Monday, June 04, 2007
Music Week
Today Paris Hilton started her 23 day jail term sentence, a punishment we think is ridiculously harsh given that her only real crime is that of not reading her post properly. Oh, and driving without a license. And drink driving. But ignoring that - and frankly we think the authorities should paying a little more attention to the fact that Paris is a celebrity and, as such, not subject to the same rules and regulations as the rest of us - it's all very minor, really. Still, like it or not, she's still about to experience a very different lifestyle than what she's used to, so what exactly is in store for her over the first few days? Let's have a look shall we?
MONDAY
Paris has a few hours of freedom to spend before she has to make her way to Los Angeles County Jail, her home for the next three weeks. Naturally she wants to make the most of her last few precious moments of liberty, her last chance to enjoy all the good things the world has to offer without having to stare longingly at them through a metal barred window, so she promptly goes out to smell the flowers. Smell the Flowers is a Nail Bar in West Beverley Hills and Paris is determined that she'll have the best damned cuticles on the whole block. To help her out, the manicurist sharpens her pinkie nail into a sharpened point, in case things get a bit territorial in the prison.
After primping and preening herself, Paris arrives at prison and is immediately shocked at the conditions there. "They don't even have a red carpet!", she says incredulously to one of her aides, who is frantically trying to find a Paris lookalike who's interested in a three week job in less salubrious conditions than they may be used to. She eventually leaves the car, still not entirely clear why someone else had to drive, and begins her entry into the prison lifestyle. She's stripped, forced into a shower and already the indignities begin. "Hey!", she exclaims angrily to the surly guard, "You'd better not be videoing this for YouTube. Not without me signing a contract first, anyway".
TUESDAY
Paris awakes in her cell and looks grimly at the orange jumpsuit she's going to be wearing for nearly a month. Unfortunately the guards turned down her request for some sequins and a belt so her dreams of customisation had to sadly be put aside. "Besides", she thought ruefully, "I'd never be able to get my seamstress in here". She turns to her new cellmate, who has spent most of her time with Paris pumping iron and staring at the heiress in a meaningful way, and decides to try and get some information about the prison lifestyle. After all, there's a lot of things a girl needs to know to be able to successfully complete her sentence without walking into a situation she wasn't even aware would be a problem. There were issues of hierarchy, of territory, of deference and, above all, of respect. A girl would have to tread carefully to avoid making a faux pas, so Paris took a deep breath, steadied herself and prepared to ask the one question whose answer, as far as she was concerned, was vital to her survival in this hellhole. "So", she asked, waiting until her cellmate had stopped trimming her moustache, "What time do the shops open around here?".
WEDNESDAY
After missing out on yesterday's work detail due to having to visit the prison's nurse thanks to an allergic reaction caused by a mystery blast of shaving cream in her eyes, Paris spent today in the workhouse, making numberplates. Unfortunately most of hers had to get binned due to her inability to spell the number '6' correctly.
Before lights out, Paris spent an hour or so hanging out in the social area, but left after the 37th person made the "So this isn't your first criminal record then", joke. Not because she was offended by it, just because she didn't get it and was getting embarrassed.
THURSDAY
Problems hit the jail this morning when the phone system broke down after every single inmate tied up the lines by contacting Heat magazine telling them: "Spotted! Paris Hilton slopping out", which annoyed Paris as she was hoping to get the exclusive on that.
She also got to spend some time in the exercise yard today, and she enjoyed the chance to experience a bit of space as, despite searching high and low, she's still not been able to find the way out of the entrance hall to her villa. Although the other girl in the hall, or 'cell', as she insists on calling it, assures her that "This is all there is", Paris isn't convinced. After all, this isn't the first time she's managed to get lost in a small room and she's sure as hell it won't be the last.
