Oven baked dress...

Last night's mystery party at a secret location in Sydney saw me, Paul and 500 others getting into a fight with holi festival powder, all the colours of the rainbow! Thank God we were instructed to wear black and issued with goggles. it was AWESOME!!!

The thing is, being covered in colourful powder isn't a look most bar and pub owners favour, so we decided to head to a friend's house to clean up afterwards - at which point my dress got washed and then dried in the quickest way we saw possible. With the oven!

Check out our impromptu infomercial, hehe!

Aussies in the red...

Whoooop whoooop!! It’s a good day for Australia! Not only does Oz have its very first female Prime Minister following 26 men, but she’s a read-head. A ginger. An auburn-haired source of hope for the whole country. This is a turning point in my experience of human acceptance. This would NEVER be allowed in Britain. She’d have been egged the second she put her hand up for the job.

Brits are mean though. British people make fun of rangas. Up until today, I’m ashamed to admit I never knew where the word ranga came from. I’d heard it being thrashed about in (mostly drunken) conversation but just assumed it was mean-spirited piss-taking and put it out of my head. However, the fact that we now have a ranga PM, and that people have been referencing this all day on the radio; playing songs by famous red-heads – well that had me turning to Google. Where does the word even come from?

Wikipedia says: “Ranga: a term for people with red hair, possibly derived from the Maori word for blue, rangi, or the animal orangutan known for its red fur.”

Ah haaa. Orangutans, That explains it. Although I much prefer Urban Dictionary’s explanation: “Ranga: Derived from Orangutan… or from the Latin “Orange Utan” meaning red pubic hair, commonly known as Fanta pants.”

HAAAAAAAA! Fanta pants!!! I love that. LOVE IT. Although, technically Fanta is orange, and so are orangutans, and red-haired people’s hair is red. Although…thinking about it, red-haired people’s hair is orange too, isn’t it. It’s just that people call it red, to be polite. Although… if they really mean to be polite regarding these people, they wouldn’t call them rangas. I’m confused.

Anyway, the point is that Julia Gillard is a shining testimony to the power of dreams. She knew she could do the job and she wasn’t about to let a stereotype about her hair colour put her off (like she may have done in Britain). I salute you Australians! It would have been so easy for her to get the bleach out last night and have a go at changing herself before attempting to change Australia, but she decided to charge forth anyway. Good for her.

"First woman, first redhead, and I'll allow you to contemplate which was more unlikely in this modern age," she joked today, proving her sense of humour. Bless.

It is marginally disturbing though, that when you type the word ‘ranga’ into Google search, Julia Gillard news stories appear in the third highest position. Even the search engines are still dissing the colour of her hair! With great power comes great responsibility. If Julia does good, she’ll change the world for rangas everywhere. Ranga will stand for justice, truth, positivity and reform, instead of scorn and drunken mockery.

But if she fucks up… well, it’s back to the drawing board for them all. What’s it gonna be, Gillard?

The most fashionable fashionista...

Nicole Richie was in Sydney to open a new shopping complex today, but she spared half an hour to grace us with her presence at the radio station.

She faked an afternoon tea party with our lovely presenter actually, as her entourage of eight fussed about behind the scenes. I haven't ever seen an entourage as big as hers, except maybe the crew that accompanied British popstrel Alexandra Burke the other week (she even had a hairdresser brushing her locks straight before I could snap her!).

Nicole didn't have a hairdresser... seeing as her weave is probably glued on anyway.... but she did have own photographer. I'm not sure whether he was hired to give the media the impression that she has a permanant pap at her side, but he took a lot more photos than we did, that's for sure. Maybe he uses his photoshopped snaps of her to trade with the media who threaten to print the raw ones - who knows. But anyway, she was very sweet and surprisingly non-Hollywood once we shut the studio doors. I even had a little chat with her. Oh yes I did! It went something like this:

Me: "Hello... how are you liking the Sydney weather?" (it was raining)
Nicole: "It's not too bad, it was sunny yesterday"
Me: "Yes it was much nicer yesterday wasn't it."
Nicole: Silence.

We also shot a video, which we were assured would be fine to post around the Internet... only once we'd spent the vast majority of our respective days editing, photoshopping, faking paparazzi flashbulbs over footage of her smiley, skinny self, we were informed "Nicole doesn't like the lighting" so could we please delete all history of it ever having been in existence. Which was nice.

