After work I arrive at The Ivy Club for a quick drink with my pal and Agent - Freddie Tenenbaum. Unsure, at first as to where he is sitting - I hear him. Loud and clear. Following the noise, I'm guided to a sofa on the far side of the Piano Bar.
He’s on a call and STILL wearing his Ruck Sack on his back. Something must be up.
‘IT’S FORMAN,’ his loud monotone voice instructs the caller.
Sitting down opposite him, he acknowledges my arrival and impatiently continues his telephone conversation.
‘NO. NO. RIGHT. NOW. LISTEN TO ME,’ Freddie snaps. ‘It’s FOR-MAN. I’ll spell it for you . . .’
Freddie was in the middle of arranging for his client - Adventurer Lyons Forman (36yrs), to be air-lifted out of the South Pole and back to Blighty. The former Army hero had broken his collar bone abseiling down the side of an Iceberg for his series, Our Man In … The South Pole for Channel 25.
Having ordered a Peach Bellini and a large glass of Château Lynch-Bages for Me‘lado. I sit back - trying not to let Freddie’s anxiety rub off on me.
He begins to pronunciate each letter, slowly and firmly. ‘F - Yeah. I said F … O …R… M. No, it's ma … for Muppet.’ he says flicking his eyes in the air, ‘A - N. I said N.’
Taking another sip. I click on my mobile to see if anyone has sent me a text. They haven’t.
Freddie, true to form is on a roll. ‘FOR GOD’S SAKE. IS IT EASIER IF I EMAIL YOU MY CLIENTS INSURANCE DETAILS?‘ He listens. ‘RIGHT. I’M DOING IT NOW.’
He clicks off his mobile, signalling the end of the call. Tilting his head to the side, and at the same time pushing his bottom lip out, ‘Soooooooooo. Sorrrrry!’ he says. Not really meaning one word of it, he begins to type furiously onto his Blackberry.
Tuesday 27 October 2009
Monday 26 October 2009
Hogwarts School of Agents & Wizardry
Whilst enroute to The Ivy Club, I text my close friend and Agent to the stars - Teresa O’Riley. I do love dropping in on her at the offices on Piccadilly. It’s regularly Feng Shuied and she has those aromatherapy candles burning - adding calm to the air.
Teresa (40’s), is without question the industry’s most successful female agent. She nurtures talent, brings them through and is now reaping the rewards of years of hard graft, care, stratigising and belief that her clients WILL make it.
She looks after all the TV Greats. Her client list includes, thirty year old former model and now darling of Saturday night telly (on both sides of the pond), Caron Carter. Then there’s self-made Billionaire Donny Bartlett (59), who presents the successful business programme - Table Top Tycoons. His biography, Anyone Can Be As Rich As Me, has just reached No.1 in The Sunday Times bestsellers list.
In all her years of agenting, Teresa has never had a client leave her OR, tried to lure one away from a rival, with the promise of overnight success. Unlike Freddie T, who is well known for nicking clients right from under the nose of rival Agents. He regains his Karma Tokens by sending letters of apology and encourages his latest client to pop along to Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital.
T’s ability to negotiate big money deals on the telephone, whilst at the same time making detailed changes to another clients contract always amazes me.
Walking into the office, I plonk myself down on the long black sofa. Teresa is multi-tasking again, (whilst on a hands-free call with head-set) negotiating the contract for new client, up and coming Children’s TV Presenter Rafferty Doon (also, the son of legendary Irish Rock Star - The Doon).
Then … in an instant … Teresa stops what she is doing. Not believing what she’s just heard on the other end of the phone, she throws her pen onto the desk.
Swivelling back in her leather chair (an expensive one from Liberty’s), she launches like a Spitfire into attack mode, ‘I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO SMASH OPEN THE KIDS PIGGY BANK WITH A GREAT. BIG. BLOODY. HAMMER. MY CLIENT IS NOT DOING IT FOR THAT ….’
Without notice she disconnects the caller, taking off her head-set and without hesitation, she beams, ‘Hello doll. How are you today?’
I’m sure there is a secret Academy for Agents - a bit like Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I imagine it’s here they are taught negotiating skills and how to multi-task.
On Graduating, they’re presented with the Hogwarts - School of Agents & Wizardry Handbook, which lists every brilliant put-down and one-liner in alphabetical order (for quick reference when coming up against a tricky negotiating scenario). Naturally, the new recruits are also issued with a pair of those bloody hands-free headsets.
Teresa (40’s), is without question the industry’s most successful female agent. She nurtures talent, brings them through and is now reaping the rewards of years of hard graft, care, stratigising and belief that her clients WILL make it.
She looks after all the TV Greats. Her client list includes, thirty year old former model and now darling of Saturday night telly (on both sides of the pond), Caron Carter. Then there’s self-made Billionaire Donny Bartlett (59), who presents the successful business programme - Table Top Tycoons. His biography, Anyone Can Be As Rich As Me, has just reached No.1 in The Sunday Times bestsellers list.
In all her years of agenting, Teresa has never had a client leave her OR, tried to lure one away from a rival, with the promise of overnight success. Unlike Freddie T, who is well known for nicking clients right from under the nose of rival Agents. He regains his Karma Tokens by sending letters of apology and encourages his latest client to pop along to Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital.
T’s ability to negotiate big money deals on the telephone, whilst at the same time making detailed changes to another clients contract always amazes me.
Walking into the office, I plonk myself down on the long black sofa. Teresa is multi-tasking again, (whilst on a hands-free call with head-set) negotiating the contract for new client, up and coming Children’s TV Presenter Rafferty Doon (also, the son of legendary Irish Rock Star - The Doon).
