they will give you volume, and only ever land up adding weighty product build-up to your hair. I discovered Bumble and Bumble's thickening spray while having my hair done in the USA, and have used it ever since. I just discovered they stock it not only at Selfridges but in Liberty too. Not cheap (approx £16) but lasts a long time.

WAGS AT WAR

2006-07-02T19:03:00.000+01:00

It seems this year's world cup was more about what the footballers wives and girlfriends were getting up to (and wearing), than the beautiful game itself. Well, at least as far as the tabloids were concerned.

In this week's issue of Now magazine, a four page spread was dedicated to detailing the tiffs between the various women, with Victoria Beckham being at the centre of more than a few. She appeared to get quite cozy with Cheryl Tweedy, with the two of them dining together exclusively most nights, leaving the other girls to their own devices. According to Now she was overheard telling Cheryl 'not to mix with the others because they have ideas above their station for thinking they're on a par with pop stars like themselves.' Yes, it really said that.

Maybe it's just me, but this whole cliquey pecking order sounded far too much like school to be in the least bit enviable. Apparently another one of them said (about Steven Gerard's girlfriend Alex Curran), "She's moody and can't chill out. And have you seen those eyebrows?1" I rest my case.

The so called article (if one can call it that) was accompanied by various pics of the WAGS (Wives and Girlfriends) sporting hair extensions and skimpy outfits, either out on the lash or shopping. These girls may have a lot of (their husband/boyfriend's) cash to spend, but when I saw a pic of them carrying H&M bags, I realised there's no accounting for good taste. (My last embittered comment stems from my ongoing feud with the cheap n' cheerful store for (a) making an insanely long crappy advert I had to sit through before watching a movie and (b) the fact that they were so ready to drop Kate Moss following her cocaine outing.)

It also didn't escape me that Victoria Beckham hugely overcompensated for the fact that (aside from Nancy D.O), she was the oldest of the women, by frequently wearing the world's shortest shorts.

This week's issue of OK! Magazine also had an headline on it which read, 'Our marriage is stronger than ever' accompanied by the most airbrushed photo ever of David and Victoria Beckham. I think this is about the fifth article of them protesting just how strong their marriage is this year alone - which does lead one to think that perhaps the lady doth protest too much.

Also, I seriously think that V.B has some kind of a deal with OK and Hello magazine whereby she will only give them a feature if they promise to airbrush the crap out of any picture she's in. About two weeks ago a copy with her on the cover was so severly and badly airbrushed I couldn't believe it actually appeared on such a popular publication. I don't know who the magazine's resident airbrusher is, but he/she should hang their head in photo retouching shame. It looked so fake and painted that even a child could see it wasn't real - the woman didn't appear to have any expression lines or pores at all. I've seen a few pap shots of V.B. recently and her skin doesn't look that bad, so god only knows what she's afraid of.

The article included tips for other couples on how to have a good and strong marriage like them (*cough* *cough*) and included the quotation, "I call David about 10 times a day." I don't even want to think what would happen if I hassled, I mean called Robert 10 times a day. It read more like an instruction manual on how to become an insanely passive aggressive, needy, and annoying woman, and drive your husband into the arms of anything wearing a skirt.

And on that final, admittedly bitchy note, The Devil Wears Prada is getting some good reviews. Oooh - can't wait!

Picture: Cheryl Tweedy and Victoria and Brooklyn Beckham at the world cup c/o yahoo.com news

A week in pictures

2006-07-02T11:36:00.000+01:00

Tuesday night: My final art class. Having given up on my previous painting I started and 'finished' this one in three hours - paintbrush in one hand, a stiff drink in the other. Again our teacher told me it had a German Expressionist look to it. It's nothing special but I was very happy with it compared to the last one which was a total disaster.

Wednesday: A centre piece at the Design Centre at Chelsea Harbour. I spent the day with my friend Jeff who is launching a business in the UK doing beautiful graphic art installations. I'm doing his website and will put up a link to it soon. Watch this space.

Friday night: My first ever live cricket game with Robert at Lords cricket ground. It was a beautiful balmy summer's evening, and we enjoyed hotdogs and a bottle of champagne. It was Middlesex (our team, I'm told) versus Kent. Kent won.

Friday night: Sleepy Hollow. This tree in Regents Park (on the walk back home from the cricket) reminded me of a miniaturized version of the sinister tree in the movie. It might go some way to explaining my frame of mind right now.

Saturday afternoon: Red Alpha. My uncle had a car like this when we were kids. We spotted it on a street adjacent to Regents Street. It conjures up memories of speeding along the motorway on the way back from the circus, eating fistfulls of candyfloss.

Saturday evening: Patrick, Lou, and Robert at Home House (outside) watching England get defeated by Portugal. It was a sad day.

PS: These were all taken with my camera phone which is why the image quality isn't great - but not bad for a phone either.

Making lists

2006-07-02T10:41:00.000+01:00

It's two months until Robert and I get married, and for the first time I think we are both beginning to feel it's a reality. We got engaged in March of last year, and when you start planning a wedding that far in advance (actually a year is pretty standard practice) it always feels a bit unreal. The same goes for when I started trying to get in shape in January this year - I kept saying to myself, 'Oh well, eight months to go, if I slip up I have plenty of time to get back on the horse again.'

We have our final meeting with our planner and wedding posse this coming weekend and then it's a matter of chasing RSVP's and finalising things. A word of advise to anyone planning their nuptials - even if you include a self-addressed stamped return envelope for your rsvp's, you will still have to chase about 10 to 20 people who have either used it as a coaster, in their cat's litter tray, or simply lost it. That's where email chasing close to the rsvp cut-off date comes in handy.

The twitch beneath my right eye has become a bit of a regular feature, appearing when I am most stressed, which, according to the twitch, is quite frequently these days. I'm having visions of our wedding pictures including me with one slightly blurred eye.

I think lists are the way to go - they sound severely anal, but when you have a lot on your plate, a list can be a life-saver, helping you visualise what needs doing, what to prioritise, and enabling you to literally cross things off of as they are completed.

On the plus side, our building work is complete, and now it's just a matter of sorting through stuff, giving stuff away, and putting things in storage. We also found a great lounge suite yesterday that will be with us in approximately 10 to 12 weeks time. As Louise says, 1 week to make, 10 weeks to ship from China, or wherever it is they make furniture these days. We also discovered a really good website here in London called Gumtree, which includes a section called 'Freebies', This is ideal if you have something, like in our case what will soon become our old lounge suite, and are unable to sell it. The person concerned gets a free lounge suite, and you get it moved out of your place. Bonus.

Bree gets married

2006-06-29T14:10:00.000+01:00

Robert's going to be a bit crestfallen - his celeb crush Marcia Cross has tied the knot to Tom Mahoney. More wedding pics here.

Picture c/o: people.aol.com

Things I wouldn't do

2006-06-28T23:32:00.000+01:00

I know I've had that Brazilian wax and all, but I still don't think it's a good idea to sit like this in a public place when you are wearing a bikini or bathing suit. Also, if you look at the other pics in this series you will notice that there is a god, and even cute little Eva Longoria has cellulite. Yes!

On the subject of Brazilian wax's, a friend of mine raised an eyebrow over my blog entry saying she suspected me of embellishing just how painful it was. When I asked if she'd had an Brazilian or Hollywood wax before, she replied in the negative saying she'd only had a bikini one done. From the people I've spoken to (who have a bit more waxing experience than me) there is a HUGE difference between having hair removed from your inner leg, and all of it from the delicate areas of your...well you know what I'm getting at. Someone back me up here - I'm not that much of a woosie, am I? OK, don't answer that.

As for the image below, if I had the press and public baying for my blood, I probably wouldn't set myself up for further attack by posing naked while pregnant. I like the dark hair though.

Picture of Eva Longoria c/o thesuperficial.com.
Picture of Britney Spears c/o people.aol.com.

New carpets

2006-06-28T09:44:00.000+01:00

Our carpets were fitted yesterday. They look great, but the motley crew of ham-fisted fitters managed to do more damage in their three hours here, than our builders who were here for almost two weeks. I think it was the point at which I found the rather large, sweaty and out of breath foreman applying what looked like Tip-Ex onto our door frame that the twitch below my right eye developed.

Me: Sorry, what are you doing

Him: Oo er, the lads managed to scuff a bit of the wood work on your door frame when they were moving that large unit (motions towards our set of drawers which are impossible to move unless you remove the individual drawers - which, surprise surprise they didn't)

Me: (Inspecting what is more like a chunk out of the wood rather than a scuff) Did your guys do this?

Him: Yes well, that unit over there was quite big and heavy

Me: What are you using there, Tip-Ex?

Him: It's white paint

Me: (Pointing towards the small little bottle, zinc white colour and thickish texture which is now in stark contrast to the cream white paint on our door frames) That looks like Tip-Ex to me - I'd rather you left it, our builder will be in later this week and he'll use proper paint to fix it

Him: Oh, no, let me fix it, I'll feel better that way

Me: No, no, thanks very much, but I'd rather he did it.

Fortunately the 'unit' he referred to, a large heavy set of teak drawers, was unscathed apart from a bit of the door frames paint on it here and there. There was also the matter of our ensuite bathroom door handle he managed to pull off (Er, I only went to grab it gently and it came off in me hand), and the scuffed paint work in two of our rooms. And despite all of this, he still hung about in an over-bearing manner suggesting a nice tip would compensate for the the fact that they had to move a few extra things for me (apart from those we had already paid them a handsome sum to move) in order to lay the carpet.

There was such a stark difference between these palookas and our Polish builders, who when I tipped them at the end of a strenuous two week job, that involved a lot of extra little favours, including them happily loading a whole lot of stuff we didn't want onto their removals truck along with the rubble, actually said to me (and I'm not kidding) 'No, no, you don't have to, its our job.'

The Devil Wears Prada and the new Bond

2006-06-26T11:01:00.000+01:00

I'm really excited, having read this morning that The Devil Wears Prada with Meryl Streep is out on June 30th here in the UK. For those of you who don't know, the film is based on the book by Lauren Weisberger, who wrote it about her role as a PA assisting Vogue editor Anna Wintour. Streep apparently didn't base her character specifically on Wintour, but on generic A-type perfectionist overachievers (read: nightmares to work for). I can't wait.

Daniel Craig has got a lot of stick about being chosen as the new Bond. Personally I would have gone for Clive Owen, but having seen the new Bond trailer I have to say, Craig is looking pretty good. I think his features are perfect for Bond - in terms of the rugged look; not too pretty, somewhat cruel - and incredibly sexy. Basically he looks like an assassin - someone who kills and gets shot at for a living, rather than a pretty guy who spends more time getting manicures done than cleaning his gun. Now we'll just have to see what his acting is like. I for one am definitely going to see it, and the scene of Craig in the trailer coming out of the sea, has nothing at all to do with my decision.

And in the news, Nicole Kidman married Keith Urban this weekend in Sydney - pics here. I'm sure better ones will feature in next week's copies of Hello or OK magazine.

