Madame Arcati's Top 10 Sexiest Posts of 2010!

Kevin Spacey CBE: bio post is No 1

Happy New Year, poppets! 2010 was the year Madame Arcati retired and then resurrected herself. I would love to say that my comeback owed to a public clamour but in fact, as in all things, my own moods played dictator. Blogging in itself serves no useful purpose beyond adding to the online cacophony. The only point to Madame Arcati is I get read.

Now I know you love lists, so here's my top 10 Madame Arcati posts of 2010, with a little commentary.

1. In terms of reader comments, most surprisingly popular post was my piece on the world's first Kevin Spacey (CBE, hon*.) biography, authored by famous Spaceyphile, Robin Tamblyn, click here. If you only read the books pages of our newspapers and literary mags, you'd never know that Hollywood's most secretive actor finally has an unauthorised Boswell. Self-published books always pose a challenge to book editors: who's to tell them if the book's any good? Mostly, these whores of journalism take their cues from their friends in publishing and from publishers' imprints. God knows what they'd make of the Bible were it submitted anonymously for consideration.

2. While bloggers serve no useful purpose in the general sense, they can be useful as trend muscle. So when Madame Arcati joined the online campaign against a plan to appoint Rod Liddle as editor of the Independent, one knew the war was won. Why anyone thought that a right-wing fool could be saviour of a leftish newspaper was beyond comprehension. Did someone forget to eat their spinach? So I was delighted to write the headline: "Rod Liddle won't be editing the Independent". Click here.

3. Sheila Vogel-Coupe - crazy name! This porno star and prostitute, octogenarian granny of an X Factor starlet already almost forgotten, brought tens of thousands of readers to the blog, much to my amazement. I made her my woman of the year. The link should indirectly take you to the site where you can view her engaged in various sex acts, including a copious money-shot. Click here.

4. Saddest exclusive ran on June 17 when I announced the death of Sebastian Horsley. A few journalists thought I'd made it up. A mutual friend tipped me off instead of running to the newspapers. I think Sebastian would have approved. I'm still getting over the photo of him having sex with an amputee - I wonder if I should put it up. Click here.

5. Another surprisingly popular read was my post "Rachel Johnson's A Diary Of The Lady: Masterly at the authorial hand-job". Rachel, editor of the old cunties' weekly The Lady, wrote me a fan letter informing me that Madame Arcati had a page in her book. How expertly she plays the ego. It was only correct that I review the tome, click here. Her book is a Madame Arcati favourite bathroom read along with Albert Speer's memoirs and a bio of Anna Wintour.

6. Most cynical post of the year was "Justin Bieber's penis: a post-modernist approach to blogging". I'd read that the tiny virgin megastar was one of the most searched names on Google so I Arcatised him to draw in a new generation seeking celebrity cock. They will have been disappointed but enlightened of irony, blogging, journalism and celebrity obsession. Click here.

7. "Reward Showbiz™: The 10 most pointless celebrity books and TV shows" proved a lure. So many TV shows and books are created simply to reward celebrity, just ask Joanna Lumley or Michael Palin. So this spawned yet another sleb list. Click here. Sorry.

8. Kate Reardon's appointment as Tatler editor introduced me to the concept of a spinning vagina. I offer this piece as an antidote to churnalism - the writing-up of PR announcements in our newspapers. Click here.

9. Duncan Fallowell gifted me a wonderful anecdote about the fashion designer Valentino; something about his elaborate relationship with the wind. Click here.

10. Permanent fiancee Molly Parkin published her Mollywood memoirs this year, and included in them a sweet, true reminiscence about the two of us. I'm sorry her family don't take us seriously: but that's what families are for, to look out for one. Read my review, Dodging the Conventional Cunts: click here. Do follow the labels on Molly: her interview with me on cocks and spirituality could change your life. In February 2011 all of Moll's erotic novels are reissued by Beautiful Books - they're as freshly witty, sexy and funny as the day they were born.

And on that note, have an austerity-free 2011 under the most miserable and wretched of governments. x

*Shouldn't he have got a knighthood, hon.?

Nick Clegg looks like a man who shouts 'sorry' before he cums

Nick Clegg, right

Or so Frankie Boyle joked last night.

Madame Arcati: There's only one actress who can play me (& she's dead)

Angela Lansbury: Me as Art Deco

My thanks to the American astrologer and investigative journalist Eric Francis for unearthing this splendid photo of Angela Lansbury posing as me. I interviewed him earlier this year - and to appreciate his singular views on the joys of self-sex, click here.

