Archives for posts with tag: Ryan Phillippe

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Amanda Eliasch is very, very rich.  She is the ex-wife of Johann Eliasch, owner of tennis racket and sports wear company Head.  Currently Amanda is trying to get me to remove a blog reference made last week after she posted some nastiness about me on Facebook.

Sadly, as Jake found to his dismay, even if I removed any or all evidence… the blog will remain in the virtual ether forever and ever. FOREVER.  Then, she persuaded some weird friend of hers to say that I only have 3 readers a day…that’s like telling a man he has a very small penis.

Let me remind you how I know this woman Amanda Eliasch…she was/is going out/hooking up/in confused hyper emotional ‘relationship’ with my old friend the genuine article… writer Tim Willis.  Poor Tim, the first time I was summoned to her house he was a quaking, smoking, drinking wreck. Exiled to the tennis court at her architecturally significant, now recently sold Beverly Hills house. His already weakened body covered in welts from Amanda’s sharp little tongue.

The 1st and least problematic of the litany of problems with Amanda: she is a bully.  In some lame attempt to stop me from posting anything about her on my blog she reminded me that she had let me visit her home. OK. So? I reminded her (pompous hag) that I let her visit mine. The next barrage of emails, no doubt, will include reminders that she paid for a couple of lunches.

The emails after that will include homophobic slurs.

Well known to architects, and interior decorators as a person who loathes paying her bills, (I know two personally) She is currently working with ‘interior designer to the stars’ Martyn Lawrence-Bullard who told me he went to Eton… does anyone know if this is true? I met ‘interior designer to the stars’ Martyn Lawrence-Bullard with Chris “The King” Cortazzo the  realtor.  Why will ‘interior designer to the stars’ Martyn Lawrence-Bullard definitely get paid for renovating Amanda’s new home in LA? The simple fact is: ‘interior designer to the stars’ Martyn Lawrence-Bullard is far too well-connected not to get paid.

As well as converting Amanda’s brown Wimpy home (ex Janet Leigh) into a white clad Wimpy home ‘interior designer to the stars’ Martyn Lawrence-Bullard is also converting a small apartment in Sierra Towers Los Angeles as something ‘nice’ for Elton’s Nanny and child.

I really did not want to start the year slagging an old slag but hey, at least I’m not writing about Jake, eh?

The most perplexing problem with Amanda: she is totally bonkers… and not in a good way. She has no style, no friends and leaves a nasty taste in one’s mouth whenever one chances upon her.  Her conversation is limited and punctuated with barking noises… is this some sort of tick?  I have never once been able to get a reasonable opinion or for that matter ANY opinion out of the woman who wasn’t cribbed from some Daily Mail commentator/op ed…consequently her politics are slightly right of Hitler’s.  Amanda once complained to me, like many of her ilk, that there wasn’t a decent right-wing newspaper in Britain.

Now, I know that she will take issue with the ‘no friends’ claim but after her $500k fiasco of a birthday party last year where half her Facebook friends didn’t turn up… and, like an eastern European traveler, she tangoed for her startled guests then… to their growing horror played a sycophantic film ‘produced’ by her friends waxing ’bout how wonderful Amanda is. I wonder how she manages to keep the friends she has!

Good God! You can’t make this stuff up!

Amanda is surrounded by a certain type of woman, the ball breaking Aliai, Lady Forte, the ball breaking Tracy Emin and the drunk most of the time but harmless… unless sober when she too becomes a bone fide ball breaker… Kay Saatchi.  Throw a few insignificant men into the black lacquered pot and bob’s your uncle: Amanda’s World.

The unforgivably huge problem with Amanda (and British social-climbing women like her) she is ever so slightly homophobic. She likes to remind gays that in Amanda’s World they have no right to demand rights or equality ‘what ever that is?’… that we have no place in the army or in sport and she questions our integrity in the school room.  She tells us that we are of ‘no use’ to her… unless we are ‘decorating’ or ‘making things look pretty’.

Amanda, like her ball breaking friends, is also a low-grade racist and treats her black chef with imperial disdain.  Amusingly she has a desire to be close to film stars and celebrities but they are not eager to be seen with her.  Her life interminably chasing yet another film festival, film opening, red carpet event… is pathetic at best… tragic at worst.

Amanda, if she doesn’t mend her ways, will end up like Wallis Simpson who, though remarkably chic, died isolated and miserable. At Wallis’s funeral the bulk of the wreaths came from vendors all over Paris who, without doubt, missed her very generous patronage.

Tim Willis Duncan Roy Ryan Fox

Today, Luna chewed three huge holes in the passenger seat of my truck.   So, by 9am I was a little glum even though I am wearing a cheerful pink shirt and rather attractive cardigan.  It’s really hard to train a Pit pup though I think I am doing OK in the circumstances.