Snail porridge anyone?

2006-06-26T09:23:00.000+01:00

I like to think the world contains two types of people when it comes to food (OK this is way over-simplified by it suits my opening paragraph purposes): Those who eat as a means of fueling themselves, and those who eat because they truly love food. I'm about to marry into a family populated by the later, and don't think I have ever come across people who are as into food as they are. Strangely, they also all manage to keep annoyingly slim - a neat trick I'm hoping to learn myself.

Robert and his family not only like to eat, but they like to cook, and when they aren't eating or cooking, they're talking about food. They have a frightening knowledge of food and wine, and restaurants both in the UK and around Europe. A conversation with Jacky (Robert's mother) about travel, will invariably involve a series of questions about whether or not you've tried this or that tiny little off the beaten track restaurant in some remote French village, that just happens to have a Michelin star or two.

The Fat Duck is the sort of restaurant that my future family dream about. They not only do food, but they cook and present it in the most unusual way and combinations you have ever come across. Their website should feature a warning that a visit requires a good appetite and very open mind. What you see is not necessarily what you taste, and it's all about confusing your senses, resulting in wide awake taste buds, and embarking on a sensory adventure that's out of this world.

When our waitlisted position luckily came up at the last minute, Robert treated Becky and I to lunch at the Fat Duck yesterday, along with Giles and Patrick. It was Becky's birthday present, and I was fortunate enough to tag along. There have been all sorts of stories about this restaurant - from that one review about it being the best restaurant in the world, to some thinking it's all a bit of a pretentious con. Whichever way you look at it, I don't think I've read a review saying the food isn't good - not just good, but delicious.

Rufus recently wrote two brilliant blogs about his experience at the F.D, and accompanied his posts with pictures of each of the dishes in the tasting menu. We ate the same menu, and because he did such a great job, and because I'm fundamentally lazy - I point you in his direction to get a blow by blow account:
Part 1
and Part 2

The five of us sat around like 9-year-olds in eager anticipation of each dish. They were just so incredibly different (for e.g. snail porridge, bacon and egg icrecream) that each one was an adventure, and I haven't felt that childishly excited/thrilled about food in a very long time.

Not to ruin things, but on a brass tax level - it wasn't cheap. In fact, it was the most expensive lunch I've ever eaten in my life. But if you get as excited about food as Robert and his folk do, I think this is definitely worth saving up towards - a fantastic sensory-consuming experience like none other.

The Fat Duck official website.

Spam glorious spam

2006-06-24T12:02:00.000+01:00

I've been drafted by the US army. OK, not actually, but I did receive the following email this morning. I cut and paste for your info:

Dear Friend,
My name is, Sgt. Geraldine Marcus representing a faction of American soldiers, serving in the military of the 1st Armored Division in Iraq, we came across your e-mail address(s) in the process of research and enquiry into an immense military global data base. I believe you are familiar with the war situation in Iraq? apart from killings and day to day unrest, a lot of activities happen such as sales of antiques, stocked foreign cash discovery and lots more. We are lucratively involved in these activities, myself and my colleagues want to send consignments out of iraq, which will be discussed upon your acceptance of this transaction and we require a worthy, upright and business minded individual for safe keeping outside the Iraqi state. You might have an insight through;http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/2988455.stm and details will be sent upon signal of interest. Our contact email ; geraldinemarcus@virgilio.it.

Thanks for your co-operation
GMS0160
Signed,
Sgt. Geraldine Marcus

It's good to know that 'apart from killings and day to day unrest' in Iraq, 'a lot of activities happen such as sales of antiques, stocked foreign cash discovery and lots more'. I mean, I was a bit concerned that those US soldiers were slacking off - but I'm relieved to hear they aren't just lazing around killing people, but making a good honest dollar too. I was genuinely worried for a moment. I was also impressed by Sgt Geraldine Marcus's (read: Nigerian advance free fraud data input-ter's) blatant disregard for uppercase usage. Clearly she's too busy with killing those pesky insergents and pillaging antiques to be concerned with such trivial things as grammar.

And on the subject of annoying spam, I'm also a very rich women - apparently. This month alone I've won not only the Australian but the Japanese lottery too - twice.

Street walker chic is in

2006-06-23T08:08:00.000+01:00

I blogged recently questioning why the Paparazzi take pictures of celebrities doing mundane boring shyte like shopping. And then I see this picture, and my question is answered.

I gather this was taken in Germany this week, and if I had any sympathy for Victoria Beckham being hounded by the paps in the past, I don't any more. I mean, who the hell goes shopping, or indeed out in the day dressed in crotch dwelling shorts and stiletto heels like this, and doesn't want to draw attention to themselves? The only thing I can think of are streetwalkers, who can't afford to wear anything other than their working clothes, and genuinely don't want to get noticed by the police as they nip to the 7-11 for some milk on a day off.

V.B has great legs, I'll give her that much. But please, next time - if you don't want attention, I'd suggest something a little more demure. Oh yes, that's right I forgot, those over-sized sunglasses do a great job of drawing attention away from that outfit and render you practically unrecognizable. Foolish me.

More pictures of V.B's incredibly short shorts here.

A world of pain

2006-06-22T17:13:00.000+01:00

Sweet merciful Jesus. In the interests of reportage, and the fact that any foolish young woman out there might have the same idea as me - I feel the need to share with you what just happened to me. If you are squeamish - skip this blog.

I wondered down to the salon and arrived 15 minutes early. A petite, stern-looking dark haired woman came out and greeted me with a smile, and I was shown into a fairly regular beauty salon room. Usually I associate these rooms with facials and relaxing body massages, so I felt fairly at ease. In retrospet, a film image of the woman who nonchalantly goes downstairs to investigate a noise before being attacked by the maniacal psychopath, comes to mind.

I asked her to explain the difference between the three different waxes on offer, and this is what she had to say:
Bikini: Standard bikini wax, removing the hair along the inner leg that would be visible if you were wearing your bikini or indeed a pair of knickers.
Brazilian: Removing all the hair, aside from either a little landing strip or triangle shape of hair at the front.
Hollywood: All off

I stood their umming and ahhing, saying how as I was a first timer to the whole waxing business, I should probably just start with a bog-standard bikini wax, just to see how I got on with the pain etc. I don't know what happened next, but after a short exchange, I suddenly found myself saying, "Yeah, OK let's do a Brazilian." I think I was in some sort of pre-wax fugue state. It was only when she started talking about how I need to to hold my skin in such a way to best avoid bruising, that I started to panic. Bruising, who said anything about bruising? Oh crap too late ...

What happened over the next 20 minutes is probably the most painful and undignified process I have ever undergone, bearing in mind I have not yet experienced child birth. Right now I think that may well be the only thing that comes close to this in terms of pain, and the unpleasant business of having your privates exposed for all to see. I don't know why the hell you wear your knickers anyway. With all the pulling of them this way and that, and leg lifting you do, it just felt like some fake kind of barrier to make us both feel better about the fact that I was for all means and purposes completely exposed.

On the way home, hobbling along like John Wayne, I tried to think of things I had experience that could compare in the physical pain stakes: having my finger bent back and a variety of other playground roughousing inflicted on me by a 6-year-old sadist called Vanessa, an hour in the chair with my dental hygenist Ingalena, one of Guy's 'blowing the cobwebs out of the cellar' (his term) cardio sessions, a cervical smear examination, a deep tissue massage. I think an hour with Ingalena is probably the closest, and even that (which is pretty damn excruciatingly painful) now seems pleasant in comparison.

The thing is, at least with Ingalena there are brief breaks where you are required to rinse out your mouth to get rid of the blood it's filled with. With this afternoons waxing business, I was in a 20 minute slot and there was no stopping for anything.

In a weird 'nemesis menacingly bearing a hot wax strip' twist, my therapists name was Lucia (pronounced Look-ee-ah), which is the Greek equivalent of my own name. I tried to make chit chat in order to distract her so I might get a break between the skin-ripping agony, but I imagine she'd heard all of it before, and was having none of it. She was on the clock, and was determined to do her job - which meant I had to grimace and bear it as she repeatedly ripped patches of hair out by the roots in some incredibly delicate areas.

A few months ago I watched an episode of one of the Top Model's - it was either an American or Australian one. The girls had to have bikini waxes (not sure if they were Brazilian or not), and some of them were screaming like banshees. I thought - oh god, they're really playing it up for the cameras.

Well, I tried, I really did not to shout or scream, but I couldn't help it, it was reflexive, and a series of 'Ow's!, Ouches!, and I think even a couple of 'Fuck's!' came out of my mouth. I'm embarassed to say there was probably also a 'Jesus Christ!' or two thrown in for good measure. I'm not proud.

Lucia tells me the effects will last for 3 to 4 weeks, and that the next time round won't be as bad because the hair follicles won't be quite so deep as they are when you shave. Next time? Who said anything about a next time?

Picture: Photoshopped by me but original c/o: literally.barelyfitz.com

Going to Brazil

2006-06-22T15:07:00.000+01:00

There's an 'article' in this week's copy of Now magazine, with pictures of Heather Mills McCartney getting out of her car (into a wheelchair) and helping her daughter out, before spending some time together on the beach - without her prosthetic leg. The article goes on and on about how lonely, and sad, and rake thin she is, and how she's struggling with the wheelchair etc etc. I found it incredibly annoying and indeed condescending. In those pictures I saw a woman, who despite only having one leg was driving (I can't drive), and going about her day to day business, and spending fun time with her daughter - without any assistance. If anything I was really impressed by how independent and able-bodied she looked. Also, I think she has a fabulous figure - not sure what all this rake thin business is about. Bloody tabloids.

I've gone and booked myself a session at the beauty salon this afternoon for a wax 'down there'. I don't mean to get graphic, but us ladies have to take care of grooming, especially ahead of a beach holiday that requires wearing a bikini. I've never had a bikini wax before, so I wanted to try it out way ahead of our honeymoon in case I get some sort of reactionary rash. I was toying with the idea of having a Brazilian wax, to which my sister Mags replied (with a horrified expression on her face), "For gods sakes why? Are you planning on becoming a pole dancer?"

I'm sure there's some evolutionary ape-related reason we have hair on our bodies, but aside from the hair on my head, eyebrows, and eyelashes, my feeling is, if it doesn't have a life supporting function - get rid of it. When it comes to my own body, I can't stand body hair, and the sight of Julia Robert's hairy armpit in that evening dress still haunts me. I've also never quite understood the correlation between being a feminist and needing to have copious amounts of hair under your arms and on your legs. Has it got some secret Samson-like girl power function? I've known some fiercely intelligent women in my time, some of which have been terrific ball breakers, who have been refreshingly hairless.

The receptionist at the salon told me they had three types of waxes available: Bikini, Brazilian, and Hollywood - and they differ in price, which leads me to believe the difference lies in the amount of hair they remove. I'm thinking Hollywood is what is also known as a Telly Savalas. I'll leave that up to you to figure out.