FRIDAY
It's a restless night for Paris as the true nightmarish reality of the situation she's in finally begins to hit her: In one more day her Botox will wear off. She wakes up tired and grumpy and looking miserable. Or looking like Paris Hilton, to put it another way. Frankly, she's had enough of this whole prison experience. At least with The Simple Life once the cameras were turned off she was able to stop pretending to be having fun hanging out with poor people, but this was 24/7. It was like being in Big Brother, and Paris was damned if she was going to go back to her old career as a Chantelle Houghton lookalike. Not only that but the other prisoners kept making fun of her, like last night when she was trying to talk to her friends when she saw them in the rec room and the other jailbirds just laughed and said that just because they were on TV doesn't mean that they can hear her. "What do they know anyway?", she thought angrily to herself, "I'm on TV too and they can definitely hear me. Finally, she does what she should have done at the start of this whole experience, taking advantage of her size zero frame, she turns to the side, slips between the bars imprisoning her and runs off to freedom. Or at least she would have done had she not spent thirty minutes posing for the paparazzi before grabbing one of the police dogs being used to track her down and attempting to put in her handbag, "The natural place for all dogs", according to her. Jailed once again, Paris' sentence is extended by another two weeks. Which is bad news for her, but fantastic for the sellers of the Free Paris t-shirts who now have an extra fortnight in which to ply their wares. Result!
MONDAY
Paris has a few hours of freedom to spend before she has to make her way to Los Angeles County Jail, her home for the next three weeks. Naturally she wants to make the most of her last few precious moments of liberty, her last chance to enjoy all the good things the world has to offer without having to stare longingly at them through a metal barred window, so she promptly goes out to smell the flowers. Smell the Flowers is a Nail Bar in West Beverley Hills and Paris is determined that she'll have the best damned cuticles on the whole block. To help her out, the manicurist sharpens her pinkie nail into a sharpened point, in case things get a bit territorial in the prison.
After primping and preening herself, Paris arrives at prison and is immediately shocked at the conditions there. "They don't even have a red carpet!", she says incredulously to one of her aides, who is frantically trying to find a Paris lookalike who's interested in a three week job in less salubrious conditions than they may be used to. She eventually leaves the car, still not entirely clear why someone else had to drive, and begins her entry into the prison lifestyle. She's stripped, forced into a shower and already the indignities begin. "Hey!", she exclaims angrily to the surly guard, "You'd better not be videoing this for YouTube. Not without me signing a contract first, anyway".
TUESDAY
Paris awakes in her cell and looks grimly at the orange jumpsuit she's going to be wearing for nearly a month. Unfortunately the guards turned down her request for some sequins and a belt so her dreams of customisation had to sadly be put aside. "Besides", she thought ruefully, "I'd never be able to get my seamstress in here". She turns to her new cellmate, who has spent most of her time with Paris pumping iron and staring at the heiress in a meaningful way, and decides to try and get some information about the prison lifestyle. After all, there's a lot of things a girl needs to know to be able to successfully complete her sentence without walking into a situation she wasn't even aware would be a problem. There were issues of hierarchy, of territory, of deference and, above all, of respect. A girl would have to tread carefully to avoid making a faux pas, so Paris took a deep breath, steadied herself and prepared to ask the one question whose answer, as far as she was concerned, was vital to her survival in this hellhole. "So", she asked, waiting until her cellmate had stopped trimming her moustache, "What time do the shops open around here?".
WEDNESDAY
After missing out on yesterday's work detail due to having to visit the prison's nurse thanks to an allergic reaction caused by a mystery blast of shaving cream in her eyes, Paris spent today in the workhouse, making numberplates. Unfortunately most of hers had to get binned due to her inability to spell the number '6' correctly.
Before lights out, Paris spent an hour or so hanging out in the social area, but left after the 37th person made the "So this isn't your first criminal record then", joke. Not because she was offended by it, just because she didn't get it and was getting embarrassed.
THURSDAY
Problems hit the jail this morning when the phone system broke down after every single inmate tied up the lines by contacting Heat magazine telling them: "Spotted! Paris Hilton slopping out", which annoyed Paris as she was hoping to get the exclusive on that.
She also got to spend some time in the exercise yard today, and she enjoyed the chance to experience a bit of space as, despite searching high and low, she's still not been able to find the way out of the entrance hall to her villa. Although the other girl in the hall, or 'cell', as she insists on calling it, assures her that "This is all there is", Paris isn't convinced. After all, this isn't the first time she's managed to get lost in a small room and she's sure as hell it won't be the last.
