Chablis Chic

Faced with the new austerity, I’ve traded down to supermarket own brand sawdust - ‘muesli’ according to the label - and BOGOF chipolatas; at 59p, containing 95% mechanically-recovered mad cow, presumably? Sacrifices made, so I can continue to indulge in little luxuries like the occasional thimbleful of half decent French wine, bought from a German discounter (clue: see pic) at a fraction of the price of its upmarket cousins abandoned chez Harvey Nics. It’s comforting to read that the super rich are also struggling; but even having seen a reported £7 billion evaporate from his fortune, I imagine Roman Abramovich could still afford to buy out Iceland - the supermarket chain AND the busted country - from the contents of his 4-year-old daughter’s piggy bank. I doubt if, like me, he’s following queen of Chablis Chic Kirstie Allsopp’s show, Homemade Home, learning how to make-do-and-mend like a Baron’s daughter on a budget.


Image: www.fanpo.com/spots/lidl

Ugh!

OK, it’s cold outside, so cosy is a consideration, but does this justify the footwear phenomenon that, like early adopter Sienna Miller, won’t go away? I’m talking Ugg boots, those Aussie clodhoppers that are capable of turning any woman under 5’10” into an Oompa-Loompa, and the shapeliest pins into something resembling the back end of a pantomime horse. With no sign of the craze abating - the new London flagship store is permanently besieged - and fuggs (fake uggs, see above) in every street market - Ugg is now targeting blokes too. NOT ON YOUR BLODY LIFE, cobbers! Angelina AND Brad in Uggs? The Pitts! And teaming his with a purple velours jogging ensemble, Leo Di Caprio could be mistaken for Tinky Winky. If you really must, http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=eqSM-Z-aLXA offers a priceless video tutorial: ‘Don’t wear them with a bathing suit, PJs, Eskimo coat or to tropical beaches’ they reckon.. or within a mile of me, I say.

Chefebrities

You can’t switch on the box without their ugly mugs gurning out at you. Jowelly Jamie, HF-W and Gordon Gobsh***, that is. Now even hitherto-above-it-all Heston wants a piece of the pie, serving up a TV makeover of some motorway caff that owed more than a little to Ramsay’s well-worn routine. When Jamie was still the Naked Chef - a sight now likely to have me upchucking the chorizo and chick pea on ciabatta - their patter was mildly entertaining. Britain could not be allowed to exist on boil-in-the-bag-cod alone, after all. Nowadays their sheer ubiquity makes these serial airtime whores plain indigestible. What next? If reports about troubles in Big Sweary’s empire are to be believed, a new mutation: Jamie Saves Gordon’s Bacon. Somebody cull these kitchen nightmares now!

Jeanius?

Denim , back in a big way this season and worn head-to-toe (dig those denim spats!) should be about blue-collar utilitarianism. So how come poncey fashionistas like Roberto Cavalli insist on tarting up this most democratic of fabrics? For Muppets with more money than marbles, Balmain’s 1980s-style ripped jobs have about as much punk attitude as Ivana Trump. £1060 to look like an Eastern European hooker? Yeh, right! Denim should be about blue-collar utilitarianism. So how come poncey fashionistas like Roberto Cavalli insist on tarting up this most democratic of fabrics? For Muppets with more money than marbles, Balmain’s 1980s-style ripped jobs have about as much punk attitude as Ivana Trump. £1060 to look like an Eastern European hooker? Yeh, right! Soon to set up shop in London, Tom For, he of the curious forehead and perma-open plunge shirt (so alluring on an older gay gentleman, dontcha' think?), is flogging pre-washed men’s jeans in America that, to my eyes, look no better than what’s on offer at Primark. Complete with gold plated button, these $990 leg pulls look like the sort of slacks Donald Trump might wear to go buy Wal-Mart, assuming they come in ostentatious old fart size. Make my denim indigo dyed and shrink-to-fit in the tub like a Wyoming cowboy's every time.

IMAGE: denimblog.com

Sex And the City -Somebody Stop It!

So SJP and Co have buried the hatchet (again) and the latest instalment - SATC: The Movie: The Sequel will soon be upon us -like some hideous Noughties fashion revival dragged out of Carrie's closet? Well, sorry Ms Bradshaw! There is such a thing as too much Sex, so... ‘not tonight dear, I have a headache’. What started out as a fabulous fling is fast heading towards Heather Mills territory - the tired old format really is on its last leg. Enough! I'm divorcing you before we reach SATC: The Movie XVII wherein Samantha the Saga Years in her Stannah Stair Lift shows us how reversing onto the latest rampant rabbit toy from her local adult store beats nookie with any coffin dodger boyfriend, and frail fashion freak Carrie gets crushed to death under Mr Big- and getting Bigger By The Day by the look of Chris Noth - a plot development the writers can have for free if they agree to implement it straight away. 