I've been warned to take painkillers beforehand, and I hear aspirin is good. God help me.

Meeting Linda Hamilton ...maybe

2006-06-22T12:20:00.000+01:00

Our lounge suite was filthy - layers of dust from the builders (who covered them, but dust has a sneaky way of getting into things regardless), as well as countless drinks spilt on them during one or another of our parties. I foolishly decided to wash the covers, and on the plus side they didn't shrink, but they have been an absolute bitch to put back on again - read: much puffing and panting accompanied by swearing. Our next suite will be easy-to-wipe leather I think.

I may have an acting job tomorrow, which is all very exciting, and terrifying. A producer contacted me, and asked me if I'd be around tomorrow to play the part of a shop assistant in a movie they are shooting in London, starring none other than Linda Hamilton.

As some of you may or may not know (I've droned on about it in the past), Linda Hamilton's figure in Terminator II is my idea of perfection, and one I've (sadly I know) idolised as the holy grail of body perfection since the movie came out. I seriously doubt she will be on set, but if she is, and if I get the chance to talk to her (also highly unlikely) I will tell her how much she rocked in those movies. Naturally I'd have to do this in a way that doesn't come across as creepy - not easy. I'm waiting on a call to hear if I'll be needed.

My painting is still crap

2006-06-20T21:58:00.000+01:00

Unsurprisingly, none of the men in our art class were there tonight, except for the Japanese guy who speaks no English at all, has missed loads of classes, and for some strange and inexplicable reason had no idea he would be painting tonight. Sometimes I wonder if he knows what course he's on, or if he even knows he's on a course.

On the way to the station I stopped in at a kebab shop to find out the footie score (England v Sweden), and at that point it was one all . After I got off the tube and stopped in at a pub, it was still one all. When I got home and turned on the radio England had just scored another point, and then Sweden equalized, due to, according to the sports announcers, some shoddy defending.

I don't really follow the football unless it's World Cup, and then only because I like to be able to participate in the conversations that everyone is having, almost every minute of the day. When I lived in South Africa, people followed the world cup, but nothing at all compared to London where the city literally comes to a stand-still during England matches. Most of the time though, instead of knowing who’s defending whom, or which player is off sides, I'm too busy admiring the muscle tone in their legs, and wondering how many hours down the gym I'd have to do to get legs like that.

My painting was and still is a disaster. Julia, my art teacher, tried to remain optimistic, and told me to stick with it. At one point I had a few of the other students and her standing next to me looking at it, and nearly all of them had solemn expressions on their faces, but tried to make up-beat suggestions. I think they were all relieved when I pronounced it well and truly unsaveable, and stoically agreed it would be best if I started a new one next week, despite it being our final evening.

Next week is also our little leaving party, and I'm thinking perhaps the wine might help – I plan on taking a lot of it. Julia tried to make me feel better by saying that my painting had a certain German expressionist feel to it, to which Lex asked if by that she meant how it looked as though my model was lying in a pool of her own blood (supposed to be the red throw she was reclining on). At that point I packed up and called it a night, cursing the fact that I gave up a night out with my friends at Home House watching the footie.

On the positive side our painters have finally left, and Illona was in today and gave the place a good clean, though it still feels a bit grubby, and I imagine it will continue to do so until we have our new carpets fitted. They also got some paint in the grain of our wooden floor boards which I don't really know what to do about. I think I'll have to investigate wooden floor polishing companies - like I really want more people in our house right now.

On a completely unrelated topic, I watched an interview with Britney Spears (via Matt Lauer) which was pretty excruciating. That poor girl, I have to say, the paparazzi have made her life a living hell. Now I agree with what some people might be thinking - that if you want to be rich and famous by virtue of your popularity with the public, you have to be prepared for both the good and bad publicity. But what I don't understand, and this goes for people like Paris Hilton and Victoria Beckham too, is why the paparazzi choose to focus on their every inane daily activity, as though the rest of us live such incredibly boring shitty lives that we’re desperate to see the five hundred and fiftieth photo of Paris walking down a street with shopping bags in her hands.

I mean, someone exiting a crack den with a transexual prostitute on their arm - sure, that's something I'd be interested in seeing a picture of. But how many times do we have to see photos of Britney (without shoes) clasping a giant Starbucks? I just fail to find that interesting. Same goes for Victoria Beckham on one of her umpteenth shopping trips. In the case of the latter, OK, perhaps it's interesting to what new fashion she’s wearing or just how thin she's gotten, but even that gets old after a while.

I say, leave poor Britney Spears alone and let her get on with her Starbucks enriched life - she's just not that interesting or controversial to be so obsessively papped. And if you see the interview, I reckon these photographers are contributing to her becoming even more unstable than what she is. Choosing Kevin Federline as the father of her children does lead one to question her mental stability in the first place, but it’s not looking good.

PS: No photo availible of my painting as Robert has my digital camera - it's true thank god.

Almost there

2006-06-19T10:25:00.000+01:00

Our building work comes to an end today, and it couldn’t have come any sooner. We had friends over a while back and when we told them we had plans to decorate they suggested we do it ourselves. The look of shocked horror on my face probably led them to think I considered it dirty work, but the truth is, having done the whole DIY decorating thing in the past, I'm only too aware of what damage it can do to a relationship. Robert and I pretty much never fight, unless it involves us having to do some or other task in our house, and then it can be volatile. Taking on the painting of an entire flat would probably have secured our break-up, or at the very least a lot of broken crockery.

But having people in your home day in and day out doing it all for you, brings with it a different kind of stress, though at least as a couple you can be united in your despair at the havoc they are causing in your home. Our guys have been (as much as builders can be) pretty non-invasive. They arrive early and leave late, and do their best to tidy and clean up their mess at the end of each day. They finish and don’t replace the milk, but in the greater scheme of things, I can live with that.

What does serve as a very stressful factor is the fact that everything (even things in closed cupboards) gets covered in dust. There’s really no point chasing after them with a duster, because it’s all settled back in a nice thick layer the very next day again. You can’t do laundry, because again, everything will get dust on it. You have to move the contents of one room to another and so forth and so on as they make their way around the flat, and then eventually find that your last remaining refuge needs painting too. Everything is everywhere, and you can’t find anything. This is another reason to avoid clutter, because when it comes to things like decorating or moving, having to move a whole lot of shit you never use (or may never have used) is an enormous waste of time and added strain to an already stressful work load.

I’m reassuring myself with the thought that by the end of today they’ll be gone, and we can start the slow and laborious process of cleaning everything and moving back into our place. Although is there really any point until the carpet guys have been, and when are they coming? What is a nice thought is that when we get back from our honeymoon we can settle into our married life knowing that we don’t have an argument or three awaiting us over a crack that needs filling or a wall that needs painting. Well, at least for the next 5 years or so… .

Decoration and desperation

2006-06-16T08:48:00.000+01:00

Our house has been under a siege of dust and enveloped in paint fumes for a week and a half now. Our builder chaps reckon they'll be done by the end of Monday. I'm hoping and praying because there's only so much of this you can take, before wanting to pull tufts of your hair out in despair. We've also been forced to eat out a fair amount which has been playing havoc with my pre-wedding diet. I've stepped up the exercise to even things out, but I still don't like it when the scales go up instead of down. Next week it's back to normal eating, with a vengeance.

It's funny how you always forget just how much upheaval building work can cause in your life, until the next time that is, and then you're like - shit, why did we want to do this again? On the upside our builder/decorators have done a fantastic job, and I imagine when the final stage is in place (new carpets), it's going to look lovely. You have to keep these end result visual goals in mind to survive these things.

We caught the very end of the football yesterday at a pub around the corner from our home, and the atmosphere when England scored in like the last 5 minutes, not once but twice, was fantastic. I actually filmed it on my little camera, and if I had a working study, or indeed any workable surface other than my lap right now, I'd stick that on here. I'm hoping to resume my usual epic-style blog entries next week too.

A friend of mine mentioned that my blog entries seem to intimate that I don't work or do anything other than fanny about with my time. I admit to a fair amount of fannying, but I do actually work - as hard as that is to believe. I'm a freelance creative - doing web design, web photography, concept work, and graphic design. As I'm self-employed and work directly with clients, I have a professional obligation not to discuss the details of work I'm doing with them on here. A lot of the advertising-related work I do also involves confidential concept and product development, which obviously prevents me from talking about it. I don't work in an office, so I can't even slag off my work colleagues on here either - so no juicy office politics I'm afraid. So, for the record, I do work and have shit days just like everyone else, but I think there's a lot more interesting things to write about anyway.

Sharon Osbourne versus Rebecca Loos

2006-06-14T11:37:00.000+01:00

I caved yesterday and bought a copy of HEAT magazine. Looks like there's a bit of a tiff between Rebecca Loos and Sharon Osbourne, with Sharon reportedly starting it after she said to Loos (during a live screening of Celebrity X Factor), that her performance would be improved if she wore knickers to warm up her voice, and that she had had a very good breast enlargement. This resulted in tears, and the producers apparently had quite a job convincing Loos to come back to perform the following night. The next evening Sharon struck again with, "Missis, talk about going down, have you got something stuck in the back of your throat?", to which her daughter Kelly shouted "You're not famous" from the audience.

Usually, I'm a fan of Sharon Osbourne's, but this is just a clear cut case of bullying and I think the whole thing was in very bad taste. The buzz is that Sharon is a friend of the Beckhams - as if that's supposed to justify why she couldn't be an impartial judge, and was entitled to make non-related bitchy comments. Having said that, I don't know why I'm that surprised considering this is the same women who (in her autobiography) claims to have done a number 2 on a statue her fathers mistress had bought him to show her disapproval of the affair.

I happened to watch one of those stupid Celeb X Factor shows, and there were a couple of twats in the audience booing Rebecca Loos and James Hewitt when they performed. OK, so they were both terrible, I mean, James Hewitt was so out of tune it was hard to tell what he was singing, and all that crotch grabbing? And Rebecca Loos, bless her, she was better than him, but not much. But to their credit, none of them took themselves too seriously, and they did it for a laugh and to raise money for charity.

But I had no doubt the booing was a personal thing, and I thought it was very juvenile. I'm not a big fan of Rebecca Loos's, well mainly because she's not really done anything like written a book or a song, or anything one might have cause to be a fan about. In my opinion she is a young woman who had an affair and pending the story coming out anyway, sold it to the papers. Was it the right thing to do? Probably not, and it was in bad taste, these things always are. But the last time I checked, David Beckham was involved in that little scandal too, and he was the one with the wife and family, and therefore in my opinion the one who was more responsible. But I guess we don't hold our national hero's accountable for this sort of thing - it's always completely and entirely the fault of some or other devious woman making it impossible for these poor innocent lambs to say no.

Also this whole business was like two years ago - who gives a shit anyway? And the latest I heard is that Sharon Osbourne called Rebecca Loos a cunt on a recent appearance at G-A-Y nightclub. Come on Sharon, every time you descend into these bitchfests you lose more cred. If you think Rebecca Loos is such a nobody, you'd think twice before giving her so much publicity next time. I'm reminded of perhaps the biggest insult you can ever level at someone, which is when asked what you think of them to reply, 'I really have no opinion of them.'

