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!!).

Doppelganger

So there I was, sipping my double vodka and tonic at the gay street party and eyeing up the (plentiful) talent when a cute Spanish guy came up and asked if he could take a photo of me because "you're the spitting image of my friend Tim." Cue the start of a very drunken afternoon with a lovely bunch of people, including said Tim and friends. We met so many wonderful guys 'n' gals this year at Brighton Pride, thanks in no small part to my two best wingwomen Sis and Jo - it must surely qualify as BPE (Best Pride Ever). Lovely too to have shared part of it with Petite Anglaise who gamely came along to the Lines & Bears line dancing tent and debated buying a Monkey Spanker. Back to Paris tomorrow afternoon, but still on holiday for a while. Hope you've had a FAB weekend too. Bons baisers de Brighton.

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::

Face of Fashion

I'm back!! The wedding was superb fun, the bride was radiant and it was a great chance to catch up with some people - Parisians and others - I haven't seen in years - and meet some new ones! Surprisingly, given the amount of champagne + wine + armagnac (oooh!) consumed, I felt positively sprightly the next morning. Who'd have thought it? Now when I lived in London and dinosaurs roamed the earth Sunday was always exhibition day, which is how I found myself at the wonderful Face of Fashion photography show at the National Portrait Gallery. Looking at this mussed up Justin, courtesy of Steven Klein. Which I LOVE. It's only on until the end of this month so I'd urge you to get down there pronto - it's even free (my italics) for card-carrying members of the showbiz fraternity like myself. The Klein stuff was, IMHO, by far the best, though maybe that's because the images were less familiar than the Corinne Day or Mario Sorrenti shots. Either way, I'd forgotten how truly excellent the NPG is. A quick sprint round Waterstone's and before I knew it , it was time to wave goodbye and get back on da Star to come home. Plus, I've just realised that Thursday's a bank holiday - again!! My cup runneth over.

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...

Cooking by Numbers

Those of you who've been concerned about the contents of my fridge - and you are legion - will be relieved to hear I've finally found a solution. No longer do I have to worry about my rather haphazard style of food shopping - faced with the usual almost giddily eclectic selection of inredients, I now simply turn to the wonderful (my italics) Cooking by Numbers. Et voilà!! OK, it doesn't specify if those apricots are hunza or not, or if the chocolate should be Valrhona, and indeed there's no mention of champagne, but when you're lacking inspiration on a Wednesday night, it fits the bill perfectly. Try it and see... I particularly liked the description of Lemon Chicken - "Chicken partners up with its old friend lemon with crazy results" though it did come with the caveat "You are missing an essential ingredient: chicken". What a bummer! In other news, I'm off to London AGAIN this weekend, though for work this time, and will be having dinner here on Friday evening. I, of course, reveal that information in the hope that I'll be "papped" either entering or leaving the restaurant. Over to you!!

London Calling

As part of my gruelling (my italics) Eurostar-trash regime, dear reader, Friday lunchtime found me whizzing through the Channel Tunnel on my way to a date in Hammersmith with the rather gorgeous Dan Gillespie Sells. OK, there were a few thousand other people there - and, indeed, the rest of the band - but that's just details. I love him and he loves me, I can TELL. And boy did we have fun. All of us. It's a long time since I've been to a gig where not only did I know all the words and musical nuances to every single song, but so did everyone else. And where I had a big, silly grin on my face from start to finish. Yes, yes, alright, everyone else WAS 15, but that's not the point. I love him (did I already say that?). Look at him in the pic, trying to be all "rock 'n' roll," bless. Of course, if you're going to sing a lot of harmonies live, there's a danger you're going to be stuck behind your monitors most of the time. But as the evening warmed up, so did the band's stagecraft and by the encore (Queen's "Fat-Bottomed Girls") they were storming. And I don't know if I've mentioned this before but I love him. Fave moments: community singing on "Never be Lonely," a riproaring version of "Anyone" and "Sewn" (which I thought I'd heard too often, but no). And that moment when Dan looked at me and smiled. Well, he was quite far away, but I know he was looking at me. The rest of the weekend was spent eating yummy food here, buying most of Waterstone's, stuffing my face with delicious cheese and wine (thanks to Lady J. and A) and helping Matt get to grips with Argos AND Freeview (the blind leading the blind). The weather was crap, though.

Shirtless

Apparently, this photo was on the front page of the Daily Mail today (and rightly so in my opinion). What ON EARTH (my caps) is going on with Harry Potter?? And what's all this about a scene with a horse?? (Oooh, didn't I see that in Personal Trainers 4?). For the full story, do as I did and pay a visit to Aimless Ramblings of Zefrog. I DO love the theatre.

"It's so funny..."

