Can't be bothered to think today so I happen on Fiona Russell Powell's site which is a sort of museum of her sleb interviews. I once accused her of asking Andy Warhol whether he was gay and she denied it. So I re-read The Face interview with the Holy Terror ....
FRP: And you've been working on a set of prints called Queens .
AW: Yes, I've been doing that.
FRP: Are you one of them?
AW: Er, er, oh well, everybody knows that I'm a queen . . . but the prints are of royal ones and stuff. There are just four queens; I did an African queen and she's great.
Did she ask him playfully or did he misunderstand playfully? Like I said, I can't think.
Then I read her long vicious piece on her ex-lover Clive James. She writes of the period before they started cock-cunting:
"While we sat and pattered, Rupert Everett kept ringing from location in Yugoslavia threatening never to speak to me again "if you let him get in your knickers!" Clive smiled indulgently while I apologised for the interruptions." Later, when things had turned sour and he had failed to give her an orgasm, she recalls: "He had grown possessive, refusing to believe that my friendship with Rupert Everett was purely platonic ... "
I think I may have to interview Fiona, once described by Boy George as a "good-time ghoul". Here's her site. Some great Q&As and a horrible bitch piece on my darling Julie Burchill.