Picture: Rebecca Loos and James Hewitt on Celebrity X Factor c/o: dailymail.co.uk

My first Jewish wedding

2006-06-13T09:01:00.000+01:00

Our friend's Jane and Anthony's wedding on Sunday was beautiful. If you can imagine a fairytale wedding enabled by a generous budget - this would be it. As our own wedding is coming up in September I was having a good look to see how things had been done, in case I might pick up a tip or two - and I have to say, it's going to be a hard act to follow.

During the ceremony I sat on the right side with all the other ladies, and all the men (Robert included) sat on the left and had to wear Yarmulkes. I thought Robert looked very sexy in his. But aside from it being beautiful and perfect and all that cosmetic stuff, the thing that impressed me the most about the whole day was just how relaxed and how much fun both the bride and groom were having. Even under the Chuppah, Jane had a big grin on her face as she circled Anthony seven times. I've never seen a more chilled-out bride.

When our friend Greg was telling me about the dress code for these sorts of lavish Jewish weddings I thought he was exaggerating a little bit - I mean, evening gowns? But he was in fact spot on - and some of the dresses were absolutely stunning - floor length, backless, beading, chiffon, the works. The lady sitting next to me during the ceremony told me that it's a great opportunity for everyone to wear their finest, and it was quite impressive.

My black dress fitted in well (thank god) and there were quite a lot of other women wearing black too. When we texted the bride last week to check that she was OK with this colour, she responded with, "Of course - anything goes." But again, what I just couldn't help noticing were at least three women wearing white or champagne, and one in particular wearing a dress that could well have passed for a modern bridal gown circa Vera Wang. Another lady was in head to toe white - no other colour. From a couple of comments I've had posted on a previous blog, one says white is increasingly being worn by guests to American weddings, and another said - when in doubt, avoid, as white, cream and champagne, are definitely the bride's prerogative. Either way, it didn't really matter ultimately, because the bride looked so spectacular that it was very clear who the star of the show was. Not only did she have on a stunning 30's styled dress and headdress, but she had an enormous grin on her face almost from start to finish.

The band were amazing, and Robert was so impressed he wanted to hire them for our wedding. I had to point out that being a Jewish band they probably didn't do Friday nights, and it may be a bit of a schlep getting them out to the South of France. But it was tempting - I never realised a band could be so good and get the party going and in fact keep it going like that. Their cover versions were spot on, and as Robert said, they looked like a much younger, sexier version of Abba, without the annoying Abba songs (sorry Mom!).

I also liked the way they mixed things up - and had dancing before and during the courses, before the bride and groom formally opened the floor after dinner. It meant people were constantly entertained and there was never a dull moment. I think the resounding impression for most people is that it was a very fun-filled and happy occasion, and above and beyond any of the other stuff like good food, flowers, and beautiful table settings, this is what ultimately counts, and what Robert and I hope our own wedding will be like too.

The three drink rule

2006-06-11T10:36:00.000+01:00

I think I've figured out my safety zone when it comes to drinking - it pretty much involves stretching out three drinks in an evening, and if I'm being very virtuous (which admittedly doesn't happen often) drinking a soft drink or water in between. But three drinks is definitely the limit, because after that I can become the equivalent of a bottomless pit and want to throw drinks down my throat in rapid succession. This is also usually accompanied by the desire to smoke and various other forms of destructive behavior. I'm not a particularly complicated person when it comes to my vices, and they generally accompany each other, so by avoiding one (alcohol generally being the catalyst for the rest), I escape the others. I've yet to figure out where the chocolate ecclair thing fits into all of this - that's a new one, and doesn't appear to require any alcoholic assistance.

But the best best bit, which is always worth remembering the next time I'm tempted to step off into the abyss, is the heavenly sensation of waking up following a party or night out without a hangover. Priceless. In fact, I was so hangoverless this morning I almost foolishly volunteered to accompany Robert on his 10km run in Hyde Park. Fortunately for me, he pointed out that I should probably start with and get used to 5km runs first before I tackle the bigger ones. Also, it's a scorcher out there today - yet another gorgeous summers day in London, and if you aren't used to running those kinds of distances, the heat almost doubles the effort.

Still, I'm quite keen on this mini marathon business, as I think it's a good way to track your fitness and set yourself goals. One of the women on a special edition of The Biggest Loser started off obese, and is now a trim and fit regular marathon runner - now that's inspiration.

Last night was Louise's party and it was great fun. Those three drinks may sound boring to more ambitious drinkers, but they were sufficient enough to ensure I danced to Wham, and bent the ear of a few unfortunate souls (sorry Guy!). Louise was, as ever, the perfect hostess, ensuring everyone had more than enough to drink and eat, until eventually, after much pleading, she came to join the party. I think it's always tricky when you're hosting - making sure everyone is fed and watered and having a good time, and at the same time, being able to kick back yourself.

I also got a chance to catch up with the girls, talk botox, and discuss the vices and virtues of various other treatments. I also had a really interesting discussion with Halide about where one draws the line between necessary treatments, and indulgent ones. For example, is lazer hair removal a necessity, or a luxury? She tells me it can cost about £1200, which sounds like a huge amount, but then that's permanent hair removal - for ever. I reckon your weekly Gillette razors or waxes will land up costing a lot more than that over a lifetime.

Pictures from last night here.

First picture of baby Shiloh Nouvel

2006-06-09T09:24:00.000+01:00

So this is Brad and Angelina with their new baby. OK, so I don't know if it's real - but if it isn't, it's one hell of a photoshop job. A big thanks to uglypig for the tip.

Just added: Looks real, found this link with even more gorgeous pics.

Update: Yes, these are the real thing. Hello magazine is now selling here in London with this cover and the same pics featured in the second link.

Vote for The Hoff

2006-06-08T17:15:00.000+01:00

Knowing what a huge fan my sister Chantell, is, I'd have thought this would've come from her, but no - I got sent if from an entirely different source. Naturally she'll be pissed, because being the world's biggest (self-proclaimed) Hoff fan and collector of Hoff memorobilia she likes to think she's on the up and up on all his latest news. Sorry sis - but don't worry, you can still make a difference, and along with everyone else join the drive to vote for The Hoff.

And for those of you who question the genius that is The Hoff, lest we forget that indomitable example of musical (not to mention video mastery) genius that was, 'Hooked on a feeling.'

Photo: The Hoff, c/o garfieldridge.typepad.com

Pedicures for beginners

2006-06-08T13:33:00.000+01:00

With the warm weather we're having, it's inevitable that flipflop and Birkenstock sales are going to sky rocket. The flip side (pun embarrassingly intended) for a foot fetishest/phobe like myself, is that this also means a lot of ungroomed feet on display, and if I'm sitting on a bus or tube, in very close proximity to me. I say foot phobe/fetishest, because I've yet to meet a person who 'has a thing about feet' who not only recoils at the site of dirty or ungroomed feet, but also appreciates a really nice pair in an almost kinky way. I think they go hand in hand, or should I say, foot in foot. OK enough already with the bad puns.

I hate to say it, but some of the worst foot offenders are men. Some guys still seem to think that pedicures are some chick thing, and therefore they cannot possibly be looking after their feet. This often means long, dirty and or jagged toe nails, cracked heels, or even worse, dirty smelly feet. My advise is to think of your feet the same was you do, say, your teeth or armpits. You want to keep them clean and smelling nice - it's as simple as that. This is basic body hygiene - nothing effeminate about it.

For those of you who would rather swallow glass than have a pedicure done at a spa or nail salon, the good news is that nail kits sold in somewhere like Boots are quite inexpensive. And in reality, you don't even need some fancy kit, but rather just a good pair of nail clippers, an emery board, and possibly one or two of those wooden jobbies to clean under the nails. I'd also suggest a nice foot cream for use before going to bed to keep them soft - but if this feels as if it's veering dangerously into chic territory, you can skip it. Having spoken to a few beauty therapists at various salons here and in the USA, I'm told that there's a rising trend in men having their feet pedicured and indeed many other beauty treatments, and not just gay men either. So don't be shy to give it a try. Also, there are probably worse ways to spend 45 minutes or so than having your feet pampered by a cute pedicurist - but maybe that's just me.

For DIY, after a bath or shower is a good time for a pedicure, because the nails are soft, and a lot easier to cut. Your feet will also be clean, and a lot more pleasant to handle. You don't have to do anything fancy - just keep the nails short (and clean) and file the edges to get them smoothed off. To avoid getting ingrown toenails cut the nail straight (and above the ends of the grooves on either side of the nail bed) in a sort of squared-off way, and file a little v shape in the middle. Ballet girls I went to school with used to do this, and it really works.

If you want to get rid of dry skin on the heals and around the big toe, there are also some great yet inexpensive foot scrubbers, which you can use in or outside of the shower/bath. Just ask an assistant to find the right one, because some aren't as effective as others. Again, for maximum effectiveness, follow with a good foot/heal cream.

I've had a few conversations with women and even men who've been put off a person because their feet were in a state. OK, so it's not the end of the world, and it may seem like a trivial thing in the face of say, a great personality or soaring intellect, but I think on some basic attraction level, it can make people think poor hygiene. And let's face it, no one wants someone to think they suffer from this, unless of course you are Pete Doherty who seems to thrive on the smelly unwashed look. All of this can be so easily avoided with a bit of TLC a couple of times a month, which all in all takes you about 10 minutes, if that.

If you are going to wear nail polish, it's best to keep it touched up, as the chipped thing just looks tacky and cheap. Personally I'm also guilty of touching up over existing layers, because I don't always take the time to take it all off and start over. This means when I do take it off it takes ages because of all the build-up - not good. And to avoid getting those nasty yellow stains on your nails, a beauty technician told me to use a clear base coat ahead of strong colours.

Broken nails, especially on the big toes are tricky. During my first session with Guy I cracked the nail on my left big toe. A few days later I was walking along the street in a pair of heels on my way to an event, when I felt something snap, accompanied by a slight jolt of pain. I stopped and upon removing my shoe (in as ladylike and unobtrusive manner as possible - I hoped and probably failed to do), I discovered half the nail had come right off. Yes, very pleasant - not. The last time I heard of this happening, was my friend's grandfather who was running in the war and had to stop and take off his army boot to let his toenail fall out. I don't know what happened with his, but mine's started to grow back now, but I was gutted as it happened right before the summer and indeed strappy high-heel sandal season.

I've contemplated having a fake nail put on, but then I remembered Victoria Beckham has fake toe nails, and that just put me right off. I'm praying it's grown back properly by our honeymoon, because somehow my Grace Kelly-esque fantasy doesn't quite work with an image of my funny-looking toe inside of a gorgeous strappy sandal.

