Happy Thanksgiving!!

Happy Thanksgiving, dear reader!! As you can see, in my neverending (and, frankly, exhausting) quest to keep ahead of the curve, I've already had my Thanksgiving dinner: chestnut soup, sweet potato and cheesy biscuits, stuffed pork (little bit edgy, but I've already peaked on turkey this month) with all the trimmings, deeeeeeelicious French cheeses, pecan pie and persimmon pudding. And a couple of bottles of wine each. By the end of the evening, I felt thoroughly (my italics) American (no mean achievement) and went around telling everyone I was going to "bust their ass" and asking if they were "talking to me? You talking to me?." Marvellous. Actually, I should confess that it was my very first Thanksgiving dinner EVER, but I'm never one to look a four-course meal in the mouth, am I? Many thanks to Laura and Braden, the only friends I have with enough plates, knives and forks to contemplate organizing something like this (and without whom I'm sure I'd be a good 10kg lighter) and, of course, my fellow cooks/guests, for a top evening.
P.S. Rhino's TOP TV PICK OF THE WEEK: "Dirt" with Courtney Cox. LOVIN' it.

I AM the Cheerleader

I KNEW it, I KNEW it, I AM the cheerleader, dear reader. This not only means that I get to sleep with the captain of the football team but also something that we've all suspected for a while - Peter Petrelli really does love me. Oh, and I get to have a sexually ambiguous best friend. This also explains all those nights out that I've completely blanked. Until now, I'd blamed the vodka but NO!! In fact, a mysterious Haitian has been wiping my memory. Could life GET any better? To take this highly scientific (my italics) test, brought to us by Entertainment Weekly, click on the pic. (via Felipe Anuel)

Cherchez la femme

Once upon a time, dear reader, way back in the 80s, there was a French TV presenter called Jacques Martin who, somehow, seemed to hog the small screen for most of Sunday. His funeral took place today and, despite a long career as an actor, satirist and comic, he will probably best be remembered as the host of "L'Ecole des Fans," an unimaginably cheesy (my italics) talent show for the under-10s. The format of his interviews of the "contestants" - like that of the rest of the show - never varied. "What does Mummy do?," "What does Daddy do?," "Are they here today?" and, inevitably, "What do you want to do when you grow up?" There were normally a few gags to be squeezed out of this tired old routine, along the lines of "out of the mouths of babes etc." before the little 'uns were allowed to give their - usually excruciating - performance. That said, we watched the whole thing EVERY WEEK, admittedly normally with a hangover. And the show lasted...wait for it...nearly 20 YEARS. But, when Nicolas Sarkozy was elected as France's president in May, Martin was thrust back into the spotlight for another reason. He was the first - and much older - husband of the new First Lady, Cecilia. Not only that but it was actually Sarkozy, then mayor of the Paris suburb of Neuilly, who married them, before embarking on an affair with Cecilia himself. "Ooooh la-la-la-la-la-la, only in France!" I hear you cry. Mind you, C. - a well-preserved 49 who worked at one time as a model - has a bit of a roving eye herself. In 2005, she ditched Sarkozy to start a very high-profile affair with a top ad executive, a liaison that lasted for a year. Fast movers, these French types, you see. Anyway, all this is just by way of explanation for this cartoon on the front of French satirical mag Charlie Hebdo this week. In a tribute to Martin, they depict him asking his stock question, "And what would you like to do when you grow up?" To which the young Sarkozy, for it is he, replies "I want to screw your wife!" You can read a more sober tribute to Martin here (plus a nice anecdote about Martin's reaction when Cecilia left him).

Fabulous Sport

In a bid to restore Britain's national sporting pride, I will tell you that Darren's (he's on the left) new footie show starts on Canal + Sport TODAY at 12:45 p.m. He's even put in a slot called "La Leçon d'anglais" ("The English lesson"). This is his first "solo" venture, plus he's a mate, so get watching if you can (Lecteurs français: à vos télécommandes, s'il vous plaît!!).

Peter Petrelli...in LEDERHOSEN

Our prayers are answered. Click here (thanks to Saintloup for passing this on.)

