Afternoon tea at the Sterling Club, Anothny Price, P.X, Melissa Caplan and nothing by that old slag Vivian Westwood (wink wink). Refusing to visit Harrods and boycotting teletubby merchandise. Lounging with bad press and vomitting to good press. Sunbathing in the South of France. Ressurecting loathsome scenes and reshaping them into visions of futuristic elegance. And of course furthering my memoirs which has already gatherd much attention. Of course being scoffed at in marvelous, half hearted productions which deem to characterize me as something not as sparkling as I am.
Who I would like to meet, actually it would be proper for me to say who would like to meet me. Really I am not the arse the media has pegged me to be, I do adore the frivilious and refined set of fashionistas, terribly creative and the sad self indulgent types who remind me of those past memeories. Well to be frank, and I will, I would like to meet anyone who enjoys taking the seriousness to bed and decides to leave it there.
Shirley Bassey, Frank Sinatra, need I say more
The Damned and Death in Venice
Day time telly is fun and I still hanker for watching "The Blue Peter" and "Top of The Pops", when loads of rubbish is not being heaped upon my senses. So actually, though on occassion I have made time to watch those pseudo attractive slappers on the yank series "Sex in The City."
Stephen Lang: The Last Exit to Brooklin
Little Richard and David Bowie