Picture: My feet post French pedicure in healthier 'left toenail intact' times

Nails and nails

2006-06-08T08:55:00.000+01:00

Despite having only started yesterday, our builders are making good progress. These guys have a positive attitude and work ethic, and were still here at 6.30pm (having arrived at 8.30am) cleaning up after themselves (well, as much as they could) until I booted them out. Unfortunately, they also had a chap in who supervised the moving of our central heating units and he must have switched off the hot water, because Robert emerged from the shower this morning looking somewhat startled (and pink). In my case I have thanked the gods for Olay face wipes, and am off to the gym for a workout and shower.

I was supposed to meet a friend last night, and sat waiting for 45 minutes in our club bar on my own, before eventually getting fed up and leaving. This morning I saw she had sent me an email yesterday afternoon saying she couldn't make it, but as our internet was down (something the builders did with switching off our electricity I think), I never got it. As it turns out, she was actually unwell, but as I didn't know that I sat there feeling very annoyed, and now I feel bad. It's times like these I wish we used the phone more, and didn't rely soley on email to arrange the business that is our lives. In my own experience this would probably have saved me a lot of misunderstandings and even heartache over the years.

In the early hours of this morning I kept dreaming that Robert was lying on top of me, and later realised it was actually just muscle pain from my workout yesterday. At the end of the session Guy told me it would be good for me to hit the gym today, but not to work my upper body (because he killed those muscles yesterday), and not to do legs (as he had plans for those tomorrow), so hmmm, let me see, just do a 5 kilometer run, and aim to do it in 25-30 minutes. Sometimes I do wonder.

Yesterday I visited a new nail salon that's opened in our neighbourhood. I know I know, after just blogging about what high maintenance synthetic nails are. I had been toying with the idea of having my nails done for our wedding, but if you've ever had nail extensions you'll know that initially it's like having thimbles on the ends of your fingers, and it takes a while to get used to them. Basic things like undoing buttons or opening a box can become seriously difficult tasks. I wanted to have some time to get used to them, so that something like our ring exchange would be a romantic moment as opposed to a disasterously comical one. I also reasoned that we have quite a few nice events in the next few months, and my own nails, which have been breaking a lot, just look shabby.

This new place is your typical Thai salon - complete with hair-raising lethal fumes, and talented nail technicians who speak no English at all, and whom you've always got a sneaking/paranoid suspicion are gossiping about you with the person next to them. The chap that did my nails and I communicated through a sort of sign language and mono-syllabic words, and the only thing he seemed to understand in full was 'Do you accept cards?' To which the answer was a resounding head-nodding 'yes'.

At one point, two unbelievably attractive young Russian women entered. They were both about 6 foot tall and skinny, and wearing strappy stilettoes and micro-minis. The area I was in is very media, and these girls looked so out of place that I could only think they must have come from the strip club on Tottenham Court Road, the Spearmint Rhino. I'm not being bitchy - these girls were gorgeous, but the way they were dressed, and the amount of makeup they were wearing, had stripper bling written all over it. Women with more regular jobs, especially in that part of town, just don't look like that, nor do I think are they capable of walking around in 6 inch heels on a hot summers day. I'm jealous of the latter mind you - being a short-ass, I only wish I could go about my day to day business in high heels like that without breaking my ankle.

One of them - with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes, raised her middle finger as if giving the bird, and revealing a peach coloured talon said in a thick exotic accent, 'You fix broken nail?' to which my guy merely giggled. The short and incomprehensible conversation that followed led me to believe that if I thought I had a tough time communicating with him, I didn't have a thing on Russian/Thai relations.

Homoerotic art and black tie weddings

2006-06-07T11:10:00.000+01:00

Last night my prayers were answered and we had Naked Woman again, and I think we have her until the end of our course - hurah! While Julia, our instructor, was showing us the colour wheel, Naked Woman (who was reading a newspaper while reclining in a dressing gown) announced that yesterday, being 6/06/06, was supposed to be the Armageddon, according to her paper. At this the Japanese girl looked over to me, and I looked over to the Polish girl and for a brief second we all probably thought the same thing: Did we really want to get snuffed out while learning how to mix a good shade of green? On reflection I decided that there are probably worse ways to go.

Remember how I said last week a switch went on and I did a great drawing? Well last night, the switch was firmly in the 'off' position - in fact, the whole house was in darkness. My painting was crappy, and this working with oil paints business is a lot tougher than it looks. Bring back the charcoals - I was just getting the hang of those. Julia tells me it will improve, and I still have another three weeks to 'develop' it. Here's hoping.

Elsewhere in the building, the resident art students were having another exhibition. This involved them dragging their amused/confused/shocked parents from one weird and wonderful creation to another. Their teachers stood outside in the courtyard drinking beers and chain-smoking, the women mostly in T-shirts (and no bras), and then men with long hair and sunglasses, circa Miami Vice with a hippy twist. I took a walk around, and some of the stuff was very good, and a lot of it was incomprehensibly strange. One young guy had clearly discovered and indeed wanted to celebrate the fact that he was gay, and did a painting with two buff young men (the abs on them!) in a homoerotic pose in a biblical setting - complete with halos. I wonder what mom and dad made of that?

*****

I had a work out with Guy this morning. I had been dreading it, because we got to sleep quite late last night after having cleared out the lounge ahead of our builders arriving today. I was also in a bit of a shitty mood, which I guess happens some days. But on the positive side, we had a really good session - and I'm feeling a lot more cheerful now. Must be those endorphins. I'm also going to treat myself to some sushi for lunch (great source of lean protein), as the builders are in the process of removing and rebuilding an entire wall in our lounge, and I can't get to the kitchen.

We have a wedding on Sunday at the Dorchester Hotel, and it's black tie. I have never been to a black tie wedding before, and was at a real loss as to what one wears to such an event. A friend of mine who is also having a black tie wedding later in the year said that you can't really wear a summery day dress, it has to be a proper evening or cocktail number. My sis Mags and I were dress shopping last week, and I found that while most dresses may fit me nicely around the waist and stomach, they are often very tight on the bust. Mags reckons I'd be better off shopping in somewhere like Los Angeles, where they are used to woman who are disproportionate in this way (albeit thanks to surgery), and probably have boutiques specialising in such things.

But unfortunately I just didn't have time to swing past LA, so I've decided to wear a sort of Jackie-O type black evening dress - A-line with a full(ish) skirt and beading, and some really bling shoes. My English girlfriends have warned me that if you plan on wearing black to a wedding, it's courtesy to check with the bride first, as some people don't care for it as it can signify death/funerals. Likewise they tell me that cream is a no-no (too close to white which is the bride's colour), and one should also check if you want to wear navy. Crap, and there's me thinking I had it all sorted.

Right, and now I think a Polish man's face is about to emerge through the study wall ... best go and see what those guys are getting up to ... .

Picture: Painting from art exhibition last night, by Charles Bell

It's coming together

2006-06-06T09:08:00.000+01:00

We met up with our wedding planner, Miguel, last night. We did a a sort of talk/walk through of things, and I'm feeling a lot more relaxed. I don't want to get too relaxed mind you, because my mother tells me that stressed-out brides lose a ton of weight ahead of their weddings, and I'd kind of been looking forward to that.

My wedding dress now fits me fairly comfortably (well as comfortable as these kinds of dresses get), and a friend of mine asked me if that's the case, why would I continue my sessions with Guy. The truth is, I'm kind of liking the way my body looks (for the first time in I don't know how many years), but there's still room for improvement in terms of toning. Despite finally fitting into size 8 trousers, my body fat percentage is still higher than what I would like, and I feel flabby in certain parts. From this point I'm not going to be concentrating on weight loss any more though, but more so on developing muscle tone.

A couple of months ago, Robert and I started watching The Soprano's from the start (he had never seen it), and Adriana (Drea Matteo) is definitely my body inspiration at the moment - she has an awesome figure. Every time I see her in one of those almost stripper outfits I'm thinking, my god, look at those abs. I'm not sure I want to know what Robert is thinking.

In the news, if you've ever wanted to see O.J Simpson in a sex video (you weirdo freak) today's your lucky day.

And miracles never cease, but could it be that Britney Spears finally came to her senses and is getting a divorce from Kevin Spenderline?

Finally, a painting by Turner has sold for a record £5.832m at Christies - apparently a first for a British watercolour.

And on the subject of art, I have my class this evening, and I'm praying we have naked woman again.

High maintenance

2006-06-05T12:28:00.000+01:00

Well I'm pleased to say that Robert arrived home with both eyebrows intact, and in a surprisingly sober(ish) state. I think he may even have been more sober than me, but it's hard to remember as I was half asleep on the sofa while failing (for about the 6th time) to get through Mystic River. I don't know what it is about that movie, but I never manage to watch it in it's entirety - especially after a fair bit of wine.

I had been out with some of my girlfriends, and we landed up in a new club Robert and I have recently joined. I like it a lot for a post work drink with friends, or even a pre-dinner drink. But the nightclub is full of women who look as though they are soliciting, albeit for a fair price, and monied men who have a slightly over-stuffed seedy look about them. When we saw that the cheapest bottle of wine in the nightclub cost £90 (I kid you not), we headed back up to the main bar and eventually settled into a table with our (slightly cheaper) drinks. A few minutes later, in walked a beautiful-looking young Middle-Eastern woman, accompanied by what I made out to be her sister and a few friends. As they brushed past me I was enveloped in an amazing scent that smelt as though it was definitely custom-made is some tiny little 'by appointment only' French perfume botique. The staff immediately bolted in her direction and began to fawn over her and her entourage. She really was something to behold - blessed with gorgeous genes (and hair), groomed from head to toe, and expensively dressed. No matter what you are wearing, if you stand next to a woman like that, you will look scruffy.

When it comes down to it, maintaining a look like that must cost a lot of money. There are hair appointments, facials, spa treatments, a designer wardrobe, beauty products, manicures and pedicures, gym memberships etc. I like to look after myself, but I've realised that you have to draw the line somewhere, otherwise it becomes a very expensive obsession, not to mention a time-consuming one. These are the sort of woman who say 'I can't see you that night because I'm washing my hair' and it's actually the truth.

I used to have acrylic nails, and though they made my hands look beautiful, I had to have them filled in every 2 weeks or so. And if I broke one ahead of an engagement, a frantic search for the nearest nail bar ensued. In those days there weren't Thai nail salons on every corner like there are now.

I also used to have blonde highlights (which I miss dearly), but those too were high maintenance, and involved having my roots touched up ever three weeks to a month at some expense. There are probably cheaper options, but I've always maintained that when it comes to your hair, and if you are trying to pull off a colour that is drastically different to your own, it's better to spend a bit extra and get a good job done.

These days my maintenance routine is a lot simpler (and cheaper) and involves having a facial done once a month and having a haircut every 8 weeks. I colour my own hair, because you can't really go wrong with golden brown, which is near enough to my own colour. Actually this last colour I put in was so close to my natural one that I'm letting my roots grow out, if only to prove to my disbelieving sisters that I don't have any grey hair. Yet. However, if I do spot one, I'll be back at the hair dye in a flash. Robert also tends to get me a spa day for my birthday each year, which I save for a time I am feeling a bit run down, or ahead of a holiday. I then go in and spend my time having massages and french pedicures, while gossiping with the beauty therapists - heaven.