Peter Petrelli- Because He's Worth It

"Heroes" - dontcha just LOVE it?? At last, something to set the TiVo for on a Saturday night. Beautiful people with small bottoms, shiny hair and SUPERpowers battling the - equally attractive - forces of evil. An epic struggle packaged in 45-minute chunks, who could ask for anything more? I don't care that I don't really understand the Nikki/Jessica thing (I can never tell which one's which). Or that Claire, the cheerleader, looks about 30. Even the bits in Japanese don't get on my nerves (true!!). There's just ONE thing that spoils it for me: Peter Petrelli's hair. It's just a little too artful, a tad too "product"-heavy, dontcha think? I've become obsessed with it. When he's on screen, I can look at nothing else. I judge entire episodes on whether Peter's having a bad hair day or not. Am I alone in this? Help me people!! (Obviously, I love him and this is just a cunning ruse to stick a big fat photo in a place where I can gaze at it all day). P.S. OMG, I am informed by my VOX buddy Felipe that even better things are on the way.

Rome 2: Obesa Cantavit

Remember last summer, dear reader, when I was waxing lyrical about the BBC/HBO series "Rome"? Well, I've just finished watching Season 2 and if anything it's even BETTER (my italics) than the first. First of all, we get to see a LOT more of the hunktastic James Purefoy, as his character Marc Anthony takes centre stage. And once he gets to Egypt, things really hot up as he starts wearing eyeliner and taking part in orgies (the summum of debauchery for the suburban creature that I am). In fact, there's a lot more nookie in Season 2 overall which, let's face it, is the main reason we're all watching in the first place. Who's interested in an accurate depiction of some boring old Senate debate (Cicero, what a pompous ass!) when we can watch two good-looking people - one of whom happens to be James Purefoy - going at it hammer 'n' tongs? PLUS, as if that weren't enough, this season, we can see several new characters in flagrante delicto (nice Roman touch there, note). My fave is Marcus Agrippa, played by Allen Leech. Yes, yes I KNOW he looks a bit like an Eastern European twink porn actor, but that is, I'm sure, merely a coincidence (ahem). With a bonus in the shape of Alex Wyndham ("The Line of Beauty") as the decadent Maecenas. But sadly, to use a common Roman expression, Obesa cantavit. Opinion seems to be divided - on the viewer bulletin boards at least - as to whether it was disappointing viewing figures, high production costs, or "artistic differences" between the BBC and HBO, that led to the plug being pulled. Anyway, I got through a whole box of Kleenex watching the last episode (wiping away the tears, I hasten to add). Now I've only got "Heroes" to brighten my televisual week ::sigh::

And the Winner is....

JULIEN!! Last night was the grand final-ey of Nouvelle Star, the French version of Pop Idol. It's taken sixteen - count 'em - weeks to whittle down the contenders from fifteen to the final two. In the red corner, ukulele-playing Julien, with his hairslide, who describes his greatest quality as being "frigid or precise" and claims to be a fan of crusty old French novelist/literary historian Jean d'Ormesson. And in the blue corner, Tigane, who says his "kind nature" is his strong point and cites Michael Jackson, Alicia Keys and Stevie Wonder as his biggest influences. I need not tell you, dear reader, that Miss Kitty and I were GLUED to the sofa at Rhino75 Towers, biting our nails and licking our bottoms, respectively. Though Tigane has a pleasant enough voice, bless him, he suffers from something of a charisma by-pass and is just a smidgin' karaoke. Julien, on the other hand, had our vote from the start and his version of "Le Mal-Aimé" (a French cover of "Daydreamer" as sung by David Cassidy - watch the original here) brought a tear to my eye and a lump to my throat. Another highlight was his jazzy performance of "Smells like Teen Spirit" (ok, bit of a Paul Anka rip-off, but he does it well) in a red velvet suit that inspired this wonderful haiku from AussieLass. I didn't like the "Ebony & Ivory" duet with Tigane, though - it's a grisly song at the best of times and they had the harmonies all wrong. ::sigh:: Ah well, at least we got the right result IMHO. Now only a couple of months to go before "Star Academy" (the French version of "Fame Academy") starts again...In the meantime, watch Julien in action here. I think I may start wearing a hairslide myself...

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....?

"The Tudors"

Dear reader, did I ever mention what a sucker I am for a ruff and a pair of well-fill'd (N.B. slightly Elizabethan spelling there) britches? As a child, I was completely obsessed with the Tudors and Henry VIII in particular. There's even an embarrassing story about how I once - to my parents' horror - tried to force our local barber to name the six wives IN ORDER. I think I was about eight at the time. I kept notebooks on them, that's how bad it was. Why did no-one point out to me that they were just a bunch of ginger Welsh people? No wonder I'm psychologically scarred. But I digress. Imagine my delight, nevertheless, to discover this rather fabulous mini-series, featuring the comely Jonathan Rhys-Wassisface. He's definitely my kind of Henry VIII - nice pecs, brooding eyes and not even the slightest whiff of ginger or Welshness about him ::swoon:: He's also about 4 feet tall, but people WERE smaller in those days, it's an acknowledged historical fact. Anyway, if you click on the pic, you can go to their site and watch the first two episodes for free (my italics). Enjoy.

