Molly Parkin - come to her 77th birthday party

Madame Arcati's great friend Molly Parkin celebrates her 77th birthday on Tuesday, February 3, starting 7pm, at the Green Carnation club, 5 Greek St, London. Daughter Sophie says there's Dorian Crook on laughs, Molly Parkin on life, Dean Wilson on poems, Sophie herself on love, Leonardo di Lorenzo on guitar, Grace Andreacchi on words.

Yes, I'll be there. Click here for more about the Green Carnation. I can't decide whether to get her Chanel No 5 or a pair of diamond earstuds.

For more on Molly, click here and follow labels below. To view her art click here.

Ian Fleming biopic: Tilda Swinton perfect as gay author

While I am underwhelmed by Leonardo DiCaprio's latest movie, Revolutionary Road - a juvenile simper at 50s suburban losers by gloating Hollywood winners - I am pleased by the news that the actor's production company Appian Way is working on a biopic of Bond creator Ian Fleming.

No one's cast in the role yet - certainly Leonardo can forget about it straight off, but an Orson Welles biopic would suit him, just as Will Smith was born to play Obama - and that allows me to offer some advice.

First, it's little realised that Fleming was a non-practising homosexual. In Dr No Bond meets Honeychile Rider whose bottom is "almost as firm and rounded as a boy's"; and at Eton, poems he wrote there are signed with what one writer calls the "sexually ambiguous name Cary Anan". So let's not hear anymore nonsense on this topic.

It would be entirely in keeping with Tinseltown lore that a seasoned cock-cunter play the part: if Michael Douglas can play Liberace, Milk star Sean Penn - though possibly too short and too American - could handle Fleming who was a very close pal of gay writer Turbott Wolfe. Colin Firth perhaps, but too dreary out of his britches. Josh Hartnett? Too pretty. Bill Nighy is a tad too old while Matt Damon would be an amusing piece of mischief given he's Bourne.

Actually, I think Fleming should be played by a woman. Cate Blanchett was a most excellent Bob Dylan in I'm Not There. The female who I think could incarnate Fleming most accomplishedly is Tilda Swinton, a wonderful Orlando in Orlando, a perfect complement to Quentin Crisp's convincing Queen Elizabeth I: it's as if The Darnley Portrait had been brought to life by the fabled, rouged cock-cocker - and admirer of Holly Woodlawn.

I can quite imagine Tilda posing as Fleming with the cigarette holder, reading out Paul Verlaine's lesbo poems - as he did - and sauntering in Jamaica with his companion Odo Cross, a former Guards officer who liked to wear his mother's pearls. I suppose Bond would have to come into it somewhere - but perhaps more could be made of 007's mystical, pagan provenance of which I have written before.

In my more whimsical moments, I theorise that super-butch Bond was only invented so Fleming could pretend to be the Bond Girls himself, in a psycho-sexually complex case of cock-cunting-cock. Perhaps in his mind's eye he saw himself as curvaceous Pussy Galore. To get paid lots of money to write in drag is quite a trick, I'd have thought.

I do hope Leonardo finds these suggestions constructive to his purpose.

Gunpowder Magazine and a Wintour/Brûlé orgy

I can't imagine anything more dreadful: an Anna Wintour-Tyler Brûlé sandwich (with ancient old me as the filling) in my canopied four-poster. And yet that is the dread image summoned up as I click through a newish online fashion daily called Gunpowder Magazine.

It confessedly aspires to match the work of the two divinities of Fashion & Style (Fasyle?) - my Wintour/Brûlé body warmers - though I can't help but wonder whether either of them would ever willingly showcase the work of, say, photographer Justin Monroe and his Muscle Mary fisters (almost) or The New InterCourses Cookbook and its Creamy Stuffed Figs, as Gunpowder does. I fear that editor Nick Clarke is dangerously contiguous to Arcatiland and its intermittent preoccupations with cock-cunt permutations. If this is the case then of course I am deeply honoured and welcome the future cross-fertilisation of ideas between Gunpowder and the unreadable and deadening zombielands of Vogue/Monocle/Wallpaper*. Certainly, Anna looks like she could do with a Creamy Stuffed Fig.