Which reminds me, I have to make a hair appointment ... .

Summertime

2006-06-03T17:20:00.000+01:00

Yay! First day of summer. It's in the high twenties here in London today, and the sky is pure blue - gorgeous. Everyone is out and about; shopping, drinking beers, dining al-fresco, sunning their pins in the park, walking their dogs, etc. I headed off to the post office only to discover it's closed on a Saturday, but as I was right by the shops I thought I'd pop in and see what was new. Big mistake - huge. Packed full of sweaty teenagers and tourists, and Oxford Street was even more of a nightmare than usual.

I didn't stay long, and I'm proud to say I didn't make any impulse purchases either - heat or no heat. What I can say though, and this goes out to the people of London, and all the people visiting London - One word people: deodorant. Buy it, use it, learn to love it.

Jaysus, you'd think people would get up, see it was a scorching hot day and think to themselves, 'Hmm, this morning I'm going to have a shower (with soap) and use a fair bit of deo - it's kind of hot out there.' But no - and before you think I'm just having a go at the blokes, I'm not - in fact, most of the guys I walked past smelt pretty good. There was a young girl in a tank top perusing shoes who absolutely reeked. Awful, and definitely not attractive - on anyone for that matter.

Robert is on his stag do today/this evening. I'm sure the guys are going to have a great time, especially with this beautiful weather, and my only concern is that he comes home with both eyebrows intact. I don't know why but some guys seem to think it's hilarious to shave off half the groom's eyebrow. The things men find funny... .

*****

I've had a lot of spam recently. Mostly from people who want to sell me penis enlargement products. Now, if I had a penis chances are I might peruse what they had on offer, but as I don't, I do find it vaguely annoying. Funny how you never get emails for vagina enlargement. Personally I wouldn't be a taker, but I imagine there must be some interested parties out there surely. The other thing I get inundated with are fake PayPal emails, despite not even having a PayPal account. Likewise emails from (supposedly) Chase Bank and Barkays (supposed to be Barclays but misspelled - bloody eejit criminal fools), and being told I've won the Australian or European lottery, and just need to click on some or other link and verify my details, which probably involves me handing over my banking passwords etc.

*****

There are a lot of weddings this year with the summer coming and all, and I can hand on my heart reccommend Coast as a good place to visit if you are looking for a beautiful summery frock, at a price that won't break the bank. I took my sister Mags there yesterday, and she was suitably impressed, and this is a woman who doesn't really do dresses unless they are Donna Karan or some other posh label. She thought their stuff was well made, and personally I love the styles - all very 50's glamour at the moment, which is definitely my thing.

On our wedding info sheet I've asked ladies to refrain from wearing white where possible. Some people may well find this a bit strange, but I've really been surprised by the amount of times I've seen women wear white suits or dresses to weddings. As far as I know, it's the bride who wears white, at least in South Africa it is. This may be a cultural thing, but saying that my English friends have said it's pretty much the same here in the UK.

Right, and now I'm off to enjoy this beautiful weather... .

It aint easy

2006-05-31T16:26:00.000+01:00

Today I seriously wanted to throw in the towel with my trainer Guy. We did a cardio workout which had me sprinting across a section of the park and back again, and then going straight into press-ups, followed by squats, star-jumps and lunges. We did variations on this - in terms of distance, speed, and repetitions, and I felt like I was going to pass out and vomit - either in succession or in one massive disgusting combination. It was terrible, and I think he saw my face and could tell what I was thinking. He told me that I have to trust him, that he wouldn't ask me do anything I wasn't capable of, and that it will get easier.

I've had similar experiences during ski lessons; you're tired, fed up, and it's difficult and you think to yourself, 'Why the hell am I doing this? This guy's making me take unnecessary risks. Doesn't he realise that I'm physically incapable of doing this?!' And in the case of skiing you can add being scared shitless to the list.

But I carried on, as you do, and I pushed myself harder than I ever have in terms of physical exertion. This evening I'm feeling tired, and a bit sore, and I'll admit, kind of proud of myself for having got through it. Sometimes with exercise, and I guess with some other things in life, it's like you're trying to blow up a balloon and it feels as though it's just never going to inflate, despite you puffing and panting, and then you get to a certain point and suddenly *pfft* it just happens.

Guy gave me a pep talk and reckons that if we keep up I'll lose another 2 inches or so in a month, which he thinks is a dress size. Clearly he knows how to play me. Personally I don't know, but dammit if I'm going to be going through this much hell I need to get something out of it, and there are probably worse things then getting healthy (although it doesn't feel like it!) and dropping a dress size. Sometimes when all else fails, a bit of vanity goes a long way.

I watched a special episode of the Biggest Loser that featured couples who wanted to lose weight ahead of their weddings. There were two couples competing as a team against each other, and seeing that pre-wedding weight loss appears to be a common goal for a lot of people, made me feel less weird for doing what I'm doing. These people were pretty over weight, and one of the woman was dying on the treadmill and was like, 'I can't keep doing this, I'm going to fall off, I can't do it.' And boy, I knew that feeling. And then her trainer said to her, 'Find that place in yourself that gets you through this, you cannot quit.' And she got through it. She lost something like 17 pounds in two weeks - I think that''s like 7.7 kilos, which is huge. Admittedly they were spending like 5 hours a day or so at the gym, which for people who have jobs, kids, a life, isn't really realistic. Still, it was pretty inspirational.

When I started my own diet/fitness regime I had 8 months ahead of me, and if I had a bad day I'd be like 'Oh well, I have 8 months to do it in.' It's now just three months until our big day, and the gap is narrowing fast. I just hope and pray to god that I can find that place in myself that gets me through this, and keeps me going.

Introducing Naked Woman

2006-05-31T09:18:00.000+01:00

Hallelujah! We finally got to draw a woman in my art class. I was the first one to arrive yesterday, and while I was setting up my easel, a tall muscular blonde man entered that I had never seen before. "Oh crap," I thought, "another male model", and a genuine sense of discomfort washed over me. I still fight with that initial embarrassment - especially with male models. Fortunately, he started unpacking his art materials, which made me realise he was joining our class as a student.

A few minutes later a tall robust woman with a commanding presence (and hairy armpits) entered the room, and began to disrobe. She had one of those figures which consists of a fairly slim upper body, which gradually fills out from the waist down, ending in a full bottom and thighs - quite classical actually, and a dream to draw. She did move occasionally which was a bit irritating, but on the whole she was fairly professional. Unlike Naked Man, she was also a lot more modest during breaks, and covered up in a sarong while she stretched.

For me, it was like a switch went off, and I did my best drawing to date. For the first time the instructor actually didn't have a pained expression on her face while she gave me pointers, and I received comments to the effect of, "Good work, that's looking great," accompanied by a smile - which was a relief. At one point I did however get, "Her bottom is actually bigger than that," which made me realise I could never be a life model. Hearing someone say that about me, while I lay there in all my glory would be crushing, and probably fire off an eating disorder. Thank god there are people out there who are not burdened by insane shit like that.

After my lesson I walked along with a woman called Lex to get the train, and (without any prompting from me) she said how happy she was to have someone other than Naked Man to draw - and especially someone with a bit of meat on their bones. I have to say, as diet/exercise conscious as I am, fuller figured people are so much more interesting to draw, and I had to agree with her. Naked Man, though a wonderful life model, doesn't have an inch of fat on him, and I think we were a bit bored. I was also glad to see it wasn't just me that was tired of looking at his bits.

We were both hoping this woman comes back again next week, because that is when we begin our final piece which we will work on for the four remaining weeks - so we need the same model. Fingers and toes firmly crossed.

It's getting old

2006-05-30T07:46:00.000+01:00

They're talking about extending the retirement age here in the UK to 70 by the year 2030. In a recent BBC poll most people said they would like to retire at 58.

For those of us who are only half way there, the thought of still having to work by the age of 70 odd, fills us with horror. But for a lot of people who are in or approaching that age group now, it comes as great news. When my mother was forced to retire last year at 60 through company policy, she took it quite badly. She's extremely youthful, not only in appearance, but in terms of intelligence, physical energy, and her professional capability. She doesn't need to keep working for financial reasons, but having worked for so many years, it's a big part of her identity. Also, the idea of pottering around at home struck her as something old people do, and she certainly didn't feel old. Being an accomplished procrastinator (something I certainly didn't inherit from my parents) I tried to tell her that pottering around at home could be great fun, especially now that we have the internet, but she was having none of it.

Fortunately an offshoot of her company needed a bit of extra help, and my mother was later hired on contract to work three days a week, coincidentally at the same rate she worked for full-time before. Now she tells me she's looking forward to her contract ending, as she quite enjoyed her brief spate of pottering before her new job began. My mother refuses to have a cleaner, and has a fairly big house that requires cleaning from top to bottom a couple of times a week - in her obsessive/compulsive hygiene opinion anyway. Her and her partner are also undertaking some extension work to their home, and building a koi fish pond. Then there's my grandmother to run errands for, and grandchildren to look after. I think she realised that there's a lot more to retirement than bumming around in your dressing gown and watching TV all day. Come to think of it, I don't think my mother has ever bummed around in her dressing gown and watched TV all day. She doesn't know what's she's missing.

Regarding when people retire, I think that provided someone still does a good job, and is keen to do it, the retirement age should be more optional. It is a well known fact that staying active - both physically and mentally, dramatically enhances and in some cases extends the lives of elderly people. And people who have worked their entire lives, and are then forced into retirement, often decline at a fairly rapid rate. I remember reading back in uni, that one of the major causes of depression in elderly people was because they didn't feel as though they were contributing to society any more, and felt, in essence, useless. Contrary to popular belief, it's not just the pay packet that keeps us working, but the feeling that we are a contributing part of something that is bigger than us. Oh, and having money to buy shoes helps too - well in my case it does.

Also, with advances in medicine, people are living longer, and the cuddly 65-year old grandmother baking cookies of yester-year, is now a slim, fit, well-kept woman doing yoga, surfing the net, and playing the stock market. Times have changed, and retirement laws need to reflect that, at least in terms of giving people the option.

I realise extending the retirement age move is probably more to do with pensions, or the lack thereof, but I do think that given the opportunity and the ability, a lot of people will embrace it. Should it be 70? I don't know, but provided someone is willing and able, it should be their choice.

An afternoon in suburbia

2006-05-28T19:20:00.000+01:00

My friend Andrea has this beautiful little boy called Jack that came into the world about 10 weeks ago now. When I arrived at her place on Friday afternoon he was supposed to be having his nap, but it wasn't going to happen. Secretly I was pleased as it gave me the opportunity to meet and play with him, but as the afternoon wore on and he still refused to get any shuteye, I got an inkling that this baby business is a bit like hard work.