What was left, after we deleted the parts she didn't like, was this. It's interesting enough in a 15 second, pointless sort of way, and shows her in a reasonably lovely light, but I know, the editor knows, her private photographer knows and now our computer trash folders all know... she's still living a lie.

Bless her.

The Cutlery Crusaders...

I just got a bit of a weird email delivered to my work inbox. Behold:

Team,

A rather embarrassing email to send you. Over the last 2 days, the cleaners fished out of the bins the following items:

• 11 forks
• 8 tea spoons
• 12 spoons
• 6 knives

I don’t know what to say……………………

This is the last email of this type.

Thanks.

General Manager

I thought I left this kind of behavior back in Dubai, where the lifestyle was so very decadent that the disposal of metallic cutlery was understandable… acceptable even: “More where that comes from”, “I have tons of knives and forks thanks to daddy’s silver emporium”, etc. Also, no one in Dubai did any washing up. We all had cleaners to do it for us. If my cleaner didn’t show up for some reason, well, maybe THEN I’d feel the urge to bin my dirty goods instead of tackle them with soap suds and my own fair hands. But the cleaners here come every day. Without fail. And even if they didn't, it's not like this filthy cutlery is cluttering up anyone's home, making it smell bad, putting us off our evening TV shows or making us not want to have sex in the kitchen.

THERE IS NO EXCUSE.

To know that people, in my very office here in Sydney, are chucking away these items… well. It’s not surprising the manager doesn’t know what to say.

It’s not me, by the way. Can I just say, I have never thrown a piece of metal cutlery in the bin (in Australia). Mainly because I don’t use real cutlery, obviously. All my takeaway food comes with its own plastic cutting and stabbing devices, so I’ve no need.

Whoever it is must be feeling really guilty though.

The ONE day I take off work...

The one bloody day I take off work, I miss out on meeting my dream man. Ain't that just the way the cookie crumbles. RUSSELL BRAND was here. For all of my imaginings, he was actually within in my reach. I could have touched him, like Merrick here. I could have met hs eyes. I could have spoken to him. I could have cracked a joke and told him about my dream, in which he and I were two of the few survivors of a scary natural disaster and he met my mum, and we made friends with a chiwauwa. That was a great dream. We really bonded, even though we kept getting hit by tsunamis.

The fact that I took a day off work on Friday, means Russell Brand still doesn't know I'm alive. How tragic is that? How utterly, soul-destroyingly awful. I might not get a chance to meet him again. Or rather, he might not get another chance to meet ME. We'll continue on our separate paths, he'll marry Katy Perry in October and then it will all be over. Unless I write another book - about him - so he has to read it. (I have actually considered doing this).

Yesterday when I was walking down the street, a man yelled out 'Katy Perry' in my direction, which was kind of cool because of course, Russell likes Katy Perry a lot. Would he have thought the same thing, even for a second? Would he have swapped his American popstar for her British doppleganger (with bigger thighs and less straight teeth and zero money and no house and no record deal)? I WILL NEVER KNOW. Waaaaa. I don't even know why I'm so infatuated with a former heroin junkie who spouts Dickensian nonsense at every opportunity, in black skinny jeans. But I am.

So close and yet SO far. (sigh). Get the audio and video of Merrick and Russell Brand's chat here

Sex And The terribly insulted City (2)...

***Spoilers ahead! Don't blame me, I warned you :-)


The first Sex And The City movie was released briefly in Dubai, under a different name. Most of us expats, and undoubtedly a fair few Muslim ladies in the area were aware that the film poster with its big black scribbles over the word ‘sex’ had been tampered with, but I don’t think any of us expected every single scene bearing an inch of flesh to be slashed from the movie. The end result of ‘Friends And The City’, so I’m told, was an hour (ish) of random footage, pasted together with the good stuff cut out. And it turns out, when you cut the sex from the city, all you really have is four women moaning, for all the wrong reasons.

Thank God for the Dee-Wee-Dee man, who sold us a dodgy copy of the original, in full, that’d been recorded elsewhere. We huddled in a friend’s flat last year like naughty delinquents and got our fix the illegal way… which makes it even more bizarre to me that the sequel, ‘Sex And The City 2’ is set in the Middle East.

OK, so Abu Dhabi didn’t actually let them film there; new movie-making hub Morocco stepped up. But Abu Dhabi agreed to let them use their name when Dubai told them to get stuffed. Or did they?

