'G on G' action - imagine Widdy and Platell

The Sun’s Glenda, Jane Moore, fakes a moan in July GQ about “g on g” action, about how hetero men love watching hetero girls cunt-cunting in porn movies. She explains that it’s the absence of a penis in the encounter that turns the men on – the thought that the girls need a big man like the watching wanker to provide real satisfaction is the cause of arousal. Well, in the land of cod psychology anything’s possible, I suppose. Why not?

My own personal fantasy is another kind of “g on g” action – Glenda on Glenda. Can you imagine Jane Moore and the Mail's Alison Pearson at it? Or the Mail's Amanda Platell getting hot with the Express’ Ann Widdecombe. Oooh, yeah baby, I’m drooling already ....

The Incredible Hulk - slow it down, dearies

Went to my first movie preview in ages the other day to see Louis Leterrier’s The Incredible Hulk that’s out this week in the UK. Critical lore requires one to pass slighting reference to Ang Lee’s dismally soapy Hulk of 2003 before pronouncing this latest as at least true to the Marvel comic spirit. Which is about right. And Ed Norton is suitably anonymous – he’s like a cock version of Tilda Swinton, tall, thin, faceless – and William Hurt is drolly unsympathetic as the general who would turn Hulk into a super-soldier if he had his way. A nice anti-militaire feel there.

Certainly worth seeing, but its one major flaw is the CGI. Hulk and his fellow gamma rayed foe The Abomination (Tim Roth) move far too fast, blurring in the fight sequences, seeming not to belong to the film at all. I was left nostalgic for Lou Ferrigno, who played the Hulk monster in the ‘70s TV series (and has a joke cameo in this film). He was forever getting through (I think) plaid shirts when his alter ego Dr Bruce Banner threw a wobbler before launching forth in slow-mo. Tobey Maguire’s Spider-Man is similarly blighted by crazy-speed animation, with our comic book hero bouncing off buildings like hail stones. It just undermines the desire to suspend disbelief.

Judging by the terse ending a sequel must already be in the works with the same cast, I’d have thought. One nice touch. When Banner is getting an unseen erection prior to hoped for penetrative sex with Betty Ross (Liv Tyler) he has to stop for fear of invoking his inner green giant. I had often wondered how Banner copes with sex and now I know. It’s most important he doesn’t get het up.

I think I may have developed a taste for movie previews. Perhaps I’ll turn Arcati into a movie site. When you’ve seen one celebrity cock you’ve seen them all, doncha think?

Rupert Everett: Will Simon Napier-Bell name The Tooth?

The person who claims Rupert Everett's cock ring broke his or her tooth writes again: Simon Napier-Bell may reveal more apparently ....

"Just a further note from the one with the "Rupert" tooth. If anyone had the good fortune, like me, to see Rupert in the stage version of Another Country they would have realised what a wonderful acting talent he was.

"Truth be told - Everett is one of those lucky people who looked better at 40 then he did at 20 (not that it stopped me). The media were pretty vicious about Rupert's decision to stay in the closet when he was young - squiring young upper class gels around town. He really got a pasting he never deserved (considering the sexual shenanigans of the acting world). I think they basically had a go at him because he always gave off a bit of a 'snobbish' air (he says in his autobiog that he was a snob when young). I think that's why he moved to Europe where such things didn't matter.

"NB: the tale and my real name I expect may appear in the next book being written by Simon Napier-Bell - who once managed Rupert. He is writing a series of anecdotes about the music, film and fashion world."

William Cash marries another rich woman

It's not every day someone is given the opportunity to write about his forthcoming nuptials twice in the same edition of a newspaper. Yesterday the London Evening Standard permitted its wealth-worshipping correspondent William Cash to regale the few dozen people who know (of) him with a blow-by-blow account of his engagement to Mick Jagger's ex, "Venezuelan-born writer and academic Vanessa Neumann" (who wrote me a little while back about William's journalistic output) and planned wedding. If you missed the double-page spread in the paper itself, the magazine supplement offered a reprise and more name-dropping. Cash appears to have a Jasper Gerard-like hold on editors.

Regrettably, the two pieces could not quite agree on the precise day of the ceremony or ceremonies. The paper suggested Saturday while the magazine offered "11am" Friday. I had soooooo wanted to toast them at the right moment, but was thwarted! Perhaps the magazine piece is the accurate one: they married yesterday at the Chelsea Register Office but then had their Mass of Celebration at the Palace of Westminster and then the dinner dance at the Carlton Club (phew!) today ... it's all so confusing.