Flying the Flag

"We're flying the flag all over the world, we're flying the flag for you." I wouldn't want you to think, dear reader, that I 've been slacking off during my stay at Castle Rhino in the U.K. Tonight, I have been GLUED to the TV, watching the nail-biting (I use those italics advisedly) sing-off to choose Britain's entry for that red-letter event in every music-lover's calendar, the Eurovision Song Contest. My French readers should be proud to hear that one of their countrywomen, the very pretty and silver-tonsilled Cyndi - who now appears to live in Wales, doubtless for a good reason - made it to the final two, beating off (frankly pretty poor) efforts from former Atomic Kitten Liz McClarnon and East17's Brian Harvey (a man who, lest we forget, once managed to run himself over). But once Scooch hit the stage, you knew it was all over. Choreography featuring drinks-trolleys, the emergency-exits routine and a steward asking "Would you like something to suck on landing, sir?" - well, it couldn't get much more camp, could it? Plus, there's a certain desperation about them. The girls have that hard-as-nails, "eyes 'n' teeth" glamour that comes from working on too many cruise ships, the blonde guy has obviously been hitting the biscuit barrel and the other fella would make the MC in Cabaret look butch. This is their last shot and they know it. Glorious, I love them. Watch it here - and roll on May 12 and U.K. victory. Mind you, not everyone agrees. Here's Matt's view of the proceedings :-) P.S. While we're on a showbiz note, guess who I bumped into on the Eurostar? Think tall, think Texan, think Tom and... well, I won't spoil it, send me your answers on a postcard...

Something for the Weekend

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the new Holy Trinity: George, Derek and Alex. Can you think of a better way to round off the working week? PHWOOOAAARR, is what I say. I've spent the last two weeks watching Season 1 and half of Season 2 of "Grey's Anatomy" and I'm now seriously hooked on surgeons. Now, ever since I can remember I've had a thing for hospital drama, going all the way back to that wonderful Aussie soap "The Young Doctors" (fabulous hair). I even like "Casualty" and there's no-one even remotely hot in that. If Amazon sold blue "scrubs" and surgical masks, they'd be top of my wishlist and no mistake. Of course, the genius (my italics) part about GA is that it isn't really about medicine at all - 'cos, let's face it, that would be really dull and possibly a tad depressing. No, it's about people with small bottoms and shiny hair shagging each other in lifts and in stairwells and feeling miserable when it all goes wrong, all set to a fabulous folksy-pop rock soundtrack. It's a Coke ad with heart-attacks. It's Dawson with defibrillators. With the added bonus of Patrick Dempsey (yes I know, what else HAS he been in?) as God and Everyman. And that girl from "Roswell" (which was all about people with small bottoms and shiny hair turning out to be aliens - OMG, do I see a bit of a theme developing here?). Anyway, I plan to spend my weekend staking out my local hospitals, paying particular attention to the lifts and stairwells. I'll let you know how I get on.

And so I'm back...

...not from outer space, though. From Castle Rhino, the windswept beaches of southern England, and a thoroughly British Christmas. Now when I say "thoroughly British Christmas," I know some of you instantly imagine some sort of Dickensian feast, all roaring fires, garlands of holly, mahogany sideboards groaning under the weight of candied fruits, chestnuts, crippled chimney sweeps, a huge goose, knee-deep snow and Rhino75 wearing a muff. Mmm, sounds rather nice, doesn't it? Particularly that last one. But of course what I actually mean is a "thoroughly MODERN British Christmas". You know, Top of the Pops, a Doctor Who special (with Catherine Tate??!) and a heartwarming film about how a golden retriever finally enabled a mother and father (the sexy Ben Miles) to communicate with their autistic child - altogether now, aaaaahhh. Plus, naturally, industrial quantities of (M&S apricot and cranberry) stuffing, mincemeat, and Quality Street. Basically, we watched pointless tv (Casualty - how unlucky can one hospital be for chrissake?), drank gallons of tea and ate rubbish for four days without a break. Apart from the traditional Christmas Eve at the Cuckoo, singing along to Wind of Change by the Scorpions (when will they get a new dj?) with sis and Su. Star pressies? A gorgeous knitted green hoodie that has hardly been off my back, Season 2 of Desperate Housewives, and a lovely edition of "The Wind in the Willows" (one of my favourite books, to be savoured while munching hot buttered toast and Battenberg Cake). And the usual socks and undies. Everything a boy needs to face a new year. Talking of which, resolutions or no resolutions? I'm still in two minds.