But firstly let me describe my friend's neighborhood: I get out of the cab, and as on previous occasions, I am struck with the incredibly surreal sensation that I am on a film set. The houses and gardens sit next to each other in a picture-perfect way - it reminds me of the Truman Show, or perhaps Wisteria Lane from Desperate Housewives. If you could conjure up an image of the perfect middle-class suburban neighborhood to raise kids or grow old in, this would be it. For a moment I look briefly from house to house, imagining cardboard cut-out perfectly groomed women wearing fifties dresses, and carrying small children on their hips while preparing the evening meal. But there's something else, I can't quite put my finger on it, and then it dawns on me: It's also very ... very ... quiet.

Without the whine of police and ambulance sirens, or being hit up for cash by an inebriated/drugged toothless person on the corner, I feel a bit out of sorts. There is no sound of heavy jack hammers, or the newspaper man yelling out “Standard,” in his sing-song cockney . Also, as I step out of my cab, I don't have to charge to the pavement in order to avoid being hit by a white van or scooter delivery guy. This is suburbia, and I experience what I can only describe as a brief sense of agoraphobia.

Once inside, I am relieved to discover, that while her home is indeed as picture perfect on the inside (she has a brilliant eye and incredible taste when it comes to interior decoration), Andrea is not wearing a Stepford Wife getup, but a trendy J-Lo type camel-coloured tracksuit, and her thick long auburn hair is twisted into a sort of structured/unstructured chignon. She is the sort of women who always looks good, despite a new little man who refuses to take afternoon naps, and is a demand breast feeder. She has also lost almost all of the weight she gained during her pregnancy, and is looking lovely in a sort of archetypal strong woman/mother way. I think it’s something in her eyes.

Our afternoon passes by quickly and warmly. We have known each other for so long now, that we easily slip into each others company. While I wolf down my tuna salad she nurses Jack, and we talk about Robert and my upcoming wedding, and caesarians versus natural birth. Andrea tells me that despite the UK health system being somewhat anti C-section, 4 out of the 6 ladies in her mother and baby group had to have one. The cat lazily walks in and twines itself between her legs as she prepares our tea and cake, and outside you can hear birds singing. I can’t remember the last time I heard birds in our neighborhood.

At one point Jack begins to cry and I reach into my bag of tricks (acquired when my sister’s daughter was a baby) to try and entertain him. But I soon discover that babies are as individual as everyone else, and something that works for one child doesn’t necessarily work for another. I do however discover that he likes his head stroked (it actually makes him smile), and for me to walk around with him in my arms. Sitting is not acceptable and he soon starts to cry again, so up I get and walk around while talking to his mother about important things like The Apprentice contestants, and Carmilla Soprano.

All too soon it’s time to go, and I leave my friend, who looks beautiful standing in the doorway of her lovely home with her equally beautiful son in her arms, to return to my noisy babyless part of the world.

That's the ticket

2006-05-28T12:42:00.000+01:00

On Friday I caught the train to go and visit my friend who lives outside of London, who has just had a baby. Let me just warn people (like me) who never catch trains: You cannot use your Oyster card to pay for a train fare. And not knowing this, I received a fine as a result. I had traveled by tube to Farringdon and then walked across to the train platform. I didn't see any ticket machines on my way, unless that meant actually having to exit the ticket gates, going and buying a ticket, and then re-entering again, which seemed like such an absurd waste of time that I didn't even consider it.

Once I arrived at my destination, I noticed there were no Oyster hubs to swipe my card, and was told to "stand to the side," by a man wearing a surly expression and a slightly crumpled uniform. When I eventually got attended to, I argued with him that I thought my Oyster card would cover it, or failing that, that I could buy a ticket off the inspector on the train - who as it happened failed to make an appearance. But this chap was having none of it, and I had to fork out £20, but was assured I could contest it later and was handed a form to do so. The fact that I was running late, hungry (I was meeting my friend for lunch), and pissed off at being thought of as a fare dodger when I have never dodged a fare in my life, prompted me to say, "Screw it, here's 20 bucks, I'm in a hurry, keep your appeal form." It was probably rude of me, I know, but it makes my blood boil that there is no system whereby you can buy/upgrade your ticket if you make a mistake, without the assumption that you are a criminal.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, the Oyster card is a plastic card, the same sort of size as a credit card, that you top up with money from time to time. It acts as a sort of transport credit card(for tubes and busses), and you swipe in on an electronic hub at the beginning of your journey , and then out again at the end of it. It is for the most part a good and effective time-saving system, and if it means using less paper tickets, it's probably saving a rain forest or two. I'd say it was money saving, but public transport in London is so ludicrously expensive in comparison to anywhere else I've traveled to, that I can't make that claim. However it is cheaper than buying individual tickets here, and even if you are only visiting London for a week or so, you should get one, because regular tickets for the tube and busses are a lot more expensive. A lot more - as in 'rip you off' more expensive.

In Tokyo, they have this brilliant system whereby if you go through the electronic gates and your ticket is invalid, or not the right fair, there is a machine you can go to upgrade to the right one. It's a refreshing system that actually takes into account the possibility that people may not all be fair dodgers or criminals, and that sometimes you (a) buy the wrong ticket or (b) your journey may change or extend past what you originally planned. But I imagine this system is far too advanced (read: civilized) for the likes of Ken Livingston and his minions.

So that's how it all goes wrong

2006-05-26T08:08:00.000+01:00

Sometimes it just takes one thing to set you off. In my case, it was that chocolate éclair, and the next thing you know I broke my 'I don't buy tabloid magazines' rule and purchased a copy of HEAT this week. I couldn't help myself, they had pictures on the cover of celebrities that had gained weight. Who can resist that? And to top it all off, I polished off a bottle of champagne with Robert last night. I have a postcard which reads, 'I can't be good all the time,' and I think in my case I'm going to opt for, 'I'm going to try and be good most of the time', allowing for occasional (sanity restoring) deviations.

The champagne was actually a treat at the end of a long week for us of cleaning, dusting, moving, cleaning, dusting, moving, oh and a lot more dusting in between. The lady that helps keep our place clean is coming in today, and I didn't want her face to resemble Munch's 'Scream' when she saw the mess. Our cupboard guys did a good job - the new ones look beautiful, but they left a trail of crap that spilled out of our flat, and into the lift and lobby of our building. So yesterday I kept my finger on the door of the lift while vacuuming in there, praying to god that the doors didn't close and take me and my vacuume cleaner with it - snapping the cord. Then I went into our lobby and vacuumed in there too.

Our next project (because we are suckers for punishment it seems), is to have the decorators in to paint and basically touch up cracks and things. A sort of facelift to the interior, some of which hasn't been attended to since the building was bought by developers some 20 years ago. It's only when you start looking at things closely, do you realise the cheap and cheerful job they often do - not to mention the cheap materials they use. I imagine there will be a fair amount of bitching during our next round of building work - watch this space.

And in the news, it looks like Lindsay Lohan has been hanging with Paris Hilton's ex, Stavros. I don't get it, these girls have this weird incestuous thing going where they all date each other's boyfriends, ex-boyfriends etc. I mean, the last time I checked Los Angeles was a fairly big place, you'd think there would be enough guys to go around? Also, and I'm sorry, but the thought of having physical contact with someone that Paris has been with, well, is it just me that finds it kind of disturbing? Especially after that STD story and all.

Image: Composite created using images c/o alfonsolara.org and giftsunusual.com

What's the strangest thing you've ever had inserted in your bottom?

2006-05-25T23:04:00.000+01:00

Comments welcome... .

To kick this off, an A&E (ER) doctor we went skiing with told us an X-Ray revealed that a man had a Barbie Doll stuck inside his bottom, which they subsequently had to remove. And there was me thinking it was such a glamerous job.

PS: A big thank you to (you know who you are) for the idea for this blog.

Picture c/o my-family-fun.com

You name it

2006-05-25T15:50:00.000+01:00

If you would like to leave a comment on my blog, please can you use a name. I don't care if it's only a first one, an initial, or even a made-up one. However if you would like me to distinguish your messages from others - especially if we are in an on-going dialogue, it helps if you use the same name/initial whenever you comment.

Regarding the 'anonymous' facility - I have no problems with it, but if everyone uses it , I cannot be held responsible for inadvertently venting spleen in your direction on occasion. There is simply no way of distinguishing who wrote what. And yes I'm sure if I wanted to I could go into the whole IP address thing, but I really don't have the energy for it.

In summary: I'm open to comments/suggestions/debate on here, but have to reiterate, anything that's simply abusive, or overtly idiotic and/or off-topic will get deleted.

Madonna makes people cross

2006-05-25T10:32:00.000+01:00

Looks like Madonna has been offending the church again, this time by 'crucifying' herself on a giant mirrored cross in her new tour (while wearing a crown of thorns). Personally it doesn't offend me, but what I find annoying is when people do something for controversial shock-tactic reasons, and then try and justify it with some bs reason: Madonna has defended a controversial mock crucifixion in her stage show, saying it is part of an appeal to the audience to donate to Aids charities. BBC.

It gets better, "I don't think Jesus would be mad at me and the message I'm trying to send," she told the New York Daily News.

I haven't seen the concert, so this is just an assumption on my part, but off the top of my head, an annoying woman in black high heel boots suspended on a giant mirror-ball crucifix doesn't exactly scream 'Support aids sufferers!' to me.

Does anyone remember the contraversial David Kirby photograph Benetton did some years back with Tibor Kalman? Another example of shock-tactics and marketing I know, but somehow more effective I think in getting people to talk about aids than a giant disco crucifix.

Picture: c/o thesuperficial.com

Zoltan - Hound of Dracula

2006-05-24T16:48:00.000+01:00

Oh how I laughed. Turns out Penn Jillette is calling his baby Zolten, because "Zolten is a common Hungarian name, it's my wife's maiden name and most importantly, it's the name of Dracula's dog." Actually Penn, you idiot, the hound of Dracula was called Zoltan, with an 'a'. If you are going to name your first born after a hell hound, at least get the spelling right. As for the film, Zoltan Hound of Dracula (1978), I thought I was the only one who (a) saw that movie and (b) actually remembers it.

What I continue to wonder (ok I only wonder it now, because as a kid I was shit scared), is how they got those terrible fake-looking vampire teeth to stay in the dog's mouth like that. A friend of ours glued vampire fangs to his own teeth for a Halloween party last year, so it wouldn't surprise me if they used a similar method. I happened upon this site which actually attempts to seriously critique the inconsistencies in this film - hilarious.

A brief taster:

"It immediately strikes the viewer that the production values are nil. There is no background sound track during the opening sequence. The stuffed animals used during the dog on dog attacks render those sequences so mild that a 6 year old could watch them. The subsequent dripping blood off the dentures is best left unmentioned. When the dog attacks a lone camper, the camper seems to be pulling the dog toward him more than reacting to an attack."

For the record, I didn't know who the hell Penn Jillette was either, until I googled him. Come to mention it, I still don't know who he is.

Picture: Zoltan Hound of Dracula c/o omenaheights.com

"You talkin' to me?"