Even an Enache Florin-designed Peugeot, "with its lightweight body covered with sexy touch-sensors," is headlined I Touch Myself. Can you imagine Tyler, whose carbon footprint makes him the Yeti of International Travel, touching himself? Actually, I can.

So Gunpowder Magazine gets my ringing endorsement: anything that can sexualise a fig or a Peugeot can't go wrong. The fashionistas are sure to catch on once they've learnt there's life after Ugly Betty and death assured to Anna.

Perhaps these two trends can be hastened in a legally nice way.

Click here to have sex with Gunpowder Magazine.

Pope reinstates Holocaust denier Bishop Williamson

The lifting of the ex-communication decree on British Bishop Richard Williamson is further evidence that Pope Ratzi is unfit for office. Williamson is a Holocaust denier: he says: "Not one Jew was killed in the gas chambers." He thinks 2-300,000 Jews were killed in the Nazi concentration camps but not by gassing. Williamson is a fraud in cleric garb, an anti-Semite who in Germany (where he gave the interview below) would now be in jail.

He claims that there has been a "huge exploitation" of Germany which has paid "millions and millions of euros in compensation" because it has a guilt complex over the gassings he does not think happened: in effect he's saying Germany is the victim of a monumental historical fraud. The evidence for the gas chambers is so overwhelming that his contentions need no detailed reply.

His reinstatement is part of the Pope's wish to bring the ultra-conservative Society of St Pius X back into the Vatican's fold. Ever the scholarly dogmatist, Ratzi cares nothing for the memory of Nazi victims, everything for the unity of his corrupt Church which failed the Jewish people doing the Holocaust.

Listen to Wiliamson yourself. Holocaust Memorial Day is on January 27.

David Kross penis: And the Oscar goes to ....

Kate Winslet is to be congratulated on her Oscar Best Actress nomination for the most excellent The Reader, but what of her young co-star, German actor David Kross who brought so much (out) to his role, much more than Kate did? One feels that the Academy must try to broaden its horizons.

New Statesman bloggers: A bunch of idlers, mainly

Jason Cowley's blighted (no, boring) editorship of the New Statesman is not helped by a herd of mainly lazy bloggers who seem to update only when the mood takes them. Here's the list with latest updates at time of writing:

Arts Blog - December 15, 2008
Ben's Blog (whoever he is) - December 9, 2008
Best of the Political Blogs - January 16, 2009
Bright's Blog - January 22, 2009 (Well done! Trouble is, he has just resigned)
Caroline Lucas (whoever she is) - December 9, 2008
Crip's Column - January 8, 2009
Culture Tech - January 20, 2009
Obsessive Compulsive (AL Kennedy) - January 5, 2009
Richard Herring - January 15, 2009
Science Decoded - October 30, 2008
The Beauty List - January 6, 2009
The Faith Column - November 26, 2008 ("Every week a different believer gives the inside track on their religion or philosophy" - Heart not in it, dearies? Off to your Humanist altars with you)

American Vogue - free advertising at Sundance and beyond

Anna Wintour has triumphantly pulled off a great wheeze and got her title American Vogue potentially millions of pounds of free global advertising. Director RJ Cutler, a corpulent bearded creep by the looks of him, has made fly-on-the-wall docu-movie The September Issue - showcased at Sundance - which records the making of the mag's largest issue of the year. Apparently her legendary 70-something fashion director Grace Coddington steals the show and even threatened to resign if the film went ahead. A likely tale. Just imagine - Wintour on movie hoardings like a film star!

Incidentally, it's OK to swig water from a bottle in public - Anna does.

The Psychic Princess: From horses to angels

My congratulations to Norway's Princess Märtha Louise and her bearded husband writer Ari Behn on the christening of their third child, Emma Tallulah. The Princess is the co-founder of Astarte Education which tutors students in using "angels and [their] own power to create miracles in [their] life." She is a psychic of sorts ...

"I learned to organise my sensory impressions in order to read others. It was through horses that I learned to communicate with animals at a deeper level, and it was while I worked with horses that I came in contact with the angels. I have since come to understand the value of this great gift and am eager to share it with others – perhaps with you?"

