Social Shuttle Exclusive: Arnie seeks Aussie digs!

The Governor of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger, is looking to buy a farm in Berry - a small but chic country town in New South Wales, Australia. For more read here.

Candy Pratts Price: How Gord could get back in FASHahhn

CPP © Dimitrios Kambouris/WireImage.com

Style.com executive fashion director Candy Pratts Price (CPP) easily steals the show in the US Vogue movie doc The September Issue, out shortly, in which she stakes her claim for immortality with a one-liner: "SepTEMburr is the JANuahhry in FASHahhn". The way this Puerto Rican drawls and croaks out the dictum with the oddest basso cantate diction is one of many unintentionally comic moments, so much so, you can now download it as a ringtone (click arrow on Myxer to listen).

Candy (or Candida Rose Theresa Pratts Price) also appears in cartoon form in her periodic Candycasts on the Style.com site, laying down the law on such matters as eco-pod coffins (or "echo-pod" as she puts it. "Don't pollute, just bury correctly") and playing dominoes on Sunday (but not in Alabama). The Anna Wintourised stick insect 'toon-Candy bears little resemblance to the living-breathing irregular Candy, beyond her dark colouring; and the graphic version has the weirdest crossed arms: stretched out she'd be able to balance on them without stooping.

I just love CPP. And her animated form should be an inspiration to others who in the flesh may also not look entirely the part. Gordon Brown should think about joining the Bugs Bunny tribe and turning himself into a 'toon for his YouTube performances. He'd lose the eyebags, the alarm smiles, the intake-of-breath mouth movements: he could be made to be cute and sexy. I can't help but feel that this bold act of imagination could reverse his fortunes. Possibly. Think CPP, Gord.

CPP 'toon show

A celebration of CPP

Madame Arcati has cancelled her Twitter account

Twitter is a complete waste of time, fit only for the Stephen Frys stuck in lifts and the Demi Moores anxious to stay fresh in the public mind. It may be of limited use for the exchange of gnomic utterances and the promotion of prostitution, cash-making scams and diaries of small-time journos/slebs, but it's certainly not for me. I regret all the energy expended on it. Hitler, too, has had it with Twitter. (Click image once)

Lady Colin Campbell returns with Empress Bianca

Lady Colin Campbell

Fans of Lady Colin Campbell - Georgie to her friends - will be delighted to learn that her novel Empress Bianca is to be republished in September by Dynasty Press. You may recall that one the world's wealthiest women, Lily Safra, got the book pulped in its Arcadia incarnation following her claim that the novel's principal character, a "socially scheming double murderess", was based on her - fiction can so easily be confused with fact in certain less rigorous minds. Following a legal settlement Lady C made a number of "trivial" changes to the text and now we await the blockbuster once again. To order a copy click here. For background on Safra's lawsuit, click here.

Perhaps author Michael Gross will take comfort from this episode as he tussles with Annette de la Renta in New York over his marvellous book Rogues' Gallery.

Nicola Formby's excellent bj* (oh, *brunette job)

After a blissful week of life-proactive events, I turn with a heavy heart to passive grazing mode ie catching up with what passes for news.

With no enthusiasm whatsoever I buy a copy of the London Evening Standard and - expecting to read more about swine flu or Lord Mandelson's Corfu holiday with Nicky Haslam - my eyes instead alight on the paper's front page exclusive and an item that fills me with restored purpose: Nicola Formby has altered her hair colour from blonde to brunette.

Actually, it's not an exclusive at all but a buy-in from Tatler. You have to marvel at the magic of celebrity - a secular version of transubstantiation - which can turn the most banal thing imaginable into the hottest goss thingy. I mean, would I get your interest if I told you that I had abandoned the grey of my permed tresses for a shade of cerulean as a nod to Picasso's Blue Period? No, I didn't think so.

Though you probably don't know who Nicola is, she enjoys a London micro-fame as the woman who cunt-cocks one of the many middle-aged Sunday Times lifers, AA Gill. He calls her "the Blonde" in his munch-munch reviews. The loveliness of her face on the Standard's splash page is not in the least compromised by the likelihood that hardly anyone on the 18.47 London to Littlehampton train (or any other train) will have a clue who she is: she's just another pretty face who fucks the right person who works for the right paper which imagines that ambient media starriness is of universal interest.