Lansbury projects elegant goofiness for fans of the Art Deco period; and I'm confident that her Madame Arcati (in last year's staging of Blithe Spirit) pleased fans of TV whodunits. But there's the problem: elegance. Only that scrumptious, asymmetrical gargoyle Dame Margaret Rutherford captured the essential wilful otherliness of me in the black & white movies: Arcati is not just some harmless fruitcake with fidgety mannerisms but an ideological warrior of the drawing room who happens to summon up spirits.

She is the timeless crank always proven right. Julian Assange, please take note.

I realise that such ideas are traumatic to diddumsy secular critics who take their scripture from sexy tabloid traditionalist Dr Brian Cox. So as New Year looms I'll move on as an act of charity.

Margaret Rutherford: Me me me

Also, Madame Arcati has no business being tall. This is where Penelope Keith went wrong when I saw her play me at the Savoy Theatre a few years back. I've always regarded tallness as faintly ridiculous and excess to requirements, such as in British Prime Ministers. Only haberdashery shop assistants need to be tall. Madame Arcati does not do excess.

At the Savoy I sat behind Nicky Haslam who wore a thick fur coat throughout the performance even though the theatre was properly heated. From the wafting odour I adjudged that his coat required laundering. But I was too polite to say.

Rupert Everett mocks 'tasteless romcom flops' queen Jennifer Aniston

Rupert Everett: Reduced to drag

Rupert Everett put Jennifer Aniston in her cosmic place this morning in an interview on BBC Radio 4's Today show. He named her as one of a number of stars who, despite movie turkeys galore, are regarded by showbiz movers as the "right people for their business" - ie heterosexually alluring - "and will stick by them for quite a while."

He explained: "OK, something will go wrong, like Jennifer Aniston will have one too many total flops but she's still a member of that club, like a star forming in the universe; a whole lot of things swirling around and suddenly solidifying into yet another vital tasteless romcom: a little glitter next to the Crab Nebula."

Rupes was moaning again about Hollywood homopobia and how gay actors are better off in the closet - a view echoed by Richard Clamberlain today who, incidentally, has yet to publicly acknowledge that he was the love of the life of the late astrologer Patric Walker. Because straight male actors like Colin Firth are now landing the yummy queer parts, gay stars like Rupes are reduced to "drag". Blissfully he described himself as "marooned on St Trinian's."

A leading British producer had told Ed Victor, Rupes' sleb-hag literary agent, that he'd love to cast Everett in a movie but... "there is nothing for him." He thinks of Rupes as just a "muscly queen".

Thank God for Hollywood homophobia. But for that and Rupert Everett would just be another Hugh Grant or Colin Firth, cling-filmed mumblers out of the DNA style manuals. The grate of prejudice has sharpened Rupes' wits, replaced a sense of entitlement with edge. One of the results is a splendid diversity of work, not just movie titles selling recycled cock-cuntery plots. Arise Lord Rupes of Chipping Sodbury!

Listen to Rupes' interview here while it lasts.

Hugh Hefner engaged! What awaits Crystal in the marital bed

A surge in visits from a Madame Arcati link on Drudge alerts me to Hugh Hefner's announced engagement to Crystal Harris, a woman 60 years his junior. An opportunity to re-acquaint ourselves with what it's like to have sex with Hef: Fuck her daddy!

Anthony Burgess, the Tarot and his inner Madame Arcati

Anthony Burgess and his palm

Given the supernatural flavour of the festive season - Christ's cot, the Pope and Shrek meld into a methane-fuelled hallucination - it is with some delight I learn today that the late Anthony Burgess, author of A Clockwork Orange, was something of a Madame Arcati himself.

Not only a student of the divinatory arts, such as astrology and the Tarot, he also wrote a short story back in the early 60s called Chance Would Be a Fine Thing which was broadcast on BBC Radio 3 in October. I am deeply bitter I missed this. Someone will suffer. We now have to wait till 2013 before it's published in a collection of newly discovered work.

We can thank the scholar squirrel Dr Andrew Biswell, director of the International Anthony Burgess Foundation, for unearthing this work. In a Telegraph report Dr Biswell says: “[Burgess] had a strong interest in horoscopes, tarot cards and predictive dreams. In the second volume of his autobiography he even claimed to have predicted the assassination of President Kennedy in 1963.”

