Bling!!

Apparently, dear reader, they are only making 1,500 of these Napapijri gold puffa jackets!! And you can only buy them in Napapijri stores. So we should be safe - but I thought I'd better warn you just in case...

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Special Offer

Look what I found outside BHV on my way to buy catfood yesterday, dear reader. And guess what? They were on special offer!! Naturally, I bought two. (Click on the pic for a close-up).

Cyril in My Kitchen

I'm positively brimming (my italics) with excitement, dear reader. Cyril Lignac, the French Jamie Oliver, is coming round to cook for me!! Ok ok, first of all I have to win this sandwich competition organised by the makers of luscious (worth a try) cream cheese Kiri, but surely that is merely a formality? Who, after all, could resist my triple-layer "Nutella, Marmite and banana" on polar bread special? It's been known to make a grown man (me) cry. It's certainly more original than anything Cyril himself has ever come up with. He "shot" to televisual fame by taking a group of unemployed people and teaching them how to cook (ooh reminds me of....oh yes, Jamie Oliver) and then set up his own restaurant called "15" (as did, who was it? Ah yes, Jamie Oliver). Ha, I hear you snort, I expect he'll be tackling school dinners next. Yes, that's right. Still, his recipes ARE different (more fiddly and restaurant-y than Jamie's, but not bad at all, particularly on the French classics). In the interests of fairness, I have an equal number of cookbooks by each, but my heart really belongs to Jamie. That said, however, he's not offering to come round and cook, is he? I wonder what I shall wear....?

Gift Horse

Dontcha just hate Christmas shopping? I swear if one more person barges into me with their bags, I'll go postal. And it's not just the present buying. Yesterday I spent 35 minutes (35 - count 'em), queuing for these blasted things. Yes, yes, my own fault, but He-Who-Shall-No- Longer-Be-Named-On -This-Blog (HWSNLBNOTB) had told me they'd brought out some **NEW** flavours for Christmas, including an apple and cinammon one that, frankly, has a direct line to the Nordic gene in my DNA soup. Dee-lish, though probably NOT worth a 35-minute wait. But it's not all bad. I was coming up the escalator in Lafayette Maison - my second home - when all of a sudden the guy in front of me turned round and asked me what I'd like for Christmas - "within reason, of course". Totally threw me. I would love to tell you that I shot back with some witty rejoinder, but no. I blushed and stammered, "ooh, ooh" and when he insisted, I went all stiff and polite (like a true Englishman) and said "I have everything I need, thank you." What a dork. Me, I mean. Mind you, though obviously generous (always a nice trait so +10 points), he wasn't that hot (-5, shame), and I suspect he's been drinking (par for the course). I don't know how I do it but I am a Class A nutter magnet - I should bottle it.

Choco-holic

I'm addicted to chocolate - LG Chocolate. Yes, yes, I know, "mindless consumerism" could be my middle name but just look at it - isn't it beautiful? Can't you hear it calling to you? Actually, some of you CAN hear it calling you, at no extra charge. That's how generous I am. And look, it even comes with its own holder (though the red shirt is extra). It's Friday and I'm in love.

The Collection

So, dear reader, as you no doubt guessed from the Big Gay Bathroom, interior decoration is not necessarily my forte. Despite my best efforts, Rhino75 Towers remains an "eclectic" head-on collision of 1980s student and 1960s grandad, with the odd cat statue (thanks Mum) and Mexican doll thrown into the mix. But help is at hand!! Because Mrs. LOG is "looking after" a rather wonderful shop, The Collection, which packs a double-whammy of being just round the corner AND showcasing the work of some young British designers in France. Just look at the fabby wallpaper in the pic. I'd buy a roll or two, apart from the fact that my apartment already looks like that, but with a lower ceiling and more cat hair (see below). Anaglypta it ain't. ANYWAY, guess what? They're having an open evening on Thursday starting at 7 p.m. and I'm hoping that this shameless plug for the event will guarantee I get at least half a dozen glasses of wine when I get there. Did someone say cheap? I shall probably be lurking near the light fittings.

Cut down to size

"But they're not even women!" was Mum's verdict on the Scissor Sisters this weekend. Let alone related. But Rhino75 loves them anyway. And "I Don't Feel Like Dancin'" just HAS to be a riposte to those other musical sisters the Nolans (ladies to a man and sharing the same genes this time) who sang the wonderful "I'm in the Mood for Dancing," right? Or am I so old that the fabulous wheel of pop has turned full circle and no-one knows what I'm talking about? Don't answer that. Anyway, both groups got a thorough going-over on my i-pod (see, see I AM still "with-it") on the Eurostar this weekend as I made my bi-annual pilgrimage to the family seat, Castle Rhino. Of course, I've come back with piles of glossy magazines snaffled from the train, the complete Season One of "Prison Break" (which I'm hoping will turn out to be a sort of Oz-lite), a biography of Tom Cruise, a Zadie Smith, and a fab new yellow worm for Kitty (thanks Mum 'n' sis). And, natch, managed to fit in some top telly too: first two episodes of "Arrested Development" Season 3, a great "Extras" with David Bowie, and part one of a new adaptation of Jane Eyre. Ain't life grand??