My Jasper Morrison sofa is a wreck and needs recovered.  Saw some gorgeous blood orange velvet on Labrea below 1st street but irritatingly had just missed the 70% off sale.  This sofa is a fucking mess.  The leg keeps falling off too.  This is exactly what happens to nice furniture when you share your house with a 70lb Pit.

Frankly I don’t care about the truck.  I bought it exactly for this reason: so I didn’t have to worry about odd bumps and scratches.  The holes are in the passenger seat-not my problem.  If the dog had eaten the Porsche however…

I’ve really enjoyed the past few days after the GHASTLY gay/lesbian/cuckold dinner party debacle.  Did I mention..and I’m sure I did..that Brett Easton Ellis watches SEX REHAB.  Worth mentioning twice as there are few people I am totally awe-struck by but he is deffo one of them.

Saturday was no less interesting.  Lunch with Dom at American Rag.  Still, I find it hard to trust him as he is prone to reveal that he takes a little bit too much interest in my life-in a rather creepy way.  The fact is, the fun part of our friendship is over.

Had early evening nap then Justin and I took a cab to the 30 years of MOCA event.  Drank cans and cans of diet coke at the 30 years of MOCA after party at my friend Jerrod’s gallery on Sunset.  Chloe Sevigny, Todd Eberle, some ‘a’ gays, Dom’s snobby up her own ass arts publicist friend Bettina Korek.  An enthusiastic Sex Rehab viewer woman approached me and told me how much she loved the show.   The Asian man in the HSBC bank also ‘loves’ the show.  Until last night I ‘loved’ the show.  Last night’s show was less lovable.

Anyway, Justin woke up with a magnificent hangover on Sunday morning.   I drove to Malibu and let the dogs run around the garden that has been transformed by the new gardener.   It is so incredibly beautiful there.  Paths, vistas, secret gardens, Bananas, figs and strange green pears still on the trees.

Justin and I napped on the hammock overlooking the sea then drove to Amanda Eliash’s brunch in Beverly Hills.  Saw Sharon S with Hamish McAlpine.  Love Sharon.  I warmly congratulated Hamish for his recent wedding.  I didn’t know he was a Kent boy,  I said cheerfully, ‘I’m from Whitstable’.  He turned his fat face toward me like a crude papier-mache doll and with a vicious sneer said:  ‘I hear that people smashed your windows.’

I was tempted to deny it.  I didn’t want to remember what had happened nearly 20 years ago but it was true-there was a time in Whitstable when my windows were being smashed and anti gay graffiti was being daubed on my walls.  AIDS AVAILABLE HERE.  As I have written before, growing up gay in a small town anywhere in the world has its drawbacks.  It was a very dark time.  I was scared, vulnerable and had nowhere to run.  To have this nasty, badly dressed, rich boy reminding me, mocking me-it was too much to bear.    I wanted to rip his over sized head off his flabby shoulders.  Frankly he couldn’t have done much about it.  He looks about 65 even though we are prob the same age.

I was in no mood to let this creep diminish me so I let him have both barrels and felt a great deal better when he finally slunk away.  Reptilian, homophobic Hamish McAlpine you are a very nasty little men.

We stayed at Tim and Amanda’s for a few more hours enjoying the cast of odd characters running around the house.  Ryan Fox very sweet young director, Finley Quaye’s girl friend screaming at him on the phone for the better part of an hour.   Justin looked happy.  I don’t think that he has ever lived like this.  I am going to dress him when we go to swankier events.

Jay Rayner, Clair Rayner’s son also there.  A jolly, piano playing food writer, long hair and full belly.  A little resentful of others making more money than he does but hey, most people are.   Jay lives in Shakespeare Road, Brixton in the house directly next door to where Jay Jopling used to live-where Jay and I would have the occasional tryst.  Rayner was also well acquainted with Whitstable.  Missed out on buying there when it was cheap. Apparently a great friend of the chef Steve Harris and family.  Jay Rayner, another acerbic Brit on US reality TV.  We talked about his mother and he made me quite teary-reminding me of Clair Rayner’s reassuring a whole generation that everything was going to be okay..she was the British Dr Drew Pinsky!

Amanda invited me back for Christmas day.  I accepted.

I loved seeing Tim.  I always do.

Saw SEX REHAB show. Like most people I am irritated by glut of Kari Ann material.  It’s a pity that VH1 made her the spine of show.  Poor meth head.  However, I won’t hear a word said against her, as she is very, very sick little girl.

In bed by 10.30pm.  Up at 5.30…etc. etc.