The celebrated Tarot reader Mary K Greer recounts: "[Burgess] is known to have read cards at a village fete in the 1950s disguised as ‘Professor Sosostris the famous clairvoyant.'"

Professor Sosostris - has a ring to it.

Merry Christmas - despite the Old Etonian plutocracy

Kerchingle bells! Anyway, Christmas coincides with the 300,000th visitor to Madame Arcati this year which is not bad considering I took the summer off. In the past month alone there were 120,592 pageviews. The top 10 visitor countries May - December (using a new system) were:

United Kingdom 72,895
United States 63,780
Canada 9,655
Australia 8,198
Germany 6,044
Ireland 4,214
Italy 3,408
Netherlands 3,375
Brazil 2,111
Philippines 2,038

Elizabeth Hurley: Arun's 'mystery' brunette and what the papers will ignore

"Sorry to rain on your parade Gossip Press, but Arun 'mystery brunette' is his brother's wife. Snigger." - Elizabeth Hurley, Twitter.

The Savoy: Gleam, luxe, a billionaire prince... and then Stephen Fry

ITV1's curious 2-part doc on the re-opened Savoy introduced us to its current owner Prince Al-Waleed bin Talal. In the show he was described as the fourth richest man in the world whereas Forbes rates him only at 19th with a net fortune (as of March this year) of nearly US$20 billion. Perhaps he slipped in the chart because the Savoy's total refurbishment went £120m over budget during its mad near-three year closure.

The prince, a member of the Saudi royal family, arrived with a huge entourage. In a coach. We learned from his Savoy-assigned butler in the royal suite (price: £10k a night) that he had demanded white slippers in place of the black (or vice versa), liked Melba toast (or was that someone else?) and didn't wish to be disturbed before his rather late rising at 2pm every day. If he wished to eat out, every table of the establishment was booked in his name. He might however change his mind at the last minute and go elsewhere. He likes curry.

The prince didn't say much. He and Prince Charles kissed cheeks at the relaunch ceremony. I'm afraid any good feeling I might have had about the Savoy refit was blown away by the arrival of Stephen Fry, appointed the hotel's blogger in residence: cue free suite. A man with long unkempt hair, creased jacket and trousers, and the mouldy aura of a panto professor, stepped into a world of gleam and luxe: hello Mr Fry. He oozed a pus-like unctuous awe as he was ushered into a blue lift. Not once did he desist in his obsequious wittering, sadly confused with charm. What won't he do to annoy me?

One evening in the Savoy's American Bar, a few years back, I was astonished to see virtually every Fleet St newspaper editor knocking back drinks at one of their regular get-togethers. That was the first time I went off the Savoy.

Kate Reardon (a spinning vagina expert) takes over Tatler!

Kate Reardon. Photo by Rankin

Oh, I hope it wasn't something I didn't say. Catherine Ostler (aka Tiny Tears) has departed her dream editorship of Tatler. She seeks pastures new, challenges over there (fill in detail). Someone called Kate Reardon, who's blonde and was raised in the Condé Nast nurseries, is enthroned. How peculiar.

Usually, a media tally-ho serenades any hunt for a new Tatler editor. Condé Nast life-MD Sir Nicholas Coleridge (as he hopes to be soon) traditionally sifts the society desperadoes at early breakfast hotel interviews before appointing a non-applicant (a neighbour, say); or something like that. This time, nothing. Ostler's off after a mere two years and no public notice. The queen is dead etc.

Obviously the real story remains unpublished. Would someone kindly furnish, ta. I'm far too busy to delve. Nothing to do with this I'm sure.

As for Kate, I see she has a website called Top Tips. While glancing at it my eye alights on a vagina dialogue. A reader has a problem. "After my first spinning class, my vagina feels very sore and bruised. Other women said this will stop after a couple classes. Did anyone else have this problem and if so, were you able to spin again?"

Could this be a coded reference to some kind of social intercourse with Lord 'former spinmeister' Mandelson?

One can only hope Tatler offers Kate challenges of comparable import. Good luck, poppet!

Welcome to Mollywood is Independent on Sunday's celeb memoir of the year

Molly Parkin's Welcome to Mollywood has been named celebrity memoir of the year by the Independent on Sunday.