But if all went well at the register office (let's say yesterday), the pair will have been greeted outside by the "surprise" Edwardian horse and carriage William "splashed out" on. Sipping chilled champagne, they will have clip-clopped about the gates of Buckingham Palace (a nice aspirational touch that) prior to lunch at Mark's Club in Mayfair. Both bride and groom can boast beau monde wedding guests: she, Topper and Tinsley Mortimer, "the ultimate WASP Manhattan socialite couple"; he, er, Piers Morgan. Toby Young was banned by Vanessa because of his false claim he shared her with Jagger, William gallantly repeats. William's ex-wife is Ilaria Bulgari, "of the jewellery family". She will not have been welcome at the wedding(s) either.

One really would have to have a heart of stone not to wish Vanessa and William all the luck that money can buy and brand celebs can vouchsafe.

A horoscopic glimpse of Dr Vanessa Neumann, click here.

Oliver Duff - and it's fuck off from Blair, Burchill, et al

The Independent's gosser Oliver Duff is relinquishing the Pandora diary page to become deputy home news editor - I can't imagine anything more boring. Monday's his last day and sweetly he informs all that he has no decent story yet for his swan song. His email contains an entertaining litany of encounters with foul-mouthed celebs ...

"I've told you it's not true and yet you continue to write it."
- Matthew Doyle, official spokesman for Tony Blair

"Are you following me? Fuck off."
- Alastair Campbell, following a chance encounter at the urinals in The Arts Club

"I didn't fucking come here to be interviewed by you! Now don't fucking cry about it! Just fuck off!"
Ewan McGregor

"What are you leaving her a message for? Why are you asking? Why do you want to know? Perhaps you should email Julie to apologise. You are an absolute prick .... asshole ... Why don't you fuck off and get an actual story. Moron."
Julie Burchill's assistant

"You have got about as much chance of seeing him as me growing a penis by tomorrow morning. And if you tell anyone what I just said I'll break your bloody legs."
Spokeswoman for Her Majesty's Prison Service says that Pandora must cancel plans to hold a birthday party for Ronnie Biggs

"The article in The Independent said we were merry - a terrible euphemism - when we'd hardly had a glass. That journalist obviously has no stamina himself."
Christine Hamilton, on stage at the Edinburgh Festival

"Ga!! Diarists!" [Phone: click]
Rt Hon John Prescott

"Great to meet you."
Lord Levy

Lily Allen: Her Glamour drink WAS spiked

"Lily Allen has said her drink may have been spiked at this week's Glamour Awards," it was reported. People giggled sceptically but I happen to know she's right. The culprit was one of her friends (known) and my spy tells me: "The record company PR folk were gloating the next day how they had kept the truth out of the media. But it's impossible to keep juicy titbits under wraps when the artist shoots from the hip the next evening." Poor Lily, the poppet. But what's this about Special K ... ?

Rupert Everett: 'I broke tooth on his cock ring'

I have no way of knowing whether this suck 'n' tell on Rupert Everett is true, but read it and decide for yourselves. It's just too delicious to bury in comments. And if it's not true perhaps Rupie will get in touch ...

"I recently ran into Rupert Everett at the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras where he was guest of honour. I asked him if he remembered our encounter when I picked him up outside the Embassy Club eons ago. I broke a precious front tooth on a steel cock ring he wore at the time - I'd never seen a contraption like this before. After he booted me out in the morning to go off to fencing lessons I had to resume my waiting job and it took six weeks' wages to get a shiny new crown to return my gorgeous smile - I named the tooth 'Rupert' in his honour. Recounting this tale to him last year he looked very serious and simply said 'how amusing' before walking of! Perhaps he was taking it all in for the next edition of his memoirs."

Mat Collishaw: Cock-up could be the making of him

This porno image that popped up accidentally on a BBC1 lunchtime news item on the Royal Academy certainly tickled the Guardian’s Media Monkey. But they didn’t say that it’s the work of the artist Mat Collishaw, a former lover of Tracey Emin who selected his work among others for the Summer Exhibition. Titled In “The Old Fashioned Way, 1992” it’s a Victorian-flavoured giant automated black and white image of a zebra having sex with a blonde woman. Mat is not a household name like Emin or his friend Damien Hirst but I suspect that’s about to change.

Warren Beatty tries to direct own tribute show

Hollywood King of the Cock-Cunters (retd) Warren Beatty is keeping the worthies of the American Film Institute busy.

On June 12 he receives its 36th Life Achievement Awards at a gala tribute show in LA – and I hear that, in contrast to past winners such as Sir Sean Connery, Meryl Streep, Harrison Ford and others on the Tinseltown Buggins’ turn carousel, Beatty has been doing his bit for micro-management. “He’s on the phone constantly calling for meetings, making suggestions who should be on the show,” I am told. “He’s driven one or two people slightly around the bend – but then it makes a change to have such a winner so proactively engaged. I have never known anything like it.”