At first I thought, were they that desperate for money during the dreaded GFC that they let their ‘no sex’ values slide when it came to the movie business… or did they just not read the script before shooting started? I looked it up. Turns out, Abu Dhabi officials did read the script. They also told them to get stuffed. But the Hollywood bigwigs/bigots decided to film it anyway. The end result is a whole lotta angry and undoubtedly upset people in the United Arab Emirates. Way to go America!

Maybe I’m being extra sensitive because I’ve lived in Dubai, but I have to say, the scene where Samantha grabs a man’s erection in front of an Arabic couple eating dinner… er… what the fcuk?? And when she drops a stash of condoms in the middle of a bustling souk, gets “let off” for snogging a bloke on a beach, and makes fun of ‘Paula’, aka a gay Arabic staff member called Abdul… GASP! I’m all for escapism, but if she were a real woman behaving like that over there, she’d be locked up in jail with her “Lawrence of my labia” nothing but a distant dream.

Elsewhere in the movie, as Samantha’s busy insulting Muslim culture, Carrie’s pashing her ex, Aiden - a kiss which in contrast to Samantha’s experience, goes entirely unreported. Samantha’s the aging, single slut who used to be sexy, so it’s fine for her to be degraded throughout the movie, of course. When it comes to Carrie, who’s married, we’re more concerned about defending her whiny ingratitude over a couch and a TV; both gifts from an exasperated Mr Big, who’s trying to do the right thing but just isn’t buying her enough jewellery. Insensitive swine!

In fact, unlike Samantha, who loses her pride, dignity and mind thanks to having her hormone pills confiscated at customs, married Carrie loses nothing more than her passport, which a friendly Arab man gives back to her at the end, along with some brand new shoes. Aaaah. Oh, and when she gets back to NYC, faithful Big has decided that in order to keep her eyes from wandering again, he’ll sell his TV and buy her a diamond after all. Double aaaaah. (How much did that TV cost?!!)

Disgusting isn’t it. If that’s being happily married, forget it. I want diamonds AND flat screen TVs.

The movie does focus on the exciting opulence of Abu Dhabi and the caring nature of its people, which isn’t far off the mark, I suppose. But if you’re going to get all deep and analytical about it, this movie is a pretty insulting fantasy, even with conservative Miranda reminding Samantha to cover up at all times (probably an afterthought for her character).

I used to be a massive fan of the show but in spite of Hollywood covering its back, via Miranda' in the off-chance someone will cause a fuss, not only do our fab four now look like aging Western clothes-horses on the outside, they now appear as racist, patronising morons on the inside, too. They’ll have to make a third movie just to redeem themselves, I reckon. Even the Dee-Wee-Man, who smuggled our first slice of Sex into our Muslim City is probably thinking twice about doing the same with this one. It’s such a shame that by taking Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte out of New York City, the only thing we’re shown is that all the money and glamour in the world can’t buy class.

(Did I mention a pained looking Liza Minella dances to Beyonce in nothing but a shirt and boots in this movie? For some reason, my conscious is still trying to block that bit out).

Presenting: Womb Idol...

Word on the street is that there’s a new Justin Bieber on the block. I know. Surely having one roaming the planet is enough, right? WRONG. 
 
Don’t be ridiculous. Bieber’s not even old enough to form zits, yet he’s squeezing zillions of dollars out of impressionable pre-pubescent tweens. Why stop now? The ball’s rolling before his have dropped… quick, quick, who else can we sign up!?

Well how about this kid? Aussie Cody Simpson is just THIRTEEN YEARS OLD. Oh yeah. A prime target. He sings OK and plays OK but more importantly, he’s of the same twinkle-eyed ilk that first got hearts pounding over Bieber. That little Canadian cash-spinner bought Usher a new set of wheels and a new-found respect from the teeny-bopper market, and now everyone wants a slice of the pop-tween pie.

And let’s face it, there’s nothing like a tousle-haired, surf-loving, family-friendly Aussie boy to follow suit. Way to go Usher, you’ve opened up a can of warbling worms and years down the line, when these kids grow up and no one buys their records anymore and they’re ridiculed around the streets of Hollywood, they’ll keep the tabloids happy with stories of their sad demise in the eyes of their once adoring fans. TONS more money to made there. Maybe a movie deal or two?

AWESOME!!! Everyone’s a winner!!