My congratulations to permanent fiancee Moll, to her innovative publisher Beautiful Books and to the newspaper on its good taste and discernment. Matthew Bell, who has penned the paper's encomium, is of course one of Madame Arcati's approved journalists (a short list) and I am delighted that he has repaid my faith with his unsolicited plaudit.

To read his piece click here.

To read Arcati's review, Dodging the Conventional Cunts, click here.

Madame Arcati interview Part 2: Indecent exposures

Part 2 of Madame Arcati's second interview with the Virtual Reality website is now up. Unique perspectives on Charles and Camilla, Wills and Kate, rioting stidents and, er, Sam Leith are offered - and Ken Clarke's penal secret is revealed. Children turn away! Eloquent, shrewd filth for discerning readers, click here.

Sandy Lane Hotel: Not everyone loves Simon Cowell's fave getaway

Sandy Lane Hotel

Madame Arcati is most concerned for Simon Cowell. He's presently recuperating at Barbados' luxury Sandy Lane hotel, as he does every year after his X Factor exertions, knocking back crates of yeast-free Japanese beer. But I see not everyone is impressed with the 5* accommodation where some suites cost £10,000 a night (or so the tabloids tell us: Michael Winner has related to me that he only spends £2,500- 3,000 a night. What a cheapskate).

At the Tripadvisor site, former guests tell of their time at the hotel - here's an unedited selection.. A Mr Trig of Toronto, Canada, who stayed at the Sandy Lane in November of this year, moans: "Unfortunately we found a soiled female undergarment in our room and it was dealt with very poorly." Well, perhaps it was just a rare slip...

Then again, Andrew Berry of Scotland, reports: "It’s the little things like the TV remote falling to bits, problems with the internal wifi connection, the problems with sunbeds and restaurant reservations." As Simon would say, these are high-class problems.

L Gallagher of Portugal is incandescent: "The service at breakfast was horrendous, when you were seated they would take your tea and coffee order and you would be lucky if this turned up before the end of your breakfast, on most occasions we had to chase the waitress for our tea, housekeeping left us fluffy bath towels when we arrived in our room, but as the week progressed the quality of the towels deteriorated, this was not a massive issue, but for the price that you pay to stay at this hotel I think the towels should be good quality not the quality you expect to find in a 3 star hotel."

In between the several rapturous encomia ("Fantastic!"; "The most wonderful place ever") a surprising number of complaints whinny up. Tennis Rose of Alabama plainly did not realise that the Sandy Lane is not so-called for nothing: "After you land its at least a 90 minute ride on bumpy dusty curvy roads....maybe we took a short cut but I will not be going back to Barbados.... "

In a fine piece of reportage, Ho-Hum of Surrey says the hotel owner likes to hog the swimming pool all to himself when he's in residence and claims the proprietor kicked her partner out of the pool on three occasions. She concludes, "So, have a great holiday if you can bear that the staff are terrified of the selfish, rude owner (Irishman in his late 60's); we couldnt and yes it really spolied our stay, well it would, would'nt it ?"

Merry Christmas, Simon!

Madame Arcati interview (2): Tony and Cherie's sex life and Julian Assange, the rapist?

Such was the response to my first interview, given to the Virtual Reality site, that I have overruled my media adviser and given another interview to VR - just for Christmas. The first part is up now, to be followed by the second sometime soon. I am induced to discuss Tony and Cherie's sex life, Julian Assange's underwear and whether he raped anyone, and, oh, Andy 'Pinocchio' Coulson.

Click here to read.

Andy Coulson: 'Top News of the World exec approved illegal phone hacking'

Lawyers have secured startling new evidence that 'implies' that a senior editorial executive at the News of the World approved the illegal hacking of voicemail messages from the phones of Sienna Miller, Jude Law and others. The Guardian publishes details of these fresh claims and more: click here.

Former Screws editor Andy Coulson, who is now the Prime Minister's media boss at No 10, and others at News International, have always contended that only Clive Goodman, the Screws' former royal correspondent, used private investigator Glenn Mulcaire to hack mobiles.

The Guardian reports that Scotland Yard has had this new evidence in its possession for years but failed to investigate it. Only a few days ago the Yard gave Coulson the all-clear.

The paper also reveals that 'The new evidence discloses that it was Neville Thurlbeck who signed the formal contract paying Mulcaire £2,019 a week to work exclusively for the News of the World.' Amazingly, Coulson knew nothing of this, or so he claims.