I'm not sure what to make of angels but I retain an open mind - the thought of being read by a princess strikes me as exciting. Perhaps the new editor of the Evening Standard should retain her services as a spiritual guru to all its Humanist, young, downwardly mobile readers responsible for the economic downturn as fallen alpha types. I'm quite certain the new editor will be as much a raging snob as I, angels-wise or not.

For more on the angelic princess click here.

The Counting Cock Ring: Perfect Valentine gift

Periodically I feel disengaged from the world - it's my Moon in Pisces, alas - so while I await a reconnection with what passes for reality here's a useful device for those with a mind for statistics ... the Sex Counter Cock Ring.

As I'm not even faintly amused by this I shall quote the blurb: "A stretchy, orgasm-enhancing cock ring that actually counts your BPM - otherwise known as Bonks Per Minute! Slide the cock ring over your penis and enjoy a longer, harder erection as well as the fun of knowing how many times you've thrust per session."

Isn't that just something that would have solved a few problems before Christmas? The perfect prez for Uncle Vern who's into trainspotting at Clapham Junction of a Sunday afternoon. In time, purchasers of this counting cock ring will present a certificate to their spawn recording how many thrusts it took for conception. Kids will hold Thrust Parties and compare notes. Who knows: the Guinness Book of Records might even hold a competition - is it still run by right-wing loons?

Perhaps numerology will embrace this new stat and be used for divinatory purposes: the future is there for the transcribing, dearies. To buy this device click here. £9.99, free delivery.

Holly Woodlawn: 'I have daily milk baths with my pussy'

The legend that is Holly Woodlawn has deigned to send a few words to the world of Madame Arcati. One of Warhol's great Superstars, the reinvented woman who got all the attention in the 1970 movie Trash, she resides in West Hollywood and boasts that her living room is one of the town's great secrets. "I'm coo coo for Coco, bananas for Gabbana, love Lacroix, and I do adore Dior!" she says, as well as going doolally over the delivery boys from the Yummy.com grocery store she can espy out of her window. Her responses are an example of stylised ellipses ...

Q. Holly Woodlawn! I can't believe it. If you could talk to Warhol's spirit through some old bitch medium, what would you like to say to him, and what would you like him to say to you?

ME: "WHERE'S THE TWENTY BUCKS YOU OWE ME?"
HIM: "OH HOLLY, YOU'RE SO GLAMOROUS."

Q. How do you describe yourself on your tax return?

WHAT TAX RETURN?

Q. I understand you live in West Hollywood. Tell us something about your home - for instance, the chairs - is there a colour theme? And your toothpaste - what brand is it? Tell us what and whom you see every day.

MY HOME IS MY TEMPLE. CURRENTLY MY LIVING ROOM THEME IS PUERTO RICAN/EGYPTIAN. MY NORMAL DAY STARTS WITH A MILK BATH WITH SADIE (MY RUSSIAN BLUE CAT). AFTER THAT IT'S MOSTLY EATING CHOCOLATES IN BED.

Q. Lou Reed sang about you in Walk on the Wild Side - he sang (like you need reminding), "Holly came from Miami FLA, hitch-hiked her way across the USA, plucked her eyebrows on the way, shaved her legs, and then he was a she..." What did you feel when you first heard these words?

N/C

Q. Omg! You're a Scorpio. But aren't Scorps quite secretive and intense? Are you, Holly?

WHAT A FOOLISH QUESTION. SECRETIVE? NEVER. INTENSE? ALWAYS.

Q. Holly, now look. Sex. When was the last time? Don't hold back. Tell us what happened if you feel inclined. Alternatively, share a sex fantasy with your public ...

NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.

Q. Is there anyone in your life who talks to you as a mother would, as in, 'Oh Holly, please tidy up' or 'Holly, don't do that, puh-lease!'?

YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING.

Q. Do you read all the Warhol books, like Bob Colacello's Holy Terror book in which you appear a few times?

YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING.

Q. If a young person came to you now and told you they wanted a transgender op, what would you say to them by way of advice?

