Oh, you know who we’re talking about… *points; wiggles finger*
Oh, you know, So and So’s in SO much pain after breaking an ankle whilst ski-ing in Klosters with Prince William and So and So looks AWFUL on the cover of ES magazine and So and So’s in the Maldives and wondering if anyone had any ideas for places to eat and So and So’s just done a number two in the toilet but on my way back I got my own chat show. Can’t anyone just go about their toilet business without getting harassed anymore? and So and So’s bumming Diana Ross and yes, she insists on the wind machine and So and So is having an Oscars dilemma – which outfit to wear? (oh and yes, all-cum-most of those are true. We almost pressed delete-delete-delete on all-cum-most, but we like to keep tracks on the twats in our lives…).
Our point? Gwyneth Paltrow is just such a surruptitious shower-offer. It’s names, names, names on that Gloopy thing of hers. Furry muff, you might say – she is a star of moving pictures – but there’s something a bit inappropriate about it all. And our particular gripes? In no particular order, the bits red-ed over with our nice highlighter pen. Mostly the downplaying being mates with Steven Spielberg and all that. For fucky-fuck’s sake, Gwyndolyn – we hate that disingenuous bollocks. We’d much rather you just sent out a press release along the lines of, ‘I’m rich beyond my wildest dreams, I was born into a showbiz family, I’ve had it pretty easy all my life, I’m friends with some of the most famous people on the planet, my husband’s a boring twat and I’m still at a loss why anyone buys his turgid music, na-na-na-na-naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.’
That would go down a whole lot better.
Oh and ps. When it comes to knowledge of film history, I’m pretty rubbish. Er, you’re a fucking movie star, luv. And grew up in a showbiz family (still loving Mum’s work, btw!) with Uncle Steven driving you to the movies! Please pull your finger out…