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.