Last Night's Celebrity...

...sighting: actor Frédéric Diefenthal (with mystery blonde), just by the Café de la Ville. French gays love Diefenthal for his role in Clara Sheller, where he played the heroine's slightly uptight gay roomate JP, but he is also a lad-culture icon as one of the leads in Taxi (scroll down to the reviews or go here). Cuter with short hair in my opinion but he gets extra points for being a celebrity who looks exactly like he does on the packet. Not shorter, not uglier, not weirder. Thanks to David and Carlos for a great night out!!

Last Night...

...I dined on Ferrero Rochers, crisps, "creative" chocolate chips and champagne, and chatted with two people who've acted in French cop show "PJ", a Canadian author, and an American punk drummer/expert on Heidegger. So eclectic it made me feel quite giddy. I should go to more parties like that. Many thanks to my favourite "muse" who was, as always, the perfect hostess.

Six Years

I'm sure you've probably seen this already but I was mesmerised. This man has singlehandedly brought out my inner geek. I watched it three times. In a row. It's like Eraserhead without the laughs. Six years and never a smile. Mind you, I like the music too, mainly because I keep thinking it's going to turn into The Cardigans. Completely bonkers.
(Via the excellent Minor9th - though I didn't like the one of the man cleaning his flat in 60 seconds - can he not afford help?? Who are these people??)

"Prison Break"

It's fab!! Four episodes in and I'm hooked. Wentworth Miller (on the left of the pic) has all the acting ability of a large plank of wood, but a) he HAS been on the cover of Details magazine and b) somehow it works (ok, ok, so I think he's hot). There's even a cat in it to keep Kitty's interest. And though the plot seems mightily implausible, there have already been three "moments" that made me nearly spill my supper. Surely it can only be a matter of time before we start having "Prison Break" parties where you have to unscrew the loo from the wall and draw a very complicated map of Rhino75 Towers all over yourself with ballpoint pen before you're allowed to leave? Blue overalls a must. Plus ça change, I hear you cry... Anyway, I'll keep you posted, gotta watch another one now before bedtime...

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??

Owwww....

...my head. Went to a fabulously fun party last night at EMI, mingling with the likes of Lily Allen, Benjamin Biolay, Stanislas Merhar, Sid 'n' Nancy. Yet again, that winning combination of celebs and open bar worked its magic and I feel rough as an old dog after crawling home at 3:30 a.m. Stand by for the pics. Among the highlights were Hans Henrick and his parrot Lord B (we all had our photo taken with Lord B), two funny guys I met in the loo who have a band and gave me their cd, a strange man dressed as a rabbit and someone who works for smoothie company Innocent. To read the lovely Nardac's account of the evening, click here. And at some point, you should be able to see pics of the party here too. Pass the aspirin, I'm late for work. (P.S. oooh watching Le Grand Journal on TV this evening, they did a little feature on this party: also present were French minstrel Raphael, Badly Drawn Boy, and the Divine Comedy. And some bloke in a red shirt that I gave a hard time to. I am on the cutting room floor - again.)

Rhino's Rentrée Culinaire

Oh yes, dear reader, if it's September that can mean only one thing - lock up your measuring spoons and harden your arteries because Rhino75 is back in the kitchen!! Ok, it's true that sometimes the results have been a little, shall we say mixed - I'm thinking in particular of my "microwave muffin" period (remember these? ewww). But c'mon, don't try and tell me this veritable vision of a quiche lorraine doesn't send your salivary glands into overdrive. Without wishing to court controversy, I'm pretty sure that if Moses were alive today, God would have appeared to him in the form of this quiche, rather than taking the burning bush option. Quite literally divine. Just a bit big, that's all. I've had nothing but quiche all week, morning, noon and night. And there's still some left. I swear it's reproducing itself in the fridge. Still, take my word for it, quiches are the new homemade pasta. Other Rhino75 trends for the fall include French girly singers - vintage Vanessa Paradis (I'm thinking the Lenny Kravitz-produced album), Charlotte Gainsbourg (like genius father like daughter), and the mother of 'em all (though not literally), France Gall. Rhubarb yoghurt. Star Academy - and thus, terrestrial tv (all the best shows are on terrestrial, I've missed it, although I am keeping cable too, for "Desperate Housewives", if nothing else). Drinking at home - of course, that one never goes out of fashion but for winter I'm moving out of my cocktail period and into wine. Headaches. But still the same old rubbish trainers. Remember where you read it first.