"...how we don't talk anymore," sang Sir Cliff Richard, Britain's self-styled Peter Pan of Pop (see left). I don't know to whom he was referring but it could easily have been us, dear reader. For which apologies, but the problem with this New Year's resolutions business is that it's just so time- consuming getting them all going. I'm exhausted already and I still have to sort out my two main ones. However, if all goes to plan I shall be over-achieving on such a MASSIVE (my caps) scale, international fame and fortune can surely not be far behind. Fingers crossed. But I digress. What on earth is a big poster of Sir Cliff doing in my local metro station? By that I mean, why is he doing a concert in Paris? In all the years I've lived here, never once has a French person asked me about, or indeed made any reference to "zis Cleef Reeechard." I've never heard any of his music on the radio. So who's gonna go?? The Palais des Congrès is pretty big, after all. I'm worried. Given that he's now Sir Cliff, will they round up all the British people in Paris and force them to buy a ticket? Will we all have to do the Shadows guitar-walk? Actually, the Cliffsta, as I call him, and I go back a long way (doesn't everyone in **showbiz**?). In my London days, I'd just popped into Fortnums to pick up a few bits, as you do. I remember I was rooting through the wine bins looking for a choice bottle of claret when, all of a sudden, I noticed that everyone was looking at me. I put it down to the old Rhino75 charisma and tried to continue my search. But now I'd noticed them, I could sense that they weren't just looking, they were staring - and when I looked up then I saw they weren't actually staring at me (hah!) but just to my left. At Sir Cliff. Looking very unlike the Peter Pan of Pop and more like an old turkey. And why was he in the wine section? I thought he was teetotal. True story. Oh alright, I KNOW that anecdote had a slightly less satisfactory ending than Abba The Movie, (i.e. we didn't shoot off into space in an elevator to the strains of "Bachelor Boy") but it still counts as a Rhino75 celebrity encounter (just like here, here and here). Still to come: how I once had Jeanne Moreau nestled in my armpit and discussed accountancy with Kristin Scott-Thomas in a lift (not at the same time though, I hasten to point out - otherwise it sounds like some bizarre gender-reversal version of "Jules et Jim"). Peter Ustinov eat your heart out.

Shadow Theatre

comédie française: shadow theatre, originally uploaded by rhino75.

Walking home from work Monday evening, I - quite literally - stumbled across this free screening of Molière's "Le Malade Imaginaire" outside the Comédie Française theatre. Everything was beautifully lit up with tiny candles and there was even a soup stall where you could be served by two men with real Molière-period-stylee wigs and britches. Excellent. Apart from the fact that - for the first time since New Year - it was actually freezing. Still lovely though. Interesting revelation: Molière was obviously a much bigger guy than I thought, judging from his chair, which they'd thoughtfully put outside in a glass case. Keeping things on an historical note - I should charge for these seamless links - did you see that France apparently nearly became part of the British Commonwealth in the 1950s (see BBC story here). Who knew? That'll go down like a lead balloon, I'm sure...

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.

Notorious JLB

So this weekend, I hopped on the Eurostar to Brighton to watch my sis, Notorious JLB, spinning some choons at Stick It On. What a FANTASTIC night!! After kicking off with some pink fizz at home and a few drinks at the kitchissime Regency Tavern, it was off to Komedia to throw some top moves. Ok, ok, there was a slight moment of panic when the organizer told Sis: "Yeah, just turn up with your records and..." - we hadn't actually considered that you might have to bring the choons along with you. But the girls brought the house down, the crowd went mad for them. Don't take my word for it: watch them in action here and see the posse getting down here. They were even interviewed afterwards for Radio Reverb. Boy, did we drink though. Novelty of the night: I had my first ever shot of tuaca, which wasn't at all bad - I may be laying in some stores at Christmas. We rounded off the night with a full English breakfast and tea at Buddies, and even managed to fit in that British Saturday night staple "argument with some random lairy bloke" before stumbling home at 5 a.m. All this and deelish Sunday lunch at the wonderful Food For Friends too. All in all, an excellent weekend.

The Vegas Experience: Left Luggage

It's official, I am every travel company's worst nightmare. The very first post ever on this blog was about me missing a flight. Not to be outdone, my latest exploits stretched Eurostar customer service to breaking point but the good news is that they came through with flying colours. First of all, I turned up late for my train - with a non-exchangeable non-refundable ticket. Now I say late, but they've let me through later than that before, although 10 minutes before departure is probably cutting it a little fine. Anyway, they very kindly agreed to exchange my ticket at no extra cost. Of course, I get a little lecture, but I do my best wounded Rhino75 look (butch but vulnerable - patent pending) and all goes smoothly. Wonderful. So I check in again, go through passport control, customs, the baggage scans etc. Then - aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhh. I'm JUST about to go through and get on the train when I realise I've left the Barbra tickets at HOME. Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggggghhhhh. What a palaver. But they were troopers. Assured me that (other very stupid) people did this all the time. And took me back through immigration and exchanged my ticket for the second time in an hour in order to give me enough time to go home, pick up tickets while the taxi waited downstairs, and get back to the station. If that isn't service, I don't know what is. The good thing is that it happened on the leg when I was travelling alone. I know only too well from past experience that this kind of thing sends other people's stress levels through the roof, whereas I find it perfectly normal. Pray (I'm not joking!) that we make it to Gatwick on time tomorrow. Bons baisers de Londres.

"It's Ma'am as in 'Ham'..."

"...not Ma'am as in 'Farm'". I wanted to like it, I really did. All the other Brits I know had raved about how good it was, the reviews were top-notch, it's directed by the wonderful Stephen Frears and stars Helen Mirren, one of my favourite actresses ... but no. Save your money, I say. Don't get me wrong, everyone acts very well and it's very watchable. But you don't really learn anything, there doesn't seem to be any point to it. It would be a GREAT tv movie - because you could keep popping out to make a cup of tea, feed the cat etc. without really missing anything. And ideally, you would want to be watching with other people (and shortbread) so you could make comments, such as "Oooh, doesn't he look just like him?" or "Oooh, I remember that SO clearly". But there's no substance to it. You never find out, for example, why the Queen behaved as she did - you just have a lot of actors pretending to be other people, telling us why they think she's like that. I can theorise and speculate on my own, thank you very much. I thought it was quite clever to cut newsreel from the time (which is only 1997-98 but feels more like 30 years for some reason) with the acting but, in fact, it was just distracting because I realised I would prefer to be watching the documentary stuff - Diana's infamous Panorama interview, for example - rather than the film. They've obviously thrown a lot of money at it and it looks sumptuous, particularly the beautiful shots of the Scottish Highlands, but I can't imagine why anyone who's not British/completely Anglophile would want to see it. Which is a shame. To see the trailer and get a taste, click here, or on the pic to go to the film's official site.

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??