2006-05-24T14:46:00.000+01:00

Did you know that you should not use a crisp packet as a condom? Well, I didn't, but thanks to a link on sex myths c/o Rufus, I now do.

I'm seriously considering not blogging about my gym or weight loss any more. For some strange (and I really do find it strange) reason, it wrankles people. By writing about my own battle of the bulge, I'm not implying that everyone has to get their shit together and join a gym or go on a diet. Each to his own. Rather than doing it to show off (and if you think I have that high an opinion of myself, you really don't know me) I thought that by sharing what I'm going through (the ups, the downs, trainer tips etc) it may act as a kind of incentive for other people who are interested in doing the same thing. Also, it's a record of the shit I get up to, which is (the last time I checked) one of the functions of a blog.

I suppose for some people their weight is a sensitive subject and me going on about my own struggle is annoying. If you're not happy with the way you look, you can do something about it, that's all I'm saying. And if you are, I envy you. I'm not quite there yet myself.

Anyhoo, cupboard guys are in full swing and I'm hoping we can move back into our bedroom this evening. Tonight we have to clear out the contents of our study as they're installing a built-in bookshelf. The fact that I get excited about a built-in bookshelf is worrying.

The Good, The Bad, and the Chocolate Éclair(s)

2006-05-24T09:04:00.000+01:00

I woke up this morning with a terrific muscle pain down the left side of my back. I'd love to say it's a gym injury, but I haven't been since Saturday. I must have slept in a particularly gymnastic position - either that or it's strain from my drawing/painting class last night. Either way, I hope it disappears as I want to hit the gym this evening. Guy is on holiday this week and has left me with a list of torturous activities to do in his absence. I also don't want to lose a week of training and then suffer like I did on my first session with him due to being unfit.

I've strayed from my diet in the last week. A few days ago, Robert went off to get a few things at M&S, and had strict instructions not to return without a chocolate éclair. I don't know why, but I was craving one like no-body's business. Never eat the stuff, but there you go. He came back with one of those mini-packs of four, and after enjoying the mouthwatering heaven that was the first one, I proceeded to wolf down a second in quick succession, much to his surprise. Naturally I blame all of this on PMS - a girl cannot be denied sugar during this time of the month. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The entire contents of our wardrobe remain strewn in the lounge - on top of sheets on the floor, and over pretty much every other available surface. Our cupboard installation duo assured me they would finish the ones in our master bedroom yesterday, but gee, guess what, they didn't. The also assured me they would be here at 10am today, as opposed to the 12.30 they managed yesterday, and that it would take another half hour for them to finish in there before moving on to the spare bedroom. I think when it comes to builders and the like, time is a, how should I put it, very relative thing.

A friend of Robert's and mine is getting married next month. I dropped her an email about whether or not I had to wear a hat, and also asked her how she was dealing with the stress of her upcoming wedding. Stress? What stress? She's very excited she says - no sign of stress. Damn, the girl's getting married next month and she's as calm as the Dalai Lama. I want what's she's on.

Last night I dreamt I was pregnant, and was ecstatic. I was crestfallen when (in the dream) I realised it was only a dream, and I actually wasn't. You have no idea just how insanely weird this is for me. In reality, and in my sane conscious state, although I would like to have children with Robert some....day, the idea of being/getting pregnant now fills me with gothic horror. Yet, over the last few years, whenever I dream I'm pregnant, it's always an incredibly happy feeling. Very strange. I'm visiting with a friend of mine on Friday who has a new baby and is breast feeding. I have a feeling any happy baby dreams will probably cease after hearing a blow by blow account of what the whole thing has been like. Unlike some women who wax lyrical about being a new mother, my friend is brutally honest, and I trust her to give me a thorough report detailing the experience.

And on a final note, Robert and I started watching the fourth American Apprentice series - where the teams were split into women versus men. Last nights' episode (the first) had this terribly annoying, bitchy, disruptive woman who, thank god, got fired. She had the audacity, balls, stupidity (pick one or all three) to tell Donald Trump that the reason why everyone in her team wanted her fired (and it was fairly unanimous), was because she cannot work with women, because they never like her. Asked why she thought this was the case, she responded to the effect of, 'Because I'm beautiful, I'm intelligent, and I'm talented,' and that subsequently women find her a threat. I shit you not - this is what she said. Personaly, I'm always suspicious of someone who has a problem with approximately half the population. I mean, you have issues with one or two people - that's human nature, you start having problems with an entire sex, and you have to take a step back and ask yourself what your role in all of it is.

Picture: Naked Man (who fell asleep on the job) drawn last night in a 40 minute exercise.

It's a name thing

2006-05-22T09:39:00.000+01:00

I'm changing my name this year to reflect Roberts surname after we marry. Here in the UK we do it by deedpoll, and having had a look on the deedpoll website, it looks like you can change your first and second name to pretty much anything you want. I don't know why, but the idea of being able to recreate myself in this way holds a strange appeal. It conjures up the idea of packing one's bags and moving to an exotic new place, and taking on a whole new identity. In fact, I knew a guy in South Africa who was so severely beaten (physically and emotionally) by his alcoholic father, that when he became an adult he changed not only his surname, but first name too. He told me he wanted a fresh start, with no association whatsoever to his past and the man that had made his life a misery.

I am seriously considering choosing a second name for myself though, because my parents never gave me one. I always felt as though something was missing in this area, though on the plus side my friends never had a second name to tease me about. I quite like the idea of adopting my mother's name as my middle one, which is Mary-Alice. Then there's Greta (Garbo), Nina (of course), Carmilla (Soprano), Chuck (Norris), choices, choices... .

We are having built-in cupboards installed in our home this week. The last time we had building work done it was traumatic enough to put us off for approximately a year. The thing with these chaps is that for the most part, they have a blatant disregard for anything other than the job at hand - and in some instances, even for that. I foolishly made the mistake of thinking that as they were working on our ensuite, I could pretty much leave things as they were in our bedroom. Wrong! After day one everything was covered in a mountain of dust, and there was a nice path of white dusty footprints between our bedroom and the lounge. I soon learned that when having builders in, you should prepare as though you are having a troop of elephants march through your home. Everything and anything even remotely in their path needs to be put away.

I just don't get people's approach to storage space, or rather, the lack thereof. We have incredibly high ceilings, and by comparison, midget cupboards, which are very basic (read: poorly planned) on the inside. To my credit, I have dramatically reduced the contents of both my cupboards and shoe collection (the fact that few things fit these days helps), so I can't take credit for all the stuff in our house. I just don't think developers think about these things, or perhaps thought about these things in the past (our flat is old). Some of the new places Robert and I have looked at in the past year or so seem to be taking the storage space issue on board, and some of them even have walk-in wardrobes. Hmmmmm...walk-in....wardrobes.... *Drool*.

That woman

2006-05-21T17:56:00.000+01:00

I've been thinking a lot about the Mills/McCartney separation recently, mainly because the papers are full of it. Heather Mills has received a lot of bad publicity, pretty much since day one. There have been all sorts of rumours - from her wanting to be thought of as the next Princess Diana, to influencing everything Paul McCartney did - even down to dying his hair. Don't even get me started on the tasteless jokes that are circulating about her now - all juvenile references to her limb loss. As someone who has lost family members in a car crash, I fail to find them funny.

I don't know Heather Mills McCartney - she may be a nice person, she may not be, but I think it's irrelevant - there was always going to be criticism, regardless of who he chose. I always find it incredible that women get attacked in this way. In fact, I remember even his first wife Linda got her fair share of stick - not least of all for her staunch vegetarianism. I recall hearing my father's irritation when she featured in one of the Wings music videos, "Oh no," he said, "what's she doing there?!?" Yoko Ono got similar treatment.

When people go on about how terrible, controlling and in the case of Mills, money grabbing, these women are, they don't realise they are actually slinging the insult at the men they are supposed to be defending. People who say that a woman is only interested in a man because of his money, are in fact saying they think that man has nothing to offer other than his money, which doesn't say a lot for his character. Also, this statement calls into question that man's choices. So if say, he writes hundreds of number one hits, or runs a multi-billion dollar corporation, he's labeled a formidable genius, be it creative or business, but if he chooses a wife people don't like, then he is clearly just a sad bumbling man that had the wool pulled over his eyes. Give me a break already.

I think it's very sad that their marriage didn't work out, as it would be for any couple who get to a point where they realise they can no longer live together, especially those that share children. And to make matters even worse, all of this unpleasantness is unfolding beneath the frenzied microscope of the press, whereas anyone else would be able to just get on with it in private. I really do wish both of them the best, I think they're going to need it.

Pumping iron and bone marrow

2006-05-21T08:41:00.000+01:00

I bought my first sports bra yesterday - an unattractive white thing resembling a vest, with inch-thick straps. The good thing is that when I wore it to the gym later it did its job, and things stayed pretty much where I wanted them to stay. Also, and this is even better news for me, I bought a 34 as opposed to a 36 (I won't go into the cup size), which means I've lost weight on my back too.

What I didn't know, and I think a lot of people don't know this, is why weights are so important in addition to cardio if you want to lose weight. Firstly, for all those ladies out there who say 'Noooo I don't want to look like those women bodybuilders (with the bad hair and deep voices)', the fact is, unless you spend about 10 hours in the gym every day, and use a bit of hormonal help, it aint going to happen. Even men, who have approximately 30% more testosterone, have to spend an incredibly long time down the gym to build big visible muscle.

What weight training does do though, and this is incredible, is it burns fat. In order for muscle to develop, it uses up fat in the body. So - the more muscle you create, the more fat you burn - and the bigger the muscle group (like those in the thighs), the more fat is utilised, which is why trainers always bang on about doing leg squats. So ultimately, a good combination of cardio and weight training will result in a slim, well-toned look, which I think is pretty ideal. I also like weights because they are great for core strength and posture, plus they provide a welcome variation from running or doing the cross-trainer.

Last night we ate at St John, a sort of authentic Old English restaurant in London for Mike's 60th birthday. They are Michelin Star famous for using parts of the animal like ears, cheeks, tongue etc, and making delicious dishes out of them. Unfortunately, the most adventurous I get is bone marrow, which I had as a starter. As for things like tongue, ears, and anything's face - forget it, my imagination just goes into over-drive and I feel sick at the thought of it. I don't even like steak and kidney pie - kidneys, all that urinary action - ewwww.

I really struggle with rich food these days, because it isn't a regular part of my diet anymore. This morning I feel a bit slugglish and somewhat nauseous, probably thanks to the bone marrow, and some exquisite (really exquisite) homemade rum and raisin icecream. Stangely both these dishes have childhood associations for me. Whenever my mother made a leg of lamb or roast beef, following the meal, my father would cut the bone in half and one of my siblings and I would each get a half, and use the back of a teaspoon to eat the marrow out. I realise this probably makes some people feel a bit sick, but it was delicious. As for rum & raisin icecream, it was my mother's favourite, and because she never really eats icecream ordinarily, if she did it meant we were probably on a family holiday.