Archive for November, 2008

Celebrity moans

I was standing in Chapters riffling through the bodice rippers – you know the ones –  the hero always has fine chiseled features and a thrusting jaw and very tight pants [which is maybe why he has a thrusting jaw]and the heroine has a pentient for standing in the rain in transparent nighties or posing in front of fans with  hair flying and  wet t-shirt glued to her perky breasts – those ones – and wondering who reads them – well me obviously,  well not me actually.  I was really looking for cook books but was tractor-beamed over by an arresting cover displaying some big bloke who looked like Fabio.  Remember him?  He was smacked in the face by a seagull riding on a rollercoaster a few years ago – well not the seagull, Fabio.  It was a case of man meets bird’s bum at 90 miles an hour – not a pretty sight, and somewhat of an embarrassing moment I would think?  There you are, looking like a Norse God, flaunting your tall tanned muscular body under an open to the waist frilly shirt while young girls – and a few guys – swoon for miles around when WHUMP!  Bird brains and feathers up your nose and poop all over your Manolos.  To my knowledge he hasn’t been seen since – not the seagull, Fabio – well, the seagull too.

The problem with being a celebrity of course is that you are always on display.  You can never ever have an unguarded moment for fear that some twonk with a candid camera is lurking in the bushes or under your car or has attached himself to your bedroom window by suction cups just to get that picture of you throwing cell phones at the nanny or lying drunk in a pool of vomit on the bathroom floor.  It really is too much to bear don’t you think – and all for a few billion for doing nothing very much but repeating a few lines into a camera or kicking a football about.  Of course the other problem is that you not only have to put up with the paps but you have to starve yourself to death too – how else are you going to get into your size zero zero Christian LaCroix in time for the latest awards show, photo opportunity, Hollywood Walk of Fame moment, Kids birthday party or visit to Disney?  Don’t forget that you must never, never be seen wearing trakkies and trainers and no lip gloss not even if it’s for ten minutes in the sandbox with the latest celebrity accessory the adopted orphan from nabutostan.  And of course said orphan must also be dressed to the nines.  No sloppy jeans and ice-cream stained t-shirt for Celebrity Baby – he/she must attend ‘play-dates’ dressed by Gucci, carry a miniature handbag from Hermes and kick nanny in the shins with hand-made sandals from some Italian artisan called Gianni who turns out one pair a year from his exclusive ‘atelier’ in Rome.

Heaven forbid that you let your guard down for one minute and are seen leaving the club with white powdery substances clinging to your nose or suffering the effects of one too many or gripping the bum of someone else husband because you’re likely to find yourself on the front page of the News of the World within seconds and News at 10  – you can’t even Go Commando or have a wardrobe malfunction without sixty-five cameras recording the event for the archives forever.  I wonder what paparazi did a hundred years ago before instant digital images were available?  Did they have to get the latter-day Britney Spears sans undies to hold that pose with the wind blowing up her willikers while they lit the candles?  And an earlier version of Keano Reeves would have had to back up and run down a few more photogs a few more times in order to get a mention on e-Online.  Although it would have been e-Offline and a hand-drawn sketch then wouldn’t it.


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