Seeing as William and Kate getting engaged is all the proof we need that the recession is over (that and the fact that our coffee this morning came with two After Eights), Esquire‘s December cover suddenly appears rather incongruous. Got, theymustbesoembarrassed.
It’s just Christian Bale, dressed way down with not even a whiff of VPL to take the edge off, hair, and a bunch of letters. No colour, no movement and, seeing as this is the Christmas issue, there’s not even a pair of slippers with a bottle of poppers inside. Talk about biting your nose off to spite your anus.
Anyway, Christian Bale gives an interview, he says this, this, this and this (oh and this!), something happens, and before you know it it’s morning and you just don’t know where the night went.
ps. The Trip? BBC2? Genius. It almost makes us want to do this: ‘G-g-g-g-g-genius.’ And it’s North porn it is. It almost makes us want to go. Almost. And Rob Brydon’s impression of Ken Bruce is staggering. It almost makes us want to do this: *rolls over*