Goodbye to love

A friend just emailed to ask what was my favourite ‘rock death’, he is thrilled that the enquiry into the ‘drowning’ of Brian Jones is likely to be reopened. In answer to the question, my favourite rock death is the suicide of Andrea Feldman a Warhol superstar. According to Bob Colacello ‘Andrea had first come to the attention of the Factory in 1967, in the back room of Max's Kansas City, by sitting on a coke bottle and belting out Everything's Coming up Roses. She called her act a porno parody of Ethel Mermans 'Showtime'.... Her exhibitionism was extreme, even by Superstar standards...’ On the 8th of August 1972 Andrea summoned a number of X boyfriends including the writer Jim Carroll to meet her at the entrance to her 5th Avenue apartment. Clutching a rosary and a coke she jumped to her death in front of them all. If ever a gesture said 'fuck you' I think that was it.

Don't give up your day job

Tomorrow at 9am I am starting to write my first book. According to my new mentor, the accomplished author Cousin Annie, the only day to start a new book is a Monday. Books started on any other days of the week are unlikely to be completed and even if they were finished, unlikely to be optioned. I have been working on my notes for at least three years; well actually they have been under the bed maturing for at least that long. I have had one or two false starts with this project, fear of paper, fear of failure, fear of litigation, fear of success but really the truth is I am an ace procrastinator. I sit down to write and before I know it I am cleaning the skirting boards and believe me I am not on the good housekeeper of the year shortlist. Still, it was encouraging to discover this quotation by Oscar Wilde ‘Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.’

And so you're back

I am really excited my favourite model Irina is back from an extended vacation YES YES YES and is rumoured to be expected at the 'go sees' for the up coming New York fashion week.

Fuzzy logic

I am lying in bed trying to figure out whether sipping Diet Coke whilst eating Snickers somehow offsets the calories. I think it probably does.

Our lady of the lost causes

I ran into one of my more intense friends yesterday day; 'What are you up to then?' I said feigning interest. 'I am a starving artist' he replied importantly. Hardly concealing a sneer I retorted, 'Really - did Jean Genet claim housing benefit then?'

The art of letting someone have your way

I went to the hairdressers the other day for a ‘trim’ – my hair was extra frizzy thanks to the Great British Summer. I was introduced to a junior stylist (trying to save money - big mistake) straight out of the Henry Kissinger School of Diplomacy who attempted to run his fingers through my matted locks and said with open disdain, ‘What makes you think you just need a trim?’. Holding the last four (ok eight) inches of my hair between his finger and thumb he announced, ‘ This hair is all dead ‘ like the stuff closer to my skull wasn’t? I had the dog on my lap who was getting agitated re the hostile atmosphere – I tried to tell him that although I understood that the condition of my hair was less than optimum. For example, I were Rapunzel and you were the Prince - you would definatley be lying on Charing Cross Road with a broken back writhing in agony etc. But you know it’s my hair and I like it long so I am just going to have a trim – all assertive like.
’What kind of trim?’ he says ‘One where I leave the salon with almost as much hair as I came in with’ The dog was getting stressed ‘Does that dog bite?’ Of the two of us Chilli the Chihuahua was the least likely to cause him harm at this point. I really wanted to rip off my client cloak like Zorro and run out of the salon with wet hair but instead I said ‘I am struggling to communicate with you, I don’t know how to explain why I only want a trim or what a trim is’. He disappeared and his boss came over instead. He was nice to me – he was nice to my dog – he cut the most straggly bits of my hair off and left me with plenty to take home and he did it all with out insulting me once.

And assuming you have one - your point is?

I once had a boyfriend before I decided to never have a boyfriend again, who said to me as I was whining about who knows what ‘for someone who never had anything – you are incredibly spoilt’. It’s true as well, my rags to rags story began in a catholic home for wayward girls, led me through Lancashire council estates and seedy bedsits in scary parts of towns. Things were tough and I did everything within my power to make them worse. Despite all this the larger part of me always loved beautiful things, like perfumes, art, books and above all fine French patisserie. Today I bought 8 mini macaroons from Laduree in the following flavours, rose, salted caramel, violet, bergamot, red fruit, raspberry, lemon and coconut. It reminds me of one time when I was drinking Cadillac Margaritas in a Rodeo Drive restaurant with a friend I went to college with in Preston – he slammed back his shot of brandy and said ‘turned out nice again, ant it!’