FRIDAY
It's a restless night for Paris as the true nightmarish reality of the situation she's in finally begins to hit her: In one more day her Botox will wear off. She wakes up tired and grumpy and looking miserable. Or looking like Paris Hilton, to put it another way. Frankly, she's had enough of this whole prison experience. At least with The Simple Life once the cameras were turned off she was able to stop pretending to be having fun hanging out with poor people, but this was 24/7. It was like being in Big Brother, and Paris was damned if she was going to go back to her old career as a Chantelle Houghton lookalike. Not only that but the other prisoners kept making fun of her, like last night when she was trying to talk to her friends when she saw them in the rec room and the other jailbirds just laughed and said that just because they were on TV doesn't mean that they can hear her. "What do they know anyway?", she thought angrily to herself, "I'm on TV too and they can definitely hear me. Finally, she does what she should have done at the start of this whole experience, taking advantage of her size zero frame, she turns to the side, slips between the bars imprisoning her and runs off to freedom. Or at least she would have done had she not spent thirty minutes posing for the paparazzi before grabbing one of the police dogs being used to track her down and attempting to put in her handbag, "The natural place for all dogs", according to her. Jailed once again, Paris' sentence is extended by another two weeks. Which is bad news for her, but fantastic for the sellers of the Free Paris t-shirts who now have an extra fortnight in which to ply their wares. Result!
Labels: Music Week, Paris Hilton
Monday, May 07, 2007
Music Week
It is, of course, Eurovision on Saturday, and we're sure Terry Wogan is already dusting down his book of Lazy European Stereotypes in preparation for his big moment. Let's hope that, unlike during Making Your Mind Up he can actually follow proceedings this time around. Unlike what he seemed to believe on the night, flying the flag for us are Scooch who'll be doing their best to do the UK proud. Or at the very least try not to embarrass as too much. With such a weight of expectation on their shoulders it's going to be a busy week for the boys and girls ageing men and women in the band, but what exactly is in store for them? Let's take a look:
Monday
It's time for that age old Eurovision tradition: the awkward photoshoot with Terry. As in recent years Britain's acts have performed in a manner which is only impressive as we watch with dread to see exactly how far down the rankings we can get, Terry is even more reluctant than normal this year to get involved, fearing that the stench of failure might cling to him more strongly than the old person smell of cabbage which tends to linger whenever he's in the room, initially refusing to even appear in the same photo. Fed up by this act of petulance, the PR girl politely but firmly points out that he should count himself lucky as there was a good chance he'd currently be required to be photographed with Justin Hawkins from the Darkness. Suitably chastened, he meekly allows himself to be photographed with Scooch, although he refuses point blank to put his arms out and pretend to be an aeroplane.
Tuesday
To help themselves get in the mood for the big event, Scooch decide to have a Finnish day before they travel to Helsinki. They plan on eating Finnish food, drinking Finnish drinks and doing Finnish things. Unfortunately this plan comes grinding to a halt when they realise they don't have any idea what traditional Finnish things are. Natalie brings along some crispy pancakes but is disappointed when someone points out that they're Findus, not Finnish.
Wednesday
It's time to go to Finland! And Scooch are all excited and keen to make their departure a big event. Alas, they turn up dressed in their stewardess/captain costumes that they'll be wearing for the performance and are promptly arrested under the Prevention of Terrorism Act, charged with impersonating flight attendants in a bid to cause misery and pain on a European wide scale. They are only released after the judge listens to their CD a number of times, although even then he's not entirely convinced their aims are entirely benign.
Thursday
Helsinki! And in between rehearsals - which the other entrants are in no way watching and sniggering at - Russ is chuffed when an excited Finn comes running up to him to ask for his autograph. "See! They love us here!", he exclaims, the sheer joy of his emotion obvious in his voice, "We're so going to win this!". The others decide not to ruin his mood by telling him that the kid is currently labouring under the delusion he's just got one of Lordi's autograph. It would be more than he needed to know.