Image : www.grannypictures.com

Celebrity Endorsements

Back in Mad Men days - on the say-so of some sophisticate like Cary Grant - the whole world would have happily chain-smoked Camels ‘til the cows came home. But do famous faces still shift product? Perhaps we’ve grown cynical, but more likely, it’s just that certain celebrities lack universal appeal. ‘Let’s cater our cocktail party from Iceland, just like Kerry used to...’ - because bankrupt alcoholic is somehow aspirational down Acacia Avenue? Talk about Desperate Housewives! And any women I know would rather go commando than wear Armani knickers since all matchstick-and-melons Ma Beckham took to moping about in hers. Talking of pants, I hear Procter & Gamble have signed up Ulrik-ka-ka-kan’t-believe-she-needs-the-gig Johnson as the public er, face of their Always Envive incontinence range. For once, expect a flood of takers, although for her verbal incontinence at the BAFTAS, I'd have gone with Vanessa Redgrave.

UPS: Utterly Pointless Surveys

Scarcely a day goes without some marketing Muppet commissioning yet another pointless survey. Headed ‘Research shows...’ these only state the bleedin’ obvious. A recent press release from a well-known tour operator includes the mind-blowing revelation that ‘money no object, 87% of Britons would rather holiday in the Seychelles than Skegness’ - the remaining 13% drawn to the Lincolnshire resort of last resort presumably polled on the streets of Psychoville? Based on yet more in-depth research, chewing gum brand Orbit Complete reports that ‘66% of men find women more attractive when they smile than when they wear make up’; the two being mutually exclusive, presumably? Placing David Beckham in the minority, they advise women looking for a date that most men don’t fancy pouters. Equally illuminating is the knowledge that smiley Louise Redknapp always carries a pack of Orbit Complete when she’s ‘on the go.’ Curiously unmentioned, my own research that shows 97.5% of men would prefer their dates never to chew gum.

Benjamin Button Syndrome

With cosmetic surgery seemingly a constitutional duty in Hollywood, is it any wonder its inhabitants are oft dismissed as ‘plastic’? Now it seems Tinseltown’s Dorian Grays - like Linda Gray, the perennially fresh 68-year-old -  are also putting their apparent ability to withstand the ageing process down to anything but the knife. Recent shots of a transformed Rupert Everett astound me; the greying, craggy features that had hitherto lent the actor a slightly raffish, lived-in sexiness, replaced by a weirdly waxen head seemingly on loan from Madame Tussaud's. I’m reminded of an early Everett film - A Shocking Accident - for although the actor denies having surgery, how else to explain that fresh-from-the-embalmers,  cheesy-1950s-game-show-host look? Lines are fine: the life-lived-to-the-full, furrowed dial of the then octogenarian, Samuel Beckett, beats waxwork dummy every time.  

Image: yeeeah.com

Apps Fab

How did we function before techies came up with the ever expanding range of indispensable applications now available as phone downloads? Want to identify that mystery tune playing in a bar? Ask Shazam! Lost the TV control? Get Remote! Job interview? Consult iTie! - the clue-is-in-the-name nifty neckwear tutorial that is yours for £1.19; although best not to go for the ‘Pratt Knot’ if you’re up against sarky Suralan in the boardroom. Flashlight, meanwhile, turns your mobile into a torch - essential for when you’re left fumbling in the dark, struggling to connect your key with the front door lock. That’ll be because you disabled Blooterd - the monitor app that emits a piercing alarm when you’re approaching your lager limit. No such gizmo? It’s only a matter of time.

image: www.iphoneincanada.ca

Product Placement

A new government ruling is to allow product placement on TV. What fun if advertisers drive storylines! Here’s how I imagine a future episode of Corrie, for example: ‘Nice blouse, Eileen. So slimming.’ chirps Clare (wardrobe by Peacocks) Peacock. ‘TK Maxx - designer labels for less. Jason gave it to me for Christmas along with two cases of delicious new lychee flavoured diet Bacardi Breezer, a BOGOF deal at your caring sharing Co-Op down the precinct, now open until midnight. Me and Sean got so tipsy, I spilled some down my front but thanks to Vanish and a 30 degree wash in Persil Bio, it’s come up lovely.’ Cue loud bang. A blown out tyre sends Steve Sprite-large-fries-and-a-Big-Mac-donald’s taxi crashing out of control, pinning Clare against the front wall of number 11. ‘Typical! Should have gone to Kwikfit, not Kevin Webster’s’ snipes Norris. ‘Need a personal injury lawyer?’ as the immortal Blanche (RIP), pictured above, might have offered. ‘At National Accident Helpline  blah, blah, blah...” 

image : spin1038.com