THE KIDS NOW WHO WANT TO HAVE THE OPERATION HAVE LOTS OF ACCESS TO SUPPORT GROUPS. THEY SHOULD USE THOSE SERVICES. GOD KNOWS I NEVER HAD THAT WHEN I NEEDED IT IN THE 60's.

Q. What's this I hear about a back problem? What's wrong and would you like a Madame Arcati massage?

DARLING, I JUST TURNED 62. WHAT DO YOU EXPECT? I'VE WAITED TABLES...I'VE GO-GO DANCED THE YEARS AWAY...AND FINALLY MY BACK SAID 'FUCK YOU'.

Q. Would you like to attack a public figure, like the Pope or Michael Jackson's mother? If so, whom?

YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING.

Q. And finally, Holly, do you keep in touch with other Superstars or Warholstars like Joe Dallessandro (who is getting a special film award in Germany soon)?

SURE WE DO! IT'S ALWAYS A GOOD TIME.

Thank you so much for your time Holly. You are much adored here in the UK among the cognoscenti and if there's anything else you want to share with us, you know where to put it. MA xx (I wanted to ask about Candy Darling but there are so many questions)

Holly's website here.
And Holly's on MySpace, click here

Holly ... "Charlton Heston beware ... "

Holly, her lesbian husband and Eddie Murphy

The death of John Mortimer

Mortimer's spirit moves to a place he had no belief in: if oblivion is now his lot he'll be none the wiser.

He was one of my first celeb interviewees. I'd written to him as a freelance writer pretending to be working on a collection of starry chats for a book, and he saw me. The interview was my first sold piece to the national UK glossies. Many years later the lackadaisical South African who'd bought the feature mentioned in passing, during a drunken lunch at Joe Allen's, that Mortimer had phoned the magazine shortly after publication to say how much he enjoyed reading the interview. I thought that very generous of him.

I can recall the way he sat, sprawled lazily like a Roman senator at a bacchanalia, giving his sofa the "bean-bag treatment", which is how I think I put it. He was strikingly clear-headed and unsentimental. When I asked him why he did all the lawyering and writing, why he worked so hard, he responded simply, "because one can."

His hostility to censorship, moral nannying, illiberalism was underpinned by his interest in the anarchist writings of Peter Kropotkin. The Russian prince held that humanity is ultimately good and altruistic: even a capitalist state "cannot weed out the feeling of human solidarity, deeply lodged in men's understanding and heart," as Kropotkin put it. Even now this sounds heretical: the assumption of original sin is made not just by the happy-clappies and their faith equivalents but by numberless secular bureaucrats dreaming of biometric nirvana for our own good.

Oddly in a lawyer, Mortimer I think took it for granted that more laws played to our uglier side - his valedictory blasts against the New Labour nannies were a consistent tailing of his life-long work. All this and he fucked for Britain, too.

I shall follow his passage in the spirit world with much interest.

Whatever happened to the Duchess of York's novel?

What's happened to the Duchess of York's historical novel that she apparently co-wrote with Dallas writer Laura Van Wormer? Last July I noted that Hartmoor had changed title to Wingfield and that publication had been delayed to September 4 this year. I even had to tell Amazon to update their records. They didn't.

Now I don't see the novel listed at all for publication. I may have imagined it, but on her blog last year Laura seemed just a little exhausted by it all: she didn't moan, just drew our attention to how much time the novel had taken to write, depriving her other books of her literary attention. Now in a January posting she doesn't mention the book title at all, and as for the Duchess project she has this to say: "The Duchess and I are reconsidering our original publishing plan and are weighing a number of factors and options for the short term and also for the long run. As soon as we come to a decision about which path we are to take, you shall know straight away!"

I have no idea what this means - even whether she's talking about the novel. Laura then goes onto plug upcoming books of her own, especially Riverside Park, due out in the summer. Laura's agent Loretta Barrett Books Inc still lists Hartmoor down for publication in the spring - this can't be right. There's much misinformation on websites: Borders, for example, has Hartmoor down for September 3, 2015! A slip of the key surely. The Macmillan site sheds no clue, and while Amazon.co.uk lists Hartmoor for September 4 I assume this is redundant, because Laura said last year the novel was now Wingfield.

Would someone look into this.