Friday
It's the day before the main event and, while undoubtedly platinum selling megastars in their home country, Scooch are painfully aware that their profile is somewhat lacking on a more international basis. To counteract this, today is largely spent attempting to press the flesh of the international media in a bid to boost awareness of the band's existence. Unfortunately they, once again, choose to do this in their flight attendant uniforms, which fails to increase Scooch's profile, but does leave the assembled media with a greater awareness of the benefits of flying business class with British Airways.
Saturday
Eurovision night itself! The nerves get to Russ and he, getting confused about what show he's appearing on, flashes back to his time on Boys Will Be Girls and begins dressing up in Caroline's outfit by mistake, getting into something of a tizzy about the five o'clock shadow on his face. The problem resolved, the band go out on stage, perform their little hearts out and generally do Britain proud. They go to the green room, sit back, relax, and await the voting with hope in their hearts and the feeling of satisfaction of a job well done, knowing that this, this, has to be their night.
Sunday
Leaving Finland with their tail between their legs, they take the plane back to Britain, doing their best to ignore the desultory headlines in the Sunday papers and the tomatoes of failure which are likely to be hurled at them as they attempt to make a quick and undignified exit from Heathrow. Poor Scooch.
Monday
It's time for that age old Eurovision tradition: the awkward photoshoot with Terry. As in recent years Britain's acts have performed in a manner which is only impressive as we watch with dread to see exactly how far down the rankings we can get, Terry is even more reluctant than normal this year to get involved, fearing that the stench of failure might cling to him more strongly than the old person smell of cabbage which tends to linger whenever he's in the room, initially refusing to even appear in the same photo. Fed up by this act of petulance, the PR girl politely but firmly points out that he should count himself lucky as there was a good chance he'd currently be required to be photographed with Justin Hawkins from the Darkness. Suitably chastened, he meekly allows himself to be photographed with Scooch, although he refuses point blank to put his arms out and pretend to be an aeroplane.
Tuesday
To help themselves get in the mood for the big event, Scooch decide to have a Finnish day before they travel to Helsinki. They plan on eating Finnish food, drinking Finnish drinks and doing Finnish things. Unfortunately this plan comes grinding to a halt when they realise they don't have any idea what traditional Finnish things are. Natalie brings along some crispy pancakes but is disappointed when someone points out that they're Findus, not Finnish.
Wednesday
It's time to go to Finland! And Scooch are all excited and keen to make their departure a big event. Alas, they turn up dressed in their stewardess/captain costumes that they'll be wearing for the performance and are promptly arrested under the Prevention of Terrorism Act, charged with impersonating flight attendants in a bid to cause misery and pain on a European wide scale. They are only released after the judge listens to their CD a number of times, although even then he's not entirely convinced their aims are entirely benign.
Thursday
Helsinki! And in between rehearsals - which the other entrants are in no way watching and sniggering at - Russ is chuffed when an excited Finn comes running up to him to ask for his autograph. "See! They love us here!", he exclaims, the sheer joy of his emotion obvious in his voice, "We're so going to win this!". The others decide not to ruin his mood by telling him that the kid is currently labouring under the delusion he's just got one of Lordi's autograph. It would be more than he needed to know.
Friday
It's the day before the main event and, while undoubtedly platinum selling megastars in their home country, Scooch are painfully aware that their profile is somewhat lacking on a more international basis. To counteract this, today is largely spent attempting to press the flesh of the international media in a bid to boost awareness of the band's existence. Unfortunately they, once again, choose to do this in their flight attendant uniforms, which fails to increase Scooch's profile, but does leave the assembled media with a greater awareness of the benefits of flying business class with British Airways.
Saturday
Eurovision night itself! The nerves get to Russ and he, getting confused about what show he's appearing on, flashes back to his time on Boys Will Be Girls and begins dressing up in Caroline's outfit by mistake, getting into something of a tizzy about the five o'clock shadow on his face. The problem resolved, the band go out on stage, perform their little hearts out and generally do Britain proud. They go to the green room, sit back, relax, and await the voting with hope in their hearts and the feeling of satisfaction of a job well done, knowing that this, this, has to be their night.
