Monday, January 22, 2007

Curse of the Jade Scorpwned

A little late in the day, naturally, I thought I’d wade into the Jade affair. I haven’t watched much of it, but why should that stop me adding my tuppence-worth (note to commissioning editors, that is not an invoice). This is the story of how one young lady from Elephant and Castle made it as a star on Big Brother before – in a frankly quite brilliant move – returning on Celebrity Big Brother. What finer accolade than to return to the scene of your ennoblement, clad in your celebrity ermine robes? Of course it could only be downhill from there.

The papers have been focusing to a large extent on whether or not Jade and her two dim cohorts’ bullying of Bollywood star Shilpa is racist or not. Many commentators have suggested that class differences were more at play – which I would tend to agree with. Other people have reasonably pointed out that racist bullying is a lot like what they have been up to, whether or not the racism is explicit. But I would say that bullying is a big tent and a lot of racism fits snugly under it.

Racism is a thorny topic at the best of times and the reaction to Celebrity Big Brother just goes to show how potent even an accusation of racism is. I would have thought it was enough for them to be horrible bullies, but apparently they must be lanced with the hot blade of multiculturalism.

And what an outpouring of hatred towards Jade! I mean, come on! You’d almost think all these journalists turning out copy after copy of bile and venom had never liked her in the first place and were only forced belatedly to endure her because she was so genuinely popular with the general public. And you’d be right. But to read Tony Parsons going on about her as a fat, ugly pig with no talent or intelligence (Tony fucking Parsons!) is to wonder why fattism or povertyism or just general working-classism isn’t as much of a taboo as racism.

Jade is by no means stupid, despite her greviously uneducated gaffs, but from the minute I saw her I liked her. She is as genuine as they come, which means not 100% but quite a bit higher than most. And she is a survivor – her life story reads like the sort of thing that happens to Charles Bronson before he goes on the rampage. Now its taken another dramatic turn.

If there’s one good thing to come out of this, it’s that Russell Brand wrote a half-decent article in the Guardian. Alas I can’t link to it because the Guardian seem to be embarrassed about paying him and he doesn’t feature on their website in their list of writers, despite his weekly column. But it agreed with me wholeheartedly, only wasn’t as funny.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Keeley Hazell Sex Tape Shocker!!!

Bromley-born Keeley Hazell has, over the last year or so, been breaking hearts all across Britain from her vantage point on page 3 of The Sun. The 20-year-old heart nob-throb seems to have captured male youth attention in a way no tits-n-ass girl has since the ludicrous days when Samantha Fox and Linda Lusardi regularly endangered shipping. The Sun is positively weighed down with photos of her. Quite why, to paraphrase Mrs Merton, big-breasted Keeley should have garnered so much coverage is not immediately obvious – nor why I should be devoting the pages of such a high-minded blog to her exploits – but there you are. I need to find things to write about in order to keep my (ahem) quota up.

I’ll say this for Keeley – she wears those breasts well. In her veritable bounty of page 3 appearances she sports an endless variety of make-up and hair-styles, to the point where while inspecting a selection of her photos I wasn’t even sure they were all of her. Perhaps this is trying to spread her appeal around as much as possible – it doesn’t matter if you like blondes or brunettes, natural looks or caked-on skin-crust, Keeley and her robust assistants can twang your heart-strings too. The other thing about her is that unlike the slender twigs of youth that we are used to staring out at us from some cocaine-fuelled nightmare alter-reality, she is both bumptious of body and resolutely ordinary. Of course she comes from Bromley! She will probably settle down there, bang out three kids and get fat eating pie and chips as soon as she so desires. She is the everyman’s everywoman; you could be chatting up a girl just like her down at Cinatras, Croydon this very Saturday!

So we come to the sex-tape. When I read, on the masthead of The Sun no less, news of Keeley’s Sex Tape Shame and turned to page 3 to read, alongside yet another alluring photo of Bromley’s finest, of her sorrow at the leaking of this private material, I was briefly cynical. Well in fact at first I was briefly amused, especially as Keeley has managed her meteoric rise impeccably and thus far refused to do any nonny-shots in Playboy. But after that I was cynical, because if I was trying to keep the lid on it I wouldn’t go putting news of the leak on the front page of The Sun. I heard on the radio she was getting lawyers to remove it from websites. Then I heard that you can buy the sex tape on the internet. Which increased my cynicism severalfold. Of course, the internet being what it is I managed to watch it the same day at no personal cost, unless you count ten minutes I’ll never get back again. Can you see the sacrifices I’m making here?

Anyway, you can probably find it yourself if you are so inclined. For those of you who are interested there follows a prĂ©cis. What we get for our money is about five minutes of Keeley “performing a sex-act” on a strapping young man of dubious conversational skills. This blowjob, performed with the grace and finesse of a farmer milking a recalcitrant animal, doesn’t really concern me, except as further evidence of the wonderful hypothesis that celebrities have shit sex. My complaint stems from the fact that for the entirety of the blowjob Keeley keeps her principle assets firmly locked away in a doubtless expensive but entirely superfluous shirt. This seems akin to going to Italy and eating McDonalds.

There then follows a rather sweet interlude where Keeley lies on the bed in the altogether. Apart from a brief gynaecological examination, the boyfriend focuses the camera mainly on her face while he tells her how pretty she is and how he loves her. Ha! Let that be a lesson to all of you who claim that men are too scared to say “I love you”. If saying “I love you” means that a year later you’ll leak a tawdry sex-vid onto the internet, I’m not only a coward, I’m Noel Coward. Anyway, after this the young couple proceed to the sex part of the sex-tape. Now, call me a stick-in-the-mud, but if you’re going to film yourselves having sex, wouldn’t it be a good idea to have sex in roundabouts the same vicinity as the camera? Wouldn’t that be sort of part of the point? Instead of which we mostly get a couple of ankles going at it like they’re trying to sand the Great Wall of China. If I was an ambitious young lady, apparently studying Psychology at college in order to get (more) film work, I’d sack the ne’er-do-well directing this short and get myself a more professional cameraman, which is more-or-less what she seems to have done.

Keeley, for her part, reports being “devastated and humiliated” at news that the tape has leaked out. If I was her, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Nobody was talking about her to their grandmas anyway. Was it a ruse? Of all the page 3 girls out there she is probably the last one who needs to do this for publicity. On the other hand, it may well the leg-up she needs for the cut-throat American porn movie world.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

New Years Eve 2007

I've enjoyed it heartily...
or is it hardly?