Take It From Me » Celebrity

….that Piers Morgan rocks

Charlotte — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 13:44:50 +0000

Scrap the previous post. I’m a PM convert. I’ve read The Insider and I’ve decided that I bloody like the guy. Plus he led an anti-war campaign throughout his editorship of The Mirror - and whilst this fact went over my head at the time because I never bought it – I applaud his conviction. Also, the book is a hoot.

…show a bit of leg (and patriotism)

Charlotte — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 11:47:16 +0000

Before you splurge on those Alexander McQueen union jack boots or the patriotic Chanel that is Agyness Deyn’s handbag du jour, cast your mind back to 1997, when a certain flame-haired Spice Girl performed in a union jack dress at the Brit Awards. A year later it sold at auction for £41,000 to the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas. I’m glad it was them and not a sad individual with more cash than sense wanting to buy an ‘iconic piece of pop history’, as no doubt was the auctioneer’s description. The thing is, this was never a dress, it was a top, and I know this because Geri’s undergarment was as visible as her solipsism. Geri never made it as a solo artist, but the ‘dress’ lives on, probably framed behind glass in a low-lit hotel corridor. A dress with no provenance, no designer, no nothing other than the moment for which it represents becomes a symbol of Brit pop. Roland Barthes would be proud, but Geri should be prouder.

When Geri was desperate to buy this back for the reunion, she was prepared to pay any price, but did no one tell her that souvenir shops in the West End sell these for under a fiver? She should save her pennies and fly the flag for mums, who would never let their daughters out of the house in a dress that short, symbol of Brit pop or not. Shorter the better, I say…

Image Credit: dailymirror.co.uk

…that food is to be enjoyed not endured

Charlotte — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 09:36:20 +0000

And I speak as one who has gone through various regimes now and then. I went on an anti-candida diet in my early twenties and cut out sugar and yeast. The first and last major detox I’ll ever do, I felt hugely better and lost too much weight in the process. Alas my 34C poitrine shrank to a B and has stayed that way ever since. Blah.

There is no doubt you can alter your shape and your health by changing your food habits, but be warned, some eight years later my friends still ask if I can eat bread when they’re making sandwiches or if I’m allowed cake at their daughter’s birthday party. And they really have no sympathy that the misogynist diet god took my boobies away either.

I have no problems with detoxes as a whole. Or the odd fast, or juicing, steaming, eliminating chocolate or eating more protein or vegetables or whatever. My issue is when food faddism becomes a permanent way of life, and before you know it, the roast potato is anathema. The faddist inhabits a parallel gastronomic universe, one where pub lunches, sunday roasts, puddings, pizza, hamburgers, pasta are seen as strychnine to general health. And also to the social life, because you can guarantee that the food faddist will drop to the bottom of every guest list – I mean even the full-blown food allergy sufferers, the ones who carry adrenalin on their person rather than a dozen pernickity concoctions in tupperware - get a rough deal at the table. “Oh damnit darling, I completely forgot about your peanut thingy, you wouldn’t mind picking them out of the curry would you?”

The simple fact is that food is more than nourishment, it is one of the great pleasures in life, and it’s up to the individual to temper it somewhere between gout and asceticism. Which brings me to the inspiration for this post, Bryan Adams, of Everything I do I do it For You fame, or more appropriately these days Everything I Eat Is Not Made From Animals Or Fish So Unless You Like Raw Artichoke I Won’t Do It For You.

Bryan was featured in the Inside Out section of the ES Magazine last Friday, which details the food habits of the weekly interviewee followed by some food related questions. When I say ‘food’, food isn’t really Bryan’s thing – health is his thing – and as such he’s ‘…very slim due to (his) diet.’ A bag of crisps is as indulgent as the Canadian gets, says the blurb.

Come again?

A bag of crisps. An indulgence?

Not a supplementary snack, an accompaniment to a pint of lager, a precursor to the main event. But an indulgence…

I ask you world, is this faddism gone mad? I really hope that Bryan is playing checks and balances with an humungous crack cocaine habit because otherwise this man is a disgrace to rock n’ roll. I urge you Bryan, go seek out Ronnie Wood. Teach each other. Go and eat pizza in Naples, pasta in Bologna, sushi in Tokyo. Ronnie needs your help too, he’s looking awfully gaunt. And you Brian need to re-think that rider of yours. Tell me what it is again Bryan?

“My rider is fruit, veggies, some nuts and dried fruits.”

Ronnie’ll sort that out in no time, Bry – he’s got Russian teens, vodka and tons of crisps.

“Has anyone got any leftover pizza I’m starving!” Bryan is waking up the neighbours.

…that whispering absolute bollocks will get you nowhere

Charlotte — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 16:22:03 +0000

Belly laugh of the week – Guy Ritchie and Madonna and their alleged “whisper therapy” at the première of his film. Grazia (15 September) ran an a feature claiming that the couple use this secret ritual “to strengthen the intimacy between them, particularly when they’re in a crowd.” I’m sure it makes a change from playing eye-spy-with-my-little-eye-something-beginning-with narcissist….

The article goes on to reveal -

“‘It’s not about saying: ‘I love you.’ It’s about saying specific things. When Guy first saw Madonna come out of the car, he said the word “beautiful” to her. She replied with the word “macho”. During the evening, they whispered random words, from “clever” and “powerful” (her to him), to “mysterious” and “smart” (him to her), said the source.’” (Grazia 15-09 p.14)

Whispering, huh. This may be Kabbalah-speak, or the latest psychobabble on Oprah, but surely we could all learn a thing or two about our oral technique. I don’t know about you but I’ve been labouring under quite the illusion. (Settle down at the back now, and Relate & Marriage Guidance do keep up)

Good head is all in the whisper.

And contrary to current laws about public acts of indecency, whispering won’t cause any offense. Unless, of course, your whisper exchange is along the lines of – ’darling your bum in that dress is “stunning”‘, ‘your chewy overcooked chicken is “perfect”‘, ‘your tummy in those jeans is “rock hard”.

Then whispering absolute bollocks really is the way forward.

But whatever you do, strike a line through blatant bad-temperedness…

“‘It’s not about saying: ‘your face doesn’t move much these days and your legs are like bananas on steroids.’ It’s about saying specific things. When Guy first saw Madonna come out of the car, he said the word “transvestite” to her. She replied with the word “fucktard”. During the evening, they whispered random words, from “wanker” and “loser” (her to him), to “hag” and “butch scarecrow” (him to her), said the source.’”