Sunday
Leaving Finland with their tail between their legs, they take the plane back to Britain, doing their best to ignore the desultory headlines in the Sunday papers and the tomatoes of failure which are likely to be hurled at them as they attempt to make a quick and undignified exit from Heathrow. Poor Scooch.
Labels: eurovision, Music Week, Scooch
Monday, April 02, 2007
Music Week
Natasha Bedingfield is back! And hopefully her fondness for wearing floaty skirts has not been diminished during the time she's been locked away coming up with a brand new, exciting, innovative and millennium defining sound, even if said sound does sound remarkably similar to that which she was turning out last time she cropped up in the charts. Her new single, I Wanna Have Your Babies is out now, but how will the in no way broody popstrel be spending this week? Let's have a look:
MONDAY
Like most pop stars, Natasha will spend the first day of release hitting the promotional circuit hard, but, unlike most pop stars, rather than doing piss-poor ten minute long phone interviews with local radio stations up and down the land, Natasha plans on visiting maternity words all over the country, where she will sing her new single in a bid to entertain the new mothers. Unfortunately this plan gets cut short after the mums get uncomfortable with the hungry look in the Lady Bedingfield's eyes as she surveys the room full of new-borns and Natasha is ordered out of the hospital with immediate effect. Later many patients are witness to an embarrassing argument in the car park between Natasha and her publicist as he attempts to explain to her that, despite what she seems to believe, at no time was her fee for the short lived appearance to have been paid in children.
TUESDAY
Natasha is unhappy that the events of yesterday made it into the gossip pages of the tabloid newspapers and that's she's now being caricatured as some sort of weird, baby obsessed, childcatcher style person. To this end she goes into damage limitation mode and, having fired her PR team in her anger, takes matters into her own hand. "The best way to convince the world that I'm not wanting to steal someone's baby", reasoned the hormonally charged singer, "is to have a press conference and show the world that I've no need to steal a baby as I've already got one of my own!". A perfect plan, with only one drawback; the Bedingfield doesn't have a baby. After dismissing the idea of getting her brother Daniel to dress up in a nappy - if only because he'd be a bit too hairy to perform the role convincingly - Natasha decides to borrow one for the day. Alas, she foolishly returns to the maternity ward she visited yesterday, whose security guards have been issued both with photographs of her and instructions to treat her as a serious threat to the ward's security, and she promptly finds herself being arrested and charged with the crime of baby theft.
WEDNESDAY
Natasha wakes up this morning in a jail cell, which doesn't depress her as much as you might expect. Mainly because, by looking through the bars at the children playing in the park opposite, she's able to convince her motherhood addled mind that she's cooing at the kids through the bars of a cot. While she's letting the waves of madness wash over her, the police visit her flat and are shocked to discover a full size papier mache model of a child made entirely from back issues of Mother and Baby magazine, a cupboard filled entirely with hand knitted baby booties and Daniel Bedingfield, walking around in a nappy, sucking a dummy and clutching a box of baby wipes with a hopeful expression on his face.
THURSDAY
The police continue their investigation into the time bomb that is Natasha's biological clock, but feel obliged to release her on bail, if only because the ticking is keeping the other prisoners awake and putting the duty sergeant's teeth on edge. Despite leaving with a court order banning her from maternity wards, nurseries, Spice Girl look-a-like conventions, or any other places likely to see a large gathering of babies, it's not long before Nat finds herself hanging around Mothercare, trying on smocks, test-driving buggies, and generally making a nuisance of herself. She is eventually asked to leave after she makes a spirited attempt to take brother Daniel into the baby changing room where, if horrified eye witnesses are to be believed, she began to nurse him.
