Archives for posts with tag: Shane Warne

If Elizabeth really had broken up with Arun a few months ago as she claims..why is she having clandestine meetings with Shane Warne in hotel rooms rather than in her Kensington house?

I wonder if Arun remembers my dire warning for him to run as fast as his little legs would carry him when Elizabeth introduced us.  Much to his chagrain I sat him down like a good brother and told him that no good would come of knowing Elizabeth…only public shame.

That was when we were filming The Method in Romania when she was publicly toying with him to the amusement of her snotty friends and family.

Dressing him up in Mao collars at Richard James.

Shagging him in her trailer…you know the story.

I wanted to write a bunch of stuff about Elizabeth being a sex addict but I wrote a thousand words and then the computer crashed and it all vanished.  I can’t be bothered to write it again.

I was reminiscing about the first time I met Elizabeth and she was laying on the floor of her sitting room…her legs apart, her lips pink and swollen.

I wonder if she remembers telling me about her whipping club in LA?  How she loves to ‘take a man in hand’.  I wonder if she dominates Shane?  He looks like the sort of man who needs to be dominated, coerced, his power stripped from him by a woman, a good..strong woman like Elizabeth.  And..of course, we never mention the lesbian interlude.  Know about that?  I do.

I hear that she was in San Lorenzo last week looking a bit worse for wear.  Drunk.

I wonder who is looking after the kid?

The problem with Elizabeth is that she is a mere actress/celebrity when in fact she was born to be a high priestess or warrior princess, acolytes tugging at her skirt.  Gladiators hand-picked from the forum to pleasure her.

Poor Elizabeth!  She’s the straight equivalent of a gay ‘power bottom’.

Elizabeth!   Go and sort yourself out at Sex Rehab.  You are one of us!  You control every straight man within sniffing distance with your pussy perfume, the intoxicating scent of your vagina.

Oh, I have seen it with my own eyes warrior princess!

Until you get yourself a kingdom I’m afraid it might be rehab for you dear.

On an entirely different note…do you like my new socks?

 

It was a piss poor, irritating day yesterday.  Nothing, it seemed, was going to rescue me from the thankless groaning of harassing renters and the yearning I have to get home.. and quickly.  I left my card in the ATM and have mislaid my beastly driving license.

All in all it was pretty ghastly until I went to therapy at 8pm where I sat with my peers and bathed in our shared misery.  Suddenly I felt a whole heap better!   There really isn’t anything more exhilarating than listening to those who have had a worse day than you.

Look, I could sit here and write about my financial woes.  I could entertain you with the menopausal ranting of Irene from Hawaii or I could just let it go.  The worse a person complains and harasses the less likely I am to deal with a situation.   It’s just the way I am wired.

Many years ago I made a very bad film in Romania called The Method starring Elizabeth Hurley.  It was not the best experience of my life (probably one I would rather forget) but it seems I am not going to be afforded that luxury.

The chaotic making of The Method has inspired the Producer of The Method to write and direct a film about the chaotic making of The Method.  The premise is thinly disguised.  I was prepared to be irritated but after having had a look at the trailer it all looks rather fun.  Anyway, I am looking forward to seeing it and am sure that the press will come knocking once they realize that his film is based on our experience of creating what must be one of the worst films ever made.

It heartens me to think that out of strife and stress art can be made.  I am not at all worried by how I may/may not be portrayed.  I am merely flattered that the very enterprising director/writer moved a mountain to make a film based on our shared experience.  We know how difficult that can be, don’t we?

Time passes and tightly held resentments lose their steam.  Fruitless anger, the spirited defense of nothing worthwhile, all this ultimately becomes the secret joke we tell ourselves in later years.

There is June Gloom in LA which makes the light very English, all the colours in my house come alive when the sky is gray.  Apart from our gray British skies I miss just how damned rude we can be.  All these years of living in polite America!  I am looking forward to the bawdiness of my country men.  Rapier wit coupled with a good wank joke.

I love that we can both be extremely polite and totally vile within seconds.

The first book I ever bought with my own teenage money was the collected works of Hogarth.  Bawdy.