More than 20 former News of the World employees have alleged to the Guardian, the New York Times and Channel Four's Dispatches programme that Coulson knew of the use of phone hacking at the paper - which he still denies. And more than 20 celebs are now in various stages of litigation against the Screws and Mulcaire over breach of privacy.

If the paper settles each of these claims as generously as it did Max Clifford's then it faces a £20m legal bill before costs.

Iain Dale blog announces its murder: Old Etonians held as suspects

As expected, the Iain Dale blog has announced its demise. A nano-second's silence, please. The right-wing Mr D denies he's shutting up shop because the Tories are in power; and attributes his disenchantment with blogging to its damaging effect on his business and whatnot. This may be partly true, but actually the obvious and crassest main reason should not be blithely discounted.

He lost his mojo because the Tories are in power.

While Blair lied through his teeth and Brown impotently sulked and raged, Dale had a cause. The alternative to New Labour had to be preferred at the very least, and Dale was tenacious in the fight. He was an excellent Tory propagandist blogger in opposition. His raison d'etre: to get the Tories into power. And now that the smooth, suave, patronising Old Etonian plutocracy holds sway... oh, dear. Even Dale must see the calamity ahead.

An eroded NHS, a hostile disillusioned student population, local services ravaged, mass redundancies, a war on the poor, sick and incapable, quid pro quo plural privatisations of social services for Tory donors - well, you know all this and the rest. Even rickets is making a comeback.

Could you imagine the Dale blog thriving on a diet of friendly Tory tales amid the government's crazy slash and burn realities? A successful political blog will by its nature ply against power or else just be a fan site - BBC blogs excluded. Dale doesn't strike me as the power fan site type. So off he goes to his LBC radio show and his publishing company to consolidate his ker-ching thing. Wise.

He ran out of a blogging script for the party he will continue to support from the sidelines. Not for him reader withering scorn as he attempted to defend the trustafarian Old Etonians lecturing the rest of us that getting something for nothing is not open to all. In style terms, I'm sure he sensed the vulgarity of his Westminster pals.

A nano-second's pause, please, for a hollow laugh. Meanwhile, will Guido be next?

Bret Easton Ellis: Does Susan Boyle get Perfect Day?

Bret Easton Ellis writes on Twitter: 'Does Susan Boyle really understand her version of Perfect Day? I guess it doesn't matter. It's the best cover of the song I've ever heard.'

I suppose he means, does she understand Lou Reed's version of his song. 'You made me forget myself, I thought I was someone else, someone good,' she sings, as the camera journeys over Loch Lomond, fog-shrouded in one scene, clear in another. It's hard to imagine how the transformative power of love (or heroin) could apply to one so clearly good, in the untouched sense, as Susan Boyle; whereas, with Lou Reed and all his advertised demons....

Intentionally or not she has converted the nostalgie de la boue of Perfect Day into romantic timeless joy, grafting it onto a memoir unrooted in experience: a dream of a recalled moment of love (but not heroin) in a landscape familiar to connoisseurs of whisky labels. As a result, I do not feel I want to kill myself after listening to Perfect Day. I share her fantasy unrooted in experience, though the sea (the sea) would be my preferred backdrop. Yes, her cover is the best. [Click here to listen]

I don't think that answers it, Bret.

Andy Coulson: The endearing qualities of No 10's man-child

Andy Coulson: The PM's Forrest Gump

Let it not be said Madame Arcati is mean-minded.

Allow me to be among the very few (outside No 10 or Wapping) to congratulate the Prime Minister's media adviser, Andy Coulson, on his exoneration by Scotland Yard from any complicity in the News of the World's ongoing phone hacking scandal: he may have once been the paper's control-freak editor, who diligently and sensibly close-questioned his journalists on story sources, but somehow or other he never got wind of the fact that many of their exclusives came courtesy of illegal phone tapping.

I am awe-struck by the subterfuge of his former staff. How they must have laughed behind their editor's back in night-time pub marathons. What a push-over! So naive! Born yesterday! I am almost tempted to think well of David Cameron for taking pity on such a dickhead: I didn't realise the Tories practised positive discrimination for the, er, incognisant. Coulson is now arguably one of the most powerful unelected members of the Old Etonian plutocracy. I have a fond regard for pet owners of underdogs.