Then … in an instant … Teresa stops what she is doing. Not believing what she’s just heard on the other end of the phone, she throws her pen onto the desk.
Swivelling back in her leather chair (an expensive one from Liberty’s), she launches like a Spitfire into attack mode, ‘I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO SMASH OPEN THE KIDS PIGGY BANK WITH A GREAT. BIG. BLOODY. HAMMER. MY CLIENT IS NOT DOING IT FOR THAT ….’
Without notice she disconnects the caller, taking off her head-set and without hesitation, she beams, ‘Hello doll. How are you today?’
I’m sure there is a secret Academy for Agents - a bit like Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I imagine it’s here they are taught negotiating skills and how to multi-task.
On Graduating, they’re presented with the Hogwarts - School of Agents & Wizardry Handbook, which lists every brilliant put-down and one-liner in alphabetical order (for quick reference when coming up against a tricky negotiating scenario). Naturally, the new recruits are also issued with a pair of those bloody hands-free headsets.
Sunday 25 October 2009
A Word From The Wise
I’m a creature of habit particularly on Sunday morning.
I like to get up about 9 am, tidy my flat, put a wash on and then watch the BBC’s Country File - while waiting for the machine cycle to finish. At midday, I pop next door to shoot the breeze with Adela.
Adela Rubenstein, (86 yrs) is sprightly for her age and doesn‘t miss a trick. She and her husband Baruch (sadly, now passed), escaped to London from Nazi occupied Poland in 1943.
Baruch, an Optician opened a shop. Over the years their business grew to a string of shops all over North London. Her hapless excuse for a son Jonny (somehow) now runs the empire - under her watchful eye.
Our Sunday ritual runs like clock work. After my ablutions, Adela puts her back-door on the latch and sets about preparing a cafetiere of fresh coffee and a plate of biscuits from Carmelli’s Bakery in Golders Green
Her kitchen is warm and comfortable. Family photos line the walls telling stories of years gone by, including photos from their life in Warsaw to arriving in Blighty. Mismatched crockery, pots and pans fill the draining board, as the aroma of coffee wafts through the Edwardian four-story house.
Each week, Adela passes on advice borne from life experience. She is like my own audio Self Help Book. Her words of wisdom range from ‘enjoy the nowness of life,' to ‘always wear make-up. No man is interested in a woman who doesn’t take care of herself,’ she would state in her thick Polish accent.
Peering over her rimmed spectacles, Adela gently puts down her china coffee cup and in a slightly baffled tone, once again asks the question, ‘Doris. I do not understand why you not have husband. You are thirty five now. You need to make this happen,’ she demands.
The truth is - I do meet chaps, they're just not funny (my ideal man is the actor Ben Stiller. Phwooar). If I’m not LAFFING within minutes of meeting him, then jog on. I’d rather stay at home watching Coronation Street or drinking a bottle of Cava with friends than be with a man for the sake of it.
Detecting my lack of interest, Adela gently wags her finger and continues, ‘When you meet a man who loves you, but you don’t love him. You marry him anyway. Love grows.’ she declares.
She told me she cried on her wedding night. She didn’t love Baruch at first. Her parents wanted her married because he'd take care of her. However, the unconditional love and kindness he showed her made her fall deeply in love with him. They were never apart, until he died from Cancer four years ago.
Our weekly coffee and chat left me mulling over those ex-boyfriends - the ones who were keen but I wasn‘t fussed about. Have I snuffed out my chance of true love by not allowing one of those relationships to grow? Probably. But I’m off for a run now on the Heath with my I-Pod. I’m listening to audio book Ghost by Robert Harris.
Love as always.
Doris. x
I like to get up about 9 am, tidy my flat, put a wash on and then watch the BBC’s Country File - while waiting for the machine cycle to finish. At midday, I pop next door to shoot the breeze with Adela.
Adela Rubenstein, (86 yrs) is sprightly for her age and doesn‘t miss a trick. She and her husband Baruch (sadly, now passed), escaped to London from Nazi occupied Poland in 1943.
Baruch, an Optician opened a shop. Over the years their business grew to a string of shops all over North London. Her hapless excuse for a son Jonny (somehow) now runs the empire - under her watchful eye.
Our Sunday ritual runs like clock work. After my ablutions, Adela puts her back-door on the latch and sets about preparing a cafetiere of fresh coffee and a plate of biscuits from Carmelli’s Bakery in Golders Green
Her kitchen is warm and comfortable. Family photos line the walls telling stories of years gone by, including photos from their life in Warsaw to arriving in Blighty. Mismatched crockery, pots and pans fill the draining board, as the aroma of coffee wafts through the Edwardian four-story house.
Each week, Adela passes on advice borne from life experience. She is like my own audio Self Help Book. Her words of wisdom range from ‘enjoy the nowness of life,' to ‘always wear make-up. No man is interested in a woman who doesn’t take care of herself,’ she would state in her thick Polish accent.
Peering over her rimmed spectacles, Adela gently puts down her china coffee cup and in a slightly baffled tone, once again asks the question, ‘Doris. I do not understand why you not have husband. You are thirty five now. You need to make this happen,’ she demands.
The truth is - I do meet chaps, they're just not funny (my ideal man is the actor Ben Stiller. Phwooar). If I’m not LAFFING within minutes of meeting him, then jog on. I’d rather stay at home watching Coronation Street or drinking a bottle of Cava with friends than be with a man for the sake of it.
Detecting my lack of interest, Adela gently wags her finger and continues, ‘When you meet a man who loves you, but you don’t love him. You marry him anyway. Love grows.’ she declares.
She told me she cried