Like AA, Nicola name-drops and brand-drops with abandon. Here's a digest of her ES article:

1 She attended Wellington College. Good genes, then.
2 She had a friend called Lucinda. Well, her name wouldn't be Chardonnay, would it?
3 Father of her twins is "Sunday Times restaurant critic" AA Gill. See 1.
4 Diane at Cadogan Salon. Only the best *bj for Nic.
5 Jemima Khan and Laura Bailey have "enviable tresses". Flattery ....
6 Diane von Furstenberg and Christa D'Souza are role model friends. Flattery ...
7 Quotes acquaintance Jeremy Clarkson, AA's mate. Remember the slebby jerk circle.
8 Is "being labelled the Blonde" a curse? No, it's the reason why Tatler commissioned the piece.
9 Passes the fishmongers on Kensington Church St - ES country.
10 David Bailey put her on the cover of Ritz. Ambient starriness, darling!

Nicola's bj in full!

Kočani Orkestar - Balkan Gypsy with brass knobs

A number of you have asked for more info on the musicians that greeted Molly P at Split Harbour (see below). Kočani Orkestar are a leading Balkan Gypsy brass band - their Siki Siki Baba is on the soundtrack of Sacha Baron Cohen's Borat. For a listen, go to their MySpace page and click on the menu, top right. Here's their Wikipedia entry.

Croatia: Cock-cunting professor gets a Molly mangling

See Croatian photo album in postings below
l to r: Film director Robert Chilcott, actress Carson Parkin-Fairley, Molly Parkin and some tag-along. Photo: Jadran Babič of Slobodna Dalmacija. Click images for full size.

Poor Professor S! Out of humanity I shall not publish his name. But yesterday he was fed into the Molly Parkin sausage machine and spewed out as mangled mince; or dumped like a turd at the water's edge on the Croatian island of Brač. Even now I inwardly cringe at his operatic humiliation. But the tale has to be told.

The Professor had dreamt of an idyllic day celebrating the work of a Croatian painter: a charming woman in a lovely dress. And who better to invite along as honoured guests to partake in this appreciation on Brač than the famous artist Molly Parkin and her entourage (now including newly arrived daughter Sophie and husband Jan)? The Ghetto Club's Sonja had phoned our hotel to tell us that the promised six-seater taxi had not been booked so we must get cracking and phone for two taxis to get our party to the harbour at Split within the hour. "I have a surprise for Molly!" Molly's granddaughter Carson had barely finished washing her hair and she was bundled into a car. So the group mood was already faintly toxic.

The surprise! Kočani Orkestar greet Molly. Click each image for full size. Photos by MA


The harbour surprise was Gypsy brass band Kočani Orkestar with Sonja at the head, clapping. A very generous and charming gesture. Molly was utterly delighted, dancing to their music as they trailed us to the ferry before the 50 minute trip to Brač. "I'm a Gypsy, you know," she chided on the boat when her entourage proved churlish about the racket. "You're all killjoys!" And the mood turned darker when it dawned we were not about to meet Croatia's cultural elite here but to be treated to a walking cultural tour of the island: or "traipsing" as Molly called it. "I don't do traipsing," she declared to the Prof. We refused to traipse: instead I noticed a sign in the grass showing a dog with an erection and took a pic of Molly posing behind it. The Prof looked most put out. Someone explained that the erection was actually doggy poo and is not encouraged in public places.

We anchored ourselves in a waterside bar in front of a noisy church as the art lovers traipsed on. By now Molly had learnt that the Prof was not gay. "I have two sons," he revealed, unwisely. Molly said to me, "I've lost interest in him now. I much prefer gay men around me to talk about art, much more interesting. I can't have him wittering on in my ear."

The promised al fresco dinner in the marina failed to sweeten things. Though we were invited guests we were told we'd have to pay for anything that wasn't the local plonk, the anchovies or some fish paste (and what looked like Christmas cake). The very idea! The Professor snuck up to Molly and said, "I have a lady who wants to meet you. She is a motel. " "A motel?" asked Molly. "Yes, a motel - a moh-dell. She was a model in the 60s."

This prompted a rebuke. "Please, Professor, would you please stop giving me a history of everyone who wants to meet me." Not taking a hint he pushed on and described at length another fan who desired to supplicate at Molly's open toes. Molly exploded. "You can give that kind of bullshit to your art students but not to me. Please stop. If someone wants to meet me just bring them over."

We all exploded when the Prof informed us that the ferry was running late. We wouldn't be leaving before 22.45, which meant we wouldn't get back to the Ghetto in Split before midnight where the Parkin Lot was booked to perform. We refused to view the artist's paintings, we all wanted to leave. Now. "You can't!" said the Prof. When Carson noticed private water taxis available for hire he said, "They take two hours!"