Scotland Yard proved to be slightly more than helpful in threatening to put on criminal caution any witness against Coulson. No wonder Sean Hoare, a former Screws hack, declined to repeat the claims he made to the New York Times - that Coulson well knew of the phone hacking and authorised it. Why should Hoare expose himself to prosecution in the face of No 10's media machine, their many friends in the compliant Tory print press or rent-a-quote bloated bigmouth Kelvin MacKenzie? No reason at all.

I note also that the wrongly maligned Coulson, in Tommy Sheridan's ongoing perjury court case in Glasgow, has denied ever being a bully at the Screws. I have no reason not to believe him except that last year one of his former sports hacks, Matt Driscoll, won a record £800,000 at an east London employment tribunal for unfair dismissal. A major cause of Driscoll's woe was Coulson, apparently - a claim evidently believed by the tribunal.

After the case, Driscoll reportedly said:  "If I were him [Coulson], I would find it very hard to look in the mirror. I was subjected to unprecedented bullying and he did nothing to stop it, if anything he accelerated it. I didn't do anything wrong."

If I were Coulson I'd take steps to win back that £800k for his former boss Rupert Murdoch given his now established blamelessness, his utter Forrest Gump-like obliviousness to abuses at the News of the World.

To have such a man-child at the heart of government endears him to me in a way that is hard to express. I just hope he gets wise to Nick 'dead' Clegg before the rest of us do.

Justin Bieber's penis: A post-modernist approach to blogging

Justin Bieber and his missing sock

One way to promote your website right now is to post a Justin Bieber item, albeit a spurious one - perhaps the sad, neglected, undiscussed, unread, utterly redundant and hypocritical New Statesman might take note. Justin is among the most searched global topics on the internet, apparently.

Into my second paragraph and I've already lost about 95% of the beliebers: bye. But let's plough on. Much of the obsession with the heterosexually advertised Christian teen sensation, with the bossy mum, is focused  on his cock: Nanny Google has about 1.36m links to Bieber cock stories. So if I link this story to my Daniel Radcliffe PhotoShopped cock pics I'll have created a perfect storm of interest to take Madame Arcati well into the Winterval season.

Predictably, there is much concern about the guessed dimensions of Justin's cock. One school of thought holds that it is very small indeed. Another, that he is Colin Farrell's doppelgänger: let's ask Angelina Jolie next time she's around.  In other quarters, it is claimed Lady Gaga has stolen his penis while .... well see for yourself. It's all out there.

Now, I don't know about you, but I have to get on. But as a parting shot, I publish below the top search keywords to Madame Arcati today, pre-Justin Bieber's penis: A post-modernist approach to blogging - a zeitgeist snapshot:

daniel radcliffe penis
liberace
daniel radcliffe dick
sheila vogel-coupe
daniel craig penis
daniel radcliffe circumcised
daniel radcliffe cock
madame arcati
almine barton
carole malone

Jonathan King: Nation's Vile Pervert returns as God this Christmas

Jonathan King as God in Vile Pervert

Jonathan King sends Madame Arcati a gorgeous Christmas card with a cover pic of him as God bearing news of his 2010. He reports that his movie Vile Perpert: The Musical hit 55,000 downloads this year while iTunes brought in a tidy sum.

Unfortunately, Madame Arcati was on her extended 'retirement' this summer when Private Eye revealed that the author of the novel Beware The Monkey Man, Rex Kenny, was none other than.... Jonathan King.

The exposé resulted in 'dozens of review copies (sold unopened by "reviewers" to shops) to shift from Amazon within days.' Flogging unread review copies to bookshops is a nice money-earner for our nation's impoverished critics.

If you want to know more about his novel, visit the dedicated website.  I'm sorry I didn't get to read or review it: perhaps I shall in 2011. However, if you haven't already, do read my review of his excellent film Vile Pervert. The unelected YouTube nannies have of course disabled the video excerpt for the protection of one's fragile morals, but JK's put up another ('Wilde About Boys'). You can watch the entire film here.

Also, read my review of his excellent memoirs 65 My Life So Far. An ideal prezzie for bystanders to pop culture.

Simon Cowell: 'Undoubtably' this man needs a scriptwriter

Would someone tell Simon Cowell that his use of the adverb 'undoubtably' on The X Factor is a boo-boo for indubitably or undoubtedly; up there with Sarah Palin's 'refudiate' or Bush's 'misunderestimate'. Every week, in his tired homilies to contestants, he gets in an 'undoubtably' between his usual formulations 'I've got to tell you something' or 'Can I be honest?' Undoubtedly, a generation of debt-laden students is going around smashing up guilty buildings screaming undoubtably. And it's all Cowell's fault.