FRIDAY
After luring the now aggressive and dangerous Natasha back into captivity via the use of a carefully laid trail of Cabbage Patch Dolls, the police, fearing the worst, decide to take extreme measures which, despite their unpalatableness to the general public, have been scientifically proven to neutralise the nurturing instinct in any pop star, no matter how broody. They make a quick trip to the novelty canine emporium and purchase for Natasha one ridiculous looking tiny dog, along with a selection of supposedly cute outfits which, if the pet could speak, would have it barking for mercy. With Natasha's maternal urges thus sated, society can relax for the ten years which the dog is realistically likely to live, by which point she, like Madonna, will have earned enough money to buy a baby without the need to go through the whole messy pregnancy business.
MONDAY
Like most pop stars, Natasha will spend the first day of release hitting the promotional circuit hard, but, unlike most pop stars, rather than doing piss-poor ten minute long phone interviews with local radio stations up and down the land, Natasha plans on visiting maternity words all over the country, where she will sing her new single in a bid to entertain the new mothers. Unfortunately this plan gets cut short after the mums get uncomfortable with the hungry look in the Lady Bedingfield's eyes as she surveys the room full of new-borns and Natasha is ordered out of the hospital with immediate effect. Later many patients are witness to an embarrassing argument in the car park between Natasha and her publicist as he attempts to explain to her that, despite what she seems to believe, at no time was her fee for the short lived appearance to have been paid in children.
TUESDAY
Natasha is unhappy that the events of yesterday made it into the gossip pages of the tabloid newspapers and that's she's now being caricatured as some sort of weird, baby obsessed, childcatcher style person. To this end she goes into damage limitation mode and, having fired her PR team in her anger, takes matters into her own hand. "The best way to convince the world that I'm not wanting to steal someone's baby", reasoned the hormonally charged singer, "is to have a press conference and show the world that I've no need to steal a baby as I've already got one of my own!". A perfect plan, with only one drawback; the Bedingfield doesn't have a baby. After dismissing the idea of getting her brother Daniel to dress up in a nappy - if only because he'd be a bit too hairy to perform the role convincingly - Natasha decides to borrow one for the day. Alas, she foolishly returns to the maternity ward she visited yesterday, whose security guards have been issued both with photographs of her and instructions to treat her as a serious threat to the ward's security, and she promptly finds herself being arrested and charged with the crime of baby theft.
WEDNESDAY
Natasha wakes up this morning in a jail cell, which doesn't depress her as much as you might expect. Mainly because, by looking through the bars at the children playing in the park opposite, she's able to convince her motherhood addled mind that she's cooing at the kids through the bars of a cot. While she's letting the waves of madness wash over her, the police visit her flat and are shocked to discover a full size papier mache model of a child made entirely from back issues of Mother and Baby magazine, a cupboard filled entirely with hand knitted baby booties and Daniel Bedingfield, walking around in a nappy, sucking a dummy and clutching a box of baby wipes with a hopeful expression on his face.
THURSDAY
The police continue their investigation into the time bomb that is Natasha's biological clock, but feel obliged to release her on bail, if only because the ticking is keeping the other prisoners awake and putting the duty sergeant's teeth on edge. Despite leaving with a court order banning her from maternity wards, nurseries, Spice Girl look-a-like conventions, or any other places likely to see a large gathering of babies, it's not long before Nat finds herself hanging around Mothercare, trying on smocks, test-driving buggies, and generally making a nuisance of herself. She is eventually asked to leave after she makes a spirited attempt to take brother Daniel into the baby changing room where, if horrified eye witnesses are to be believed, she began to nurse him.
FRIDAY
After luring the now aggressive and dangerous Natasha back into captivity via the use of a carefully laid trail of Cabbage Patch Dolls, the police, fearing the worst, decide to take extreme measures which, despite their unpalatableness to the general public, have been scientifically proven to neutralise the nurturing instinct in any pop star, no matter how broody. They make a quick trip to the novelty canine emporium and purchase for Natasha one ridiculous looking tiny dog, along with a selection of supposedly cute outfits which, if the pet could speak, would have it barking for mercy. With Natasha's maternal urges thus sated, society can relax for the ten years which the dog is realistically likely to live, by which point she, like Madonna, will have earned enough money to buy a baby without the need to go through the whole messy pregnancy business.
Labels: Music Week, Natasha Bedingfield