Photo: Jadran Babič

In fact not. Jan and I secured a water taxi and at around 9.30pm Molly and entourage took off into the Adriatic night and were back in about 50 minutes. The moonlit journey was pure bliss, bumpier than the ferry, part African Queen. We all felt awful about Professor S: I shall never forget the bewilderment etched on his face as he probably rehearsed what he'd say to his fellow art lovers - and featured artist - by way of excuse.

If he's reading this - sorry! Lesson: Get the itinerary blessed first.

Oh, and that dog with an erection (click for full size). Photo by MA

Molly Parkin and Arcati in Croatia: Photo Album

A selection of pics from Croatia all by Madame Arcati. See guide index below. Click each image once for full size.
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Index: click each image once for full size
1 Ghetto femme
2 Ghetto homme
3 One of Ghetto's bars
4 Ghetto: Molly intros Madame Arcati night
5 Ghetto staffer: Would you Adame & Eve it? Monika of the club shows MA her etchings
6 Sophie Parkin with mother at Le Méridien Hotel, just outside Split
7 At Split Harbour: Gypsy brass band Kočani Orkestar greets Moll (band pics in post above). Ghetto's Sonya in shades peering at me. Fly-on-the-wall Robert Chilcott films Moll embracing a member of her public
8 Professor S with Moll on ferry to Brač before the "misunderstanding"
9 Meanwhile back at Ghetto: an angelic 'tache
10 "Falling In Love Again": One of a number of new erotic paintings by Molly Parkin at the Ghetto Gallery, Split
11 "Honeymoon" by Molly Parkin. At Ghetto Gallery, Split
12 Ghetto: Rose - our fave bar mixologist
13 Ghetto: l-r: Monika, Rose, Sonya (NB red kerchief) and friend Lilly
14 Ghetto: Molly becomes part of interior furnishings (or vice versa?)
15 Ghetto: Arcati night clubbers. Man in background owns island in Australia
16 And finally for now: my marina view from my room at Le Méridien

Croatia: Handbag vandalism, a Russian princess and Spielberg's electricity

After the great success of the Madame Arcati night at the Ghetto Club here I think I'll become a DJ or something. I plainly have a talent for orchestrating a mood, and foreign parts are better suited to my temperament.

Before the frenzy we viewed Molly P's new paintings in the club's upstairs gallery: an experience in bold abstract expressionist erotica swirls. When I return to the UK I'll put up some images for you to scrutinise.

The club itself is a labyrinthine and multi-floored warren of kitschy art and hidden dark places and decorated bars. The owner, Sonia, is a Russian princess, I am told. She wore a folded silk red polka dot kerchief in her back pocket and led the handclapping of things that pleased her: a curious habit which I really like. She is a Queen of Gothic in her deviant leathers and I can't imagine what goes on in the early hours. One of her staff Monika showed me her Adam and Eve homage to Rubens: I think being an artist is a condition of employment there.

I'm not going to waste my time describing Split - just Google the guides for the fucking adjectives. Molly wanted a green handbag so she selected one at a market near the club and I bought it for her. She then asked for a pair of scissors and vandalised the bag by cutting away a strap which left a hole in the side of it. So I bought her another bag, yellow this time, which had caught her eye. Earlier, in the taxi to Ghetto, we had argued about my Dignitas piece. "That was the most disgraceful piece you've ever written," she said as a fan of the place in Switzerland. Eventually I said I would assist her suicide by throwing her out of the car. That seemed to resolve our differences.

Back at the Meridien, I got up to speed on the goss. Steven Spielberg recently stopped by in his yacht for an electricity top-up from the hotel mains. He paid with his platinum. Then there was rapper Little Kim whose management wanted her booked suites repainted all in black. However they settled just for black towels when presented with the estimated costs. I liked the story of the Moroccan princess whose armada descended on the hotel demanding the presidential suite. The occupants were booted out and compensated with a luxury yacht at a cost to the hotel of 35,000 Euros a week. Then there was the Russian oligarch who wanted the presidential suite and wouldn't accept no for an answer. Even when he offered to pay the occupant guests three times the hotel rate he was rebuffed. Tom Cruise is left unmolested though the locals comment on his lack of height. When Molly took a walk on the prom in her robes, the torpid sun sizzlers came to life and clapped.