Not that online dictionaries can quite make up their minds on the matter. The Free Dictionary lists  'undoubtably' for indubitably even if Nanny Google offers the alternative 'undoubtedly' should you key in Cowell's word. Even my own spellchecker only accepts undoubtably if in quote marks.

A friend of mine once fell for a girl who used the word 'indubitably' - he was dead impressed by her articulacy. Please, Simon, try to keep up.

Carol Needham, Page 3 Queen: What's it like relaxing with Hugh Hefner?

Page 3 legend Carol Needham

The Sun recently celebrated 40 years of its Page 3 girls and among them was 70s and 80s pin-up Carol Needham who made 62 appearances in the tabloid. She was also Playboy's Playmate of the Month for February 1979.

In the present era of free online porn - for which we must thank in part moralistic Google - Page 3 is something of a saucy anachronism, like Carry On films or Basil Brush. Any man admitting to being actually turned on by a Page 3 pic (ie experiencing an erection) would be regarded as a bit sad. But Page 3 cut-out-and-pin-ups still play their part in helping to preserve heterosexual micro-climates in our nation's offices and portacabins, where perhaps more enlightened workplace legislation has yet to encroach.

Carol Needham now runs her modelling agency Needhams Models and graciously agreed to an email interview with Madame Arcati.

Carol! Poppet! Isn't it awfully cold today for no clothes? Would you wear real fur?

I wouldn’t wear real fur as imitations - which are just as warm.

Tell me how you got started in the glamour model world? You were only 16, how were you scouted?

I was spotted on the Kings Road by someone who suggested I saw a model agency, which I did and they sent me to see Beverly Goodway who used to shoot the Page 3 pictures in The Sun - the rest as they say is history

A girl with your fine assets should have no problem finding ample work, what was the most glamorous part of the glamour world?

For me it was the travelling as I had never been abroad before and all of a sudden I’m travelling to exotic locations.

How did you become a Playboy Bunny Centrefold? (Click here for more)

I was shooting the Unipart calender in LA when the photographer introduced me to Hugh Hefner and he asked me to shoot a centrefold.

Which is your personal favourite photo of you from those times?

I love my Playboy centrefold and the Unipart calender. I also like a lot of the page 3 photos

What do you say to feminists and others who think Page 3 is down there with female circumcision?

Well I can only answer for myself. Without page 3 I certainly would not have had the opportunities I've had. It opened many doors for me and gave me the freedom to choose what I wanted to do.

Poppet! One is 50 and still so fabulous (I am 184 and need a little more support). Can you tell your fans and the pervs who read Madame Arcati how you keep so perky and fresh-faced?

The usual suspects - good diet, vitamins, exercise and a love of life and enjoying being around positive people.

Madame hears you run a modelling agency now. And how is the modelling agency world, has it been hit with the recession?

I have been lucky in that it hasn’t affected me.

You recently attended a party at the Playboy Mansion. Is old Hugh up to his old tricks? Who was there? Was it great fun? [For more of Madame Arcati on Hugh Hefner click here]

The last time I went to the mansion before this was years ago and I expected everything to be different, but it wasn’t - the same décor, faces, a meal followed by a movie. It's actually very relaxing and low-key. Hef was there with his girlfriend Crystal , who seemed nice.

Body shots. Tequilla or vodka?

Vodka.

Sports bra or balconette?

Both.

Have you ever been to a clairvoyant? If so, was she/he correct?

No.

Favourite perfume?

Tom Ford black orchid.

Favourite item of clothing?

Right now - Uggs! Sooo warm. I also enjoy Jack Wills clothing.

Well dearie, Madame Arcati endorses you as the loveliest page 3 pin-up in 40 years of lovelies from News International. [Oh, here's Carol's Page 3 page, click here] 

Thank you so much. xx

FIFA, Qatar and the curious case of the designer watch gift

I have absolutely no interest in football whatsoever. But here's a true-life story for soccer fans weeping over FIFA's World Cup preference for Russia and Qatar.

Last time I was in Qatar, booked into a 6* suite courtesy of [deleted for legal reasons], my stay coincided with that of FIFA reps there on official business. Returning to my room one evening I was delighted to find a wrapped gift on my bed. It was a beautiful Brietling watch. However, from the label, I quickly deduced I was not the intended beneficiary: it read something like 'To our FIFA guest'. It transpired later the hotel had wrongly allocated me a FIFA suite.

