Pauline Prescott: New Pin-up of the Nancy Boys

Britain's former deputy PM John Prescott (a Gemini) claims on Twitter that his delightful wife Pauline is now a "gay icon". He says he has been reliably informed of this.

Pauline, who has just turned 70 and at her birthday din at a Hull Chinese restaurant received a silk shawl from guest Chinese Premier, Wen Jiabao, is certainly the Sphynx of the Lacquered Bouffant: she is a Kate Moss-like mute (and therefore, unsullied) exhibition of a certain brand of feminine aesthetic incorporating its own parody: I can think of a number of entertainers who would kill for such a paradoxical combo. Pauline is There but Not There, Pretty Vacant as a visual, an ornamental, an untouchable, a trophy virgin. Upon such a kohl-edged canvas, many a nancy boy will start to dream of the maquillage (before raiding mummy's vanity case and then graduating to Boots).

I do wish Holly Woodlawn had given me a more substantial interview.

Jonathan King: 'Camilla is a delightful gerbil'

The Eurovision-meister emeritus Jonathan King writes in praise of the Popbitch Madame, Camilla Wright ...

Dear Madame,
Camilla is one of us Madame; really sweet, intelligent, genuine, funny and bright. I'm a huge fan - which may not be regarded as a plus by all your correspondents!
JK

Dear Jonathan,
You've never said that about me. I'm really quite upset. You make Camilla sound like an enchanting gerbil, though I may have to reconsider my opinion of this nancy-woman. It's bad enough that Nicholas Coleridge fans have started to lobby me, insisting that he is "nice". Can it be possible that a man who writes appalling novels about ghastly rich alpha-types, who have ruined the world economy, and rules Condé Nast, is in fact Santa Claus wrapped up in a Bono aura in homage to the late Gregory Peck? It's as if my entire world is collapsing. I wonder who Kevin Spacey is fucking now. I want to know!
Love MA x

Catherine Ostler to edit Tatler. Oh dear

Yes, indeed. But my lips are sealed. I'm not one to gossip. Catherine, married conveniently to Condé Nast general manager Albert Read, is perfect for Tatler, a money- and status-worshipping priestess whose idea of heaven is a string of pearly noughts - she certainly never discouraged writer William Cash at ES from regaling us with news of his latest heiress love interest.

More to the point, Catherine suits her boss Nicholas Coleridge whose own craven attitude to wealth and status has to be seen to be believed - well, read one of his novels: just money measures set to dialogue. I shall never forget observing him running around like a deranged whippet at a Cartier polo day many years ago, trying to get a photo shot of the Queen blocked off by a crowd of ghastly gawpers. In those few moments I sensed all the materialist kinetic energy that drives him on.

As for Catherine, I'm just praying we don't have a Jane Procter re-run. I understand that she is blessed with a clear sense of purpose that sometimes is enforced by a voice that might be appreciated at the Royal Opera House. Or Wembley.

Duncan Fallowell: 'Did you really eat dog shit, Divine?'

Of the movie Pink Flamingos, and on the 21st anniversary of Divine's death ...

Which loopy Tatler editor aspirant was once found ...

... on all fours under an office desk poring over a document? The person's melodramatic behaviour in a context outside the media hothouse might be regarded as worthy of sedation.

Camilla Wright of Popbitch: Let's get her stats up

I see the Popbitch editor Camilla Wright's appearance last year on Five News to flog her online mag's Celebrity Excess book has only attracted 63 visits on YouTube, as I write. Oh dear. Let's see if we can get that figure up and turn her into the kind of sleb she writes about. Camilla's a sweet Oxford graduate - hence the snobbish Guardian's sycophantic interest in her - who loves otters and dislikes rude tales about the size of female slebs. Certainly otters have their uses, click here.

Do you have anything to tell me about Camilla?

Madame Arcati on Twitter for no obvious reason

Madame Arcati is on Twitter now and I'm not that taken with it except the sleb daisy chains could be intriguing - if the stars are who they say they are.

Someone calling herself Celebrity Big Brother winner Ulrika Jonsson writes: "Thank god my butler has finally come back. He is going to get the sack for taking so long". Among her followers is the TV person Andi Peters who tweets: "Morning. Check out my new pic. See you Saturday!! Listen to Moyles from 6.30am" - that's dull and self-promoting enough to be authentic.

He's following TV presenter Phillip Schofield - "Chinese takeaway tonight. Bring on the salt and pepper squid and crispy duck!" He's following former Capt Kirk William Shatner who tweets of his old foe: "George Takei claims I never invited him on Raw Nerve. Here's the tongue in cheek story behind it: http://tinyurl.com/ascf4v." Whatever.

William may have over 10,000 followers but he only follows 4 Twits among whom is the film director JJ Abrams (I think the two dislike each other) and he writes: "How intimate can I be when posting about my private life? How often do I make updates......... so confused with this I have to admit." This is deep for Twitter, almost philosophical.

