I ran into Colombian supermodel Natalia Paris the other day, at a charity fashion show to raise money for paramilitary killers. She was modelling Gucci’s new range of beekeeping clothing. I was wearing my Latin Quarter hat and a t-shirt that said, “Skateboarding is not a crime.”
Nice girl, but I don’t see our relationship going anywhere long term. I’d give her maybe 8 and 10 for the boat race, and 9 out of 10 for the body. But knowledge of Pushkin was 0 out of 10, so I threw her out on her ear.
Tom Raworth sent me this picture of Peter Andre going down on Hillary Clinton. If genuine, it could do enormous damage to Andre’s career, whatever it is that he does. So keep it under your hat.
Seriously, what does he do, that guy? Going around London with his shirt unbuttoned while being Australian isn’t his whole career, surely? I had the idea that he was something to do with the Liberal Democrats, but my friend Kevin says he thinks he saw him in that Riverdance thing.
Either way, I admire him a lot.
Peter Andre with a mystery woman.
“Between 30 and 45 paparazzi work Britney on any given night.”
What a frightful oaf.
UPDATE! Anyway, it isn’t even true that women go for powerful men. Even when I claim to be a Hedge Manager, Sultan of Zanzibar, etc., they still won’t let me anywhere near their action. How does “Hitchens” explain that?
And why does this kind of relationship never work the other way round? You would never catch Peter Andre giving head to Hillary Clinton, for example. Why not? I mean, from an anthropologist’s point of view, why not? Someone must know.
Does anyone know how to use photoshop, by the way? This post needs a picture, to really drive that last point home.
How is ‘being involved in a prostitution ring’ different from simply renting a tart? I have often wondered, and I thought that now would be as good a time as any to bring it up.
“D’ye fancy an orrible time?”
A $5,000-a-night prostitute prowls the streets of Glasgow.
Joseph Stiglitz has calculated the cost of the Iraq war at $3 trillion, which is more money than the average African child will see in its whole life. And even in America, many children still go to bed without shoes.
If Bush had spent that $3,000,000,000,000 on shoes, no American child would ever have to wear the same shoes more than once. Or he could have bought everyone in Iraq an Aston Martin. Those would be the actions of a madman, of course, yet still more sensible than what he actually did do.
Several hundred comments to denounce a single harmless gap-year student. Poor guy. I thank Jesus there were no blogs or internet when I was his age. This Max is no more twattish than any other British teenager, only he has the misfortune to have a father who got him a column in The Guardian.
Is nepotism out of control in our newspaper industry? I remember Victoria Coren used to write columns about her A-levels in The Daily Telegraph. Those were superb, but then she starts abusing her position of authority to get a job for her drooling old parent, the self-styled “Alan”. And I was, like, we all admire your daughter, Mr Coren, but don’t you have any talent of your own?
Max Gogarty, student, now on his 37th gap-year.
Don’t vote until you’ve seen this:
This year’s Academy Award nominees for Best Documentary Short:
Sari’s Mother
“On a farm in central Iraq, a mother struggles to care for her ten-year-old son, Sari, who is dying of AIDS…“
Freeheld
“Facing death from cancer, Laurel Hester spends the final year of her life fighting a policy that will not allow her to transfer her pension…“
The other two finalists are set in an Indian slum and a Colombian prison.
Jesus, how depressing. The trouble with making films about an Iraqi boy with AIDS is that next year they are going to want to see an Iraqi boy with AIDS whose foot got blown off by a mine. And then an amputee Iraqi orphan (with AIDS) whose sister got raped. And so on ad nauseam.
Merely dying of AIDS in Iraq is no longer cutting it, I’m afraid. Not gloomy enough.
I’m not sure that being a 10 year-old AIDS victim would even be that bad. I remember when I was a kid my parents gave me some Star Wars figures for Christmas. But this kid Greg down the street got Star Wars figures, and a Millennium Falcon, and a new bicycle and a trip to Disneyland.
And I remember thinking, “I wish I had leukemia”.
chasemeladies 