What did I do with the watch? I tore up the de luxe box it was presented in and put the timepiece on my wrist. Finders keepers, dearies.

Last year the watch stopped so I took it to my local horologist for repair. After a minute he reappeared at the counter and handed me back the watch saying, 'I'm sorry, it's a fake. And our policy is not to repair brand fakes.' I was sooo embarrassed.

What this says of Qatar or FIFA I cannot say.

Perfume TV ads: Autoerotic adventures this family time of Christmas

Dior Homme starring Jude Law

Phone rage. Or phone sex? Ah, the playful layered plot to be found in Jude Law's Dior Homme TV scent ad directed by Guy Ritchie. Fools of we are made, tee-hee. A man talks to someone on the phone as loyal exquisite cunt dresses him. We think the conversation is homicidal post-brothers Kray. But little does she know of his betrayal. He is wrapped in a sex dream with a co-conspiratorial cunt. What you see on the Christmas box is just an excerpt from the five minute epic, click here. It's Guy's finest work. A masterly piece of cod movie-making. After RocknRolla. And we're still talking London gangster Mockney.

(Law has lost his Bosie-beauty and now entered his manlier handsome pot-pourri stage: it will last another five years before autumn's SagnBag era. Then, he may find his testicles less responsive to temperature: on cold nights in dark streets, passersby may think him just another middle-middle-aged man with patchy pate. His scent TV ad-days will be long gone. Never mind. Character parts are aplenty. A knighthood in his 50s cannot be ruled out.)

Matthew McConaughey is serially The One in D&G's latest, click here. A lone good-looking narcissist survives a welcome paparazzi pounce outside his hotel before unveiling himself of his shirt in his suite to reveal the spray-tanned six-pack. Look at me. Most men dream of this moment, imagined in shop window reflections; a glimpse of body theatre minus super-cape. The admiring audience is unseen cunt. What would spoil the moment is corporeal evidence of his sex appeal (ie presence of cunt). How clever of D&G to capture the reality of a male autoerotic nano-fantasy. Thank you Miles Davis for the moooooozak.

Naturally, wittiest perfume ad is Gaultier's Madame. Aygess Deyn re-edits herself with a pair of scissors: the essence of Madame, to repackage you. I should know. We are the mirror of transition for unseen cock. Instead of cock, we see Gaultier kissed.

Who's probably the oldest face in a current perfume TV ad.

Frankie Boyle: Beardie obsessed with cock and queers?

Frankie Boyle's Tramadol Nights debuted on Channel 4 yesterday drawing an OK-ish 1.3m viewers, the comic's first solo show. It left me wondering why he's a Sun columnist given the obvious markets disconnect between his and its. Most of the smart people I know have never heard of the Tramadol drug, so God knows what most Sun readers imagine it is. Then again, most Sun readers would probably not be watching a Channel 4 show at 10pm, just after I'm A Celebrity... on ITV1.

Like one or two other Sun columnists - such as Ally Ross - he writes far over the heads of his audience but, much more importantly, pleases the educated, middle class editor-ironists on the paper who currently applaud the coalition's tally-ho war against the poor and sick. Why, even its lanky political editor is an Old Etonian.

Is Boyle funny? His downbeat stand-up shtick has its moments - when he's not ridiculing people with Down's or sentimentalising Palestine. But his show sketches get lost in his thick depressive's beard. In one, a jailed Christ-like black man with a miracle healing cock sodomises a white prison guard and thereby cures him of a hand rash. He then returns a bedridden white woman to full glowing health after bringing her to orgasm in front of her husband. He's nonetheless executed for his failure to fuck others - such as a white small boy - and cure them of various maladies. Talk about comic bludgeoning. Cupcakes a steamroller cannot make. Even the studio audience could only manage a forced titter.

If the black cock Christ sketch is about mythology and racism, I would say its satirical point is at least 25 years late. Even lumpenprole bigotry moves on a bit, dearies. What then to make of the George Michael cartoon in which our hero ejaculates over a picnicking couple (on Hampstead Heath?) Or the cowboy homophobic rant against Brokeback Mountain?

If Boyle were that funny I might bother to examine the contents of his peculiar mindset or of his Hijab-like monstrous beard. But he is not.