One or two others at the AFI, I learn, have flirted with regret at adding him to the eternity roster. But what do they know? Beatty’s produced-directed-starred in at least 15 classic movies. We allow gods to be control freaks. Or to quote Goldie Hawn: “Warren by nature is a caretaker. Yes, he's maddening. Yes, he's stubborn. But the bottom line is the nature of that animal is good. His intentions are pure." Yes.

Jason Cowley: 'He likes them big'

Dearest Madame,

Is it common knowledge that Louis Amis, scion of Martin Amis, now Manchester University's most controversial professor, has joined the world of hackdom and is now answering the phones at Spectator upstart, Standpoint magazine? I've just pitched an idea at him.

Incidentally, the course that Martin Amis now 'teaches' on at Manchester Uni was one that I completed myself several years ago, when it was taught by the inimitable Suzannah Dunn and the charming Martyn Beford, both of whom deserve to sell far more books than they do.

During the course we had Jason Cowley, the newly installed editor of the New Statesman, up for a visit to talk to us about literary journalism. There he made a marvellously sweeping point about how 'young writers nowadays don't want to write on big themes or big books' (this is in between zoning most of his conversation in on one of my fellow student's cleavage). I didn't have the heart to tell him that with tuition fees, zilch contact time, part-time jobs and the incessant milkround of work experience expected of most undergraduates nowadays it's a miracle they come out of university with enough energy left to write a haiku.

The young write small books
Because their overdrafts are large.
Eliot's ghost weeps

Best regards as ever,

Chris Klee

Dear Chris,

Thank you for your delightfully informative letter, especially on Jason Cowley, who only reads books by tastefully appointed publishers, and appears the very model of catalogue-driven orthodoxy in all matters. I shall examine his horoscope. You don't happen to have a photo of him looking like David Sylvian do you, in make-up? I had heard that Louis was gainfully employed at a tastefully appointed magazine in keeping with his father's good name: the glamour of heredity is a hard one to beat. But that's not to deny Louis' independent talents, assumed.

Love, light and other New Age bullshit words

MAx

Rupert Everett: Isherwood-y and his mummy cunt

Rupert Everett is writing a sequel to his indiscreet autobiography Red Carpets and Other Banana Skins. He tells the Radio Times - when he's not slagging off Americans as "whiny complainers" and describing them as "blobby" - that "since no one famous is talking to me any more [he revealed, for instance, that he had cock-cunted Susan Sarandon], I've had to leave famous people out of it and just write about other things in my life."

My heart sinks at this news. But then he adds, helping me to rally: "This one will be more Christopher Isherwood-y." My hope is that the emphasis will be on the wood-y rather than the Isher. Was it not Isherwood who once said of his dreaded mother: "Just think of her! Sitting in front of a fire in Kensington warming her cunt!"

If Rupie proposes to emulate old Ish (in spirit, at least) then we must look forward to the result. I wonder whether Justine Picardie will tidy it up (again).

Duncan Fallowell, Hay and a Dracula's attic happening

Hay Castle: The flat there is available at £25 a night, click here. You too could live like Edward II

It's a mark of Madame Arcati's selfless philosophy that she happily cannot resist another Duncan Fallowell epistle, in response to a reader's suggestion that he interview someone connected with poor old Diana for his Peepshow book. This thought then associates with his recent performance at Hay Castle at the Real Hay Fest and its contrasting advantages to the wretched Hay Fest ...

"I agree about Diana but I have already written a piece on her which forms the last chapter of ANOTHER book which I've almost completed called The Ones That Got Away.

"I performed - yes, that is the word - a shortened version of the Diana piece at Hay Castle recently and I think it worked fantastically well. It was pouring with rain. The official festival site out of town was tented and a wash-out - firemen were called to pump it out. But I was in the huge, dry State Room which was up a narrow staircase, with three great windows overlooking the castle lawns. It's often used for storage and there was extraordinary lumber everywhere - old gilt mirrors, decaying cabinets, Raj Gopal's Indian dancing costumes, a French bed, frayed Turkey carpets. Dracula's attic!

"I had the room blacked out, a big log fire blazed at one end, flamelight flickering on the ceiling. I was at the other end beside an urn-shaped lamp. Creepy electronic music played as people filed in and sat themselves in the dark intervening space. In fact it was a happening."

Keep your ideas coming for other sleb stars for Duncan's Peepshow book - see posting below and send comments there. Publisher Susan Hill is keeping an eye on proceedings which is just as well ...