Rhino's Celebrity Sandwich

Now before you start getting all excited, I must stress that this is a celebrity sandwich in the most literal sense, not another random proposition in the Marais. It is often my wont of a lunchtime, dear reader, to wander down to the Lafayette Maison "sandwicherie" in search of sustenance. In case you're interested, my faves are "Smølt" which is three kinds of Norwegian salmon on what French people call Polar Bread (go figure) and "Indies" which consists of the merest soupçon of tandoori chicken and lettuce, again - bizarrely - on the aforementioned Polar Bread (not very Indian, if you ask me, but whatEVER). But I digress. On Friday, no sooner had I settled down at the "breakfast bar" to tuck into my "Smølt" then I spotted the gentleman above. As a huge fan of French cop shows, I of course recognized him instantly as Didier Cauchy, aka Capt. Jean-Louis Scandella, from the "La Crim'" series. Actually, to be honest, I only recognized him as "that bloke from La Crim'" but still. Imagine my surprise (my italics) then when he came and sat down next to me (ham and cheese sandwich, looked very uninspiring). The whole celebrity encounter would have ended there had the woman opposite us not decided to lean over and say: "I know you... television?" For the merest fraction of a second, I thought she was talking to me, and was about to reply "Ah, yes, although I don't do that anymore, you know," when my neighbour piped up. "Ummm, yes, maybe La Crim'.'" Anyway, it turns out that he's also been appearing in the France 2 summer mini-series "The Secret of the Volcano" which was filmed on the island of La Réunion and where they all got bitten alive by mosquitos etc. Yeah right, like anyone watched that. There was no shutting him up. Despite lots of telly work, he claims that he still can't afford to buy an apartment in Paris, or at least not one that doesn't need a lot of work doing to it, but luckily, the woman turned out to be an estate agent, and, well, it was all very amicable and "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours." Yawwwwwwnnn. I soon lost interest in their real-estate conversation but have decided that Lafayette Maison is the new celebrity lunch hang-out and it can only be a matter of time before I'm swapping mock-sushi with Johnny Hallyday and Eddie Mitchell (it is a well-known fact that all major French celebrities are 102). The rest of the weekend? I cooked a rather nasty (and not in a Janet Jackson way) tomatoey supper for Sid 'n' Nancy, which we tried to forget by drinking wine, champagne and vodka, and I went to an excellent party on Saturday night/Sunday morning in a very hot and sticky apartment overlooking the Canal St. Martin. I'm still recovering. Onwards and upwards.

La Vie Parisienne

So, bit of a mixed evening really. Walking home from Daily Monop' (possibly the gayest supermarket on the planet, bright pink decor and lots of small portions of overpriced food), I tripped and fell flat on my face in front of a whole terrace of diners near the Pompidou Centre. Luckily, my fall was cushioned by my bag of pre-washed mâche, but it was still highly embarrassing. Some 200 yards further on, however, I was chatted up (shopping, scuffed knees and all) by two young French men who, after various spurious questions about clubs and bars ('cos I look like such a clubber - not) asked me if I'd be interested in a threesome. I was a bit shocked to say the least. On a Monday?? Luckily, it was "Grey's Anatomy" night on French TV and there's was no way I was missing that, so I made my excuses and carried on down the street. Still, it's always nice to be asked (I think…?)

Coffee with George

There's no escaping it. The older I get, dear reader, the more l have in common with George Clooney. And not just in the obvious ways. I mean sure we're both confirmed bachelors (ahem!), we both have more than a touch of grey hair (on his head, in his case, in my ears in mine). But it goes deeper than that - and I'm not referring to Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs or hanging out with Brad Pitt. I'm talking java. George, you see, has recently started appearing in ads for Nespresso coffee. JUST (my caps) - spookily - as I purchase a Nespresso coffee machine. I somehow KNOW he feels the same way I do about those exquisite brightly-coloured little capsules - it's like having the crown jewels in your kitchen. For the last couple of years I have valiantly struggled on with a rival system, but it somehow lacked the sheer glamour of Nespresso. Remember you can't buy the coffee in ordinary shops, you have to go to a Nespresso "boutique" and - interesting fact coming up - did you know that all the Nespresso coffee sold in the world is roasted and packaged in ONE plant, in Orbe, Switzerland? Move over Scientology and Kabbalah - to really be in with the in-crowd, you've gotta be in the Nespresso club - did I just see Kirstie Alley in the boutique? Was that Britney and Sean Preston? Of course, the darn things cost an arm and a leg. So here's hoping they read this fab plug and send me loads of freebies (I'm a Volluto and Decaffeinato Lungo kinda guy) :) And if George wants to deliver them in person, so much the better...

The Fickle Finger of Fame

What a difference two years make! Rhino75 was moseying round his local Monoprix supermarket this week, stocking up on Cristal champagne and coconut and lime soya yoghurts (trust me, they are delish!) when whom should I bump into but Patxi!! Yes, you remember, Patxi! No?? OK, Patxi (pronounced "Patchy") was one of the candidates
on Star Academy (the French version of Fame Academy) in 2003. Ironically enough, I found him by the cheese section. You can get an eyeful just by looking at the picture. He's small, fairly cute and was obviously flustered by his Rhino75 encounter (I often find this, reader). Anyway, try as I might, I couldn't get a good view of what was in his basket. Which annoyed me. I love those spreads where someone empties Madonna's or Shirley Maclaine's trash and then photographs it but in a "neat, packaging" way, rather than a "decomposing vegetable peelings" kind of way, and then you can sit there and go "ooooh Oreos, that's not very macrobiotic, is it now?" and not feel so bad about your own diet of cheeze whiz and full-fat coke. I did see him hesistate briefly near a quiche...(well, I had to keep following him round, didn't I?) He wasn't buying much though, because he went to the "Six Items or Fewer" checkout. Still, no-one apart from me was paying him any attention WHATSOEVER. Which must be kinda weird, no? Anyway, talking of Star Academy, Her Royal Madgesty is going to be on it tonight. Have already set the TiVo, don't worry.