Today, Croatia's cultural elite are paying court to her with a cruise to the island of Brach (Brač) and then a visit to the Ghetto for a gawp at the paintings followed by a party there. She and her entourage are staying in Croatia till Tuesday but I have to fly back tomorrow. I shall have more to say and will put up photos.

Oh, and I do apologise for the Scientology ad

There's not much I can do about it. It is at least dynamic and colourful and not just a clump of words inviting you to kill yourself on the grounds of politeness and convenience or luring you to buy "pulp molding machines of egg tray product packing."

Arcati in Croatia: Molly Parkin, Boris Johnson and Luxury Labia

Le Méridien Lav, Split

Breakfast with Molly Parkin is a singular experience. In her flowing toga-like purple robes and matching turban, she's poking Tracy's breasts and asking 'Are they real?' Tracy's from San Francisco, was once a banker (she foresaw the credit crunch - 'It was obvious'), and she wants to put on the Parkin Lot at a club there. I think the Parkins are going global. Right now we're in Croatia and I'm still not entirely sure what I'm doing here.

I flew in yesterday and to mark the event I brought a rare rain storm. It's an odd experience being filmed all the time: when I said to a greeting Molly at the airport 'I love your balls' - a reference to her necklace - I suddenly visualised how that might come across on TV thanks to Robert Chilcott's fly-on-the-wall camera. Later, at the seaside Méridien Hotel just outside Split she told me she's working on a new poem, Luxury Labia, an anthropological piece on the revealing white tight trousers of young women here who 'are showcasing their fannies to men'. I recall the phrase 'camel toes'.

Today we're doing interviews for Croatian newspaper Free Dalmatia and a photoshoot at midday and then tonight we're off to the Ghetto Club to film a TV show there - should be a busy night as it's a national holiday today. Cosmo and more tomorrow.

Meantime Molly sent Boris Johnson this note:

"Hi Boris, this is Molly Parkin, currently performing Parkin Lot on tour (formerly in residence at The Green Carnation, Greek Street) and exhibiting my paintings in Split, Croatia. Also writing poetry for my upcoming poetry performances - with Mike Horowitz (OBE), 100 Club, October 8th.

"I voted for you, I put you in office. I like your hair very much, and your Bertie Wooster-ish demeanour. The first fucking time I've ever supported a Tory! I hail from the Welsh Valleys, where Churchill sent in the troops against my family at the miners strike.

"This one is written with you in mind. I am the voice of the people! "

FILLING IN THE FORM

Partner? Co-habiting? Extra income?
Full employment? Part-time employment? Conglomerate employment?
Are you running a business? Are you contemplating opening a business?
Have you recently sold a business? If so, how many?
Did you declare this sale?

Have you recently bartered any personal items?
Furs? And Jewelry? Socks and Shoes? Hats and Bags?
Or auctioned on eBay?
Domestic paraphernalia? Tables? Chairs? Carpets? Curtains?
Kitchen equipment? Cups and Saucers? Soup Bowls? Basins?
Juicers? Blenders? Pots and pans?

Do you own property? Have you inherited property?
Do you anticipate inheriting property? Or marrying a person of property?
If so, how many properties?
Are there tenants? And how many?

Are you likely to benefit from a financial windfall?
Family Bereavement? Inheritance From a Friend? A Win on the Lottery?
Is Gambling a Major Addiction? And Lady Luck a personal acquaintance?
Have you ever been declared Bankrupt? If so, how many times?

Do you indulge in Sexual Favours for financial gain?
Pleasure? Or Profit?
How much for Fellatio? Full Fuck Back and Front?

Ad infinitum................................................................................................

What they didn't ask was
The width of my smile?
The warmth of embrace?
The acts of forgiveness?
The profound links of friendship?
The depths of my love?

And all the other things to my
Credit

Croatia: The Pulp secret of Molly Parkin's film director

I recently interviewed film director Robert Chilcott who's making the Molly Parkin biopic and is currently with her in Split, Croatia, for a Molly fly-on-the-wall doc, among other things. Following our chat - which embraced Molly's enema punishments - a number of you expressed a desire to rent your womb out to him so I thought you might be interested in seeing him in a another guise, sending up Jarvis Cocker and his band Pulp. He was a fragile 24 when he did this. I took against self-important Cocker after he stormed Michael Jackson's Earth Song set at the Brit Awards: I can still see Cocker's hideous daddy-long-legs limbs flying all over the place: I would have shot him dead had I a gun at that moment. Fortunately we're both alive to watch this show. Meantime Arcati's arrival is awaited.