Abrams follows Barack Obama who asks you to "honor Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr by volunteering in your area. Visit http://usaservice.org/ or text SERVE to 56333 for info." Obama is following nearly a quarter of a million Twits (including Madame Arcati) . And ...

Oh dear, a message has come up: "Twitter is over capacity". As I sign out, Wossy (possibly Jonathan Ross) leaves the message: "Am working on idea for comedy panel game show to host at San Diego. Need cage of comic nerds for in-house 'phone a friend' idea." And political blogger Iain Dale has just pranged his car in the snow.

Everyone's talking but not to each other.

Twitter

'The paper run by deluded white toffs'

Arcati, I'm growing increasingly bored with the dead-tree press. Why in 2009 is the industry still run by deluded white toffs? The worst offender is the Grauniad which also employs token "ethnic" writers who are given picture bylines to prove their non-whiteness and then assigned to write embarrassing and condescending drivel about The Black Woman's View and The Muslim Perspective. I'm sick of it all Madame. And the Evening Standard is the most hideous of the bunch!
John Sleet

Dear John,
Just don't buy the papers, simple as that. I don't know of any paper that reflects my perspective or interests beyond certain individual writers such as Germaine Greer; and the Indy's Johann Hari is starting to improve with age. The Guardian is now the upscale Hello! of the "qualities" and the Standard has always been the Daily Tatler run in the main by neurotic snobs hankering after a life upgrade.

Christian Bale: Dickhead's rant turned to dance classic

Screaming Christian Bale's bullying rant at someone on the set of Terminator: Salvation has been turned into a great dance track (with a Barbra Streisand cameo) by RevoLucian.

Roy Greenslade says 'bye to Evening Standard?

Roy Greenslade rages at Lord Rothermere for "washing his hands" in Pontius Pilate style of Evening Standard staff - supposedly facing inferior redundancy payments under the new owner. I take it he won't be the Standard's media pundit for much longer, then. Anyone with a peerage want the job? Click here

'Geordie Greig's resignation letter to Nicholas Coleridge'

A naughty Condé Nast person has given me sight of what could be Tatler ed Geordie Greig's first draft leaving letter to his boss Nicholas Coleridge as he departs for the Evening Standard editorship. Is it authentic? Let me know ....

Dear Nick,

It is with much regret that I resign the editorship of Tatler. We’ve talked about this so I know this comes as no surprise – Alexander sends his best wishes, by the way. And he said to tell you, cryptically, “Keep the door ajar, my friend.”

This however does not dilute my sense of sadness at departing a magazine that has been my life (and social/restaurant/hotel/Media Guardian/whatever visa) for nearly 10 years and that is indubitably better for the faith you vested in me, needless immodesty aside. If the Evening Standard fulfils me just half as much as Tatler has done then - in terms of hotel and restaurant reservation pulling-power, notwithstanding - I’ll be a happy man. I am already spoilt with expectation!

Tatler now sits at the apex of British journalism, alone: its society guides and upscale celebrity lists provide those media water cooler moments such as Coronation Street once did among those not quite within the magazine’s immediate target reader demographics.

There cannot be a hereditary living writer anywhere who does not covet space in our hallowed glossy pages; and royal photographers vie to shoot the latest hereditary English actressy Rose. Catch-up newspapers stumble over themselves in a pathetic scrum of social climbing to lift our pictures and parrot our judgements - I’ve often said to you, the Evening Standard would be lost without its monthly Tatler for lifting copy, or should I say, inspiration. And now look – they bought the editor!

I feel like Victor Frankenstein right now, insensible to what I created, even as Tatler celebrates its 300th year! Did it all start with me? Well, it's tempting to think ...

To me Tatler is a celebration of all that is best in the international gene pool, a champion of glamour social eugenics and an unforgiving barrier to anyone who fails to meet those exacting standards as set by our best British public schools and universities (over 500 years old, that is), the finest catwalks, The Sunday Times Rich List, Drebrett's and, if I may say, you.

Tatler is a template for the Better Future to come – I am proud to have worked with you on the long march to physical, intellectual and seating plan perfection. In short, I think we have started the ball rolling to the next Conservative government – and better service at Le Caprice!

And if I could continue to contribute in anyway – how about the six best-looking 6* global old Etonian hotel owner heirs under 30, for a feature? - I would be honoured to do so.

Best wishes (and love to Georgia and the children),

Geordie x

The Judge Judy/Madame Arcati Show

Hullo, Madame Arcati,

Knowing your sense of humour with regard to the affairs of the sexually active, I couldn't resist sending you this quote from the irreplaceable Judge Judy's American TV programme. Like you, Judy is an out and out pragmatist. I'm willing to bet a few bob that Judge Judy and you are 'blood sisters'. What a marvellous double act you'd make on television. Please get together and replace that bloody awful J. Ross and his smutty, puerile, barrow-boy style of speech and humour.

Best Wishes,

Eric Thomas
Nottingham

Judge Judy to prostitute : 'So when did you realise you were raped?'

Prostitute, wiping away tears: 'When the cheque bounced.'