They’re plucking ‘em practically fresh from the womb these days. Actually… I reckon someone should commission a reality TV contest called ‘Womb Idol’. Hell yeah! That’s a great idea, and totally budget-friendly. Parents-to-be who deem themselves musically talented will line up around the block to strut their stuff before a panel, in order to secure their unborn children’s future as the pop-star they themselves never were. The winner’s eventual birth will be filmed and set behind a track composed from the beat of his/her heart and a sponsor from You Tube will knock on their door every month until they’re 18 years old, demanding a musical score (as agreed to in the contract).

I can’t help but feel for Cody Simpson. A few months ago he was strumming for friends at backyard barbecues on the Gold Coast, and now he’s shooting his first single, the abysmal ‘iYiYi’ featuring Flo Rida’ with his doting dad and sister accompanying his every move/milking his sudden shot to fame.

Puberty is still a foreign concept to this singing sperm, who admits his first song was actually about putting a nappy on a chicken (er, OK). He’s another You Tube “sensation” who was spotted/scouted out by songwriter and producer Shawn Campbell (the bloke behind Jay-Z and Missy Elliott). The grooming has well and truly commenced. It won’t be long before he’s being ushered into restaurants with his jacket over his head, dodging the pounces of mentally disturbed twenty-somethings and being stalked by every pedophile in his post code. What a life, what a career! Who’s next, I wonder?

Here’s one of many videos he’ll look back on and inevitably wish he didn’t post (bless)

I can’t stop thinking about this “sink hole”...

...The one that swallowed a three-storey building in Guatemala City yesterday. It’s blowing my tiny brain. Imagine!

It’s absolutely fascinating isn’t it, to think that the ground just opened up in the middle of a bustling city and guzzled everything up like the gaping mouth of a giant muddy monster. Like, some heinous, vengeful creature lying dormant beneath the surface just went “Enough! I’m trying to sleep, you’re so loud, bloody human irritants, I’ve had it with you all,” and inhaled a giant breath, sucking up the annoying Earthlings and their measly buildings like a malevolent vacuum cleaner.

“Let that be a lesson to you” the monster belched, burping up the odd bit of rubble and maybe a lizard (they have lots of them in Guatemala, I think), although no one heard because they were too busy trying to clamber out the windows and grab their stuff and… well, not die.

Bloody brilliant, for all the catastrophe it caused. Geologists are apparently getting all excited about it, too, although allegedly it was forming for thousands of years before it happened – they just didn’t know when it would actually occur.

The way the “sink hole” really formed was a bit more boring, according to the geeks. It was actually due to “groundwater percolating through layers of rock in the earth’s crust”, like a coffee-maker I suppose, dissolving it and forming underground caves, thus making the soil weak on top.

I prefer the monster theory.

Makes me wonder though, where else is this happening, unseen by human eyes? Bruce Hebblewhite, head of mining engineering at the University of NSW / aka ‘Earth Nerd’ told the Sydney Morning Herald it’s "highly unlikely" a sink hole would ever form in NSW: "There might be very localised areas in this country where we have such limestone but certainly not in urban areas and it's not common," he said, counting down the seconds with the pesky media till he could call his friend ‘Victor the Volcano Scout’ in Nepal in order to quantify the amount of seismic energy currently powering his computer. (Probably).

Not that Guatemala has anything less to lose than say, Sydney’s CBD, or Manhattan’s Times Square, but I can’t help thinking if, say, the Empire State Building suddenly got sucked back into the Earth’s crust... what then? If Hebblewhite’s wrong and these “sink holes” / underground monster attacks do start occurring on a regular basis in cities round the world, we’re gonna lose a whole lot of really cool stuff. Insurance companies will have a field day.

And what if Sydney’s Harbour Bridge disappeared into a votex, leaving cars, buses and bridge-climbers from Belgium spinning in a sudden, mysterious waterspout right down to the volcanic core of our very planet? That would be terrible for getting to work in the morning... all those people, stranded! And who would take the blame? You can't blame terrorism for something like that; even Bin Laden's not that sneaky. Mother nature shows no mercy and neither do her pet monsters.

If yesterday’s disaster had happened anywhere else, something tells me we’d be hearing much, much more about it than we’ve heard about Guatemala. This terrible occurrence hasn’t even registered in most of the world’s press. I mean, go to the UK’s Guardian newspaper website and search “sink hole” and the story “A Japanese plot to wipe out the Andrex puppy simply won't wash” pops up. How lovely!

If another "sink hole" does appear, and there's a power out there controlling when and where the miracle occurs, may I just request it sucks up something useful next time. Something that will make the world a better place for its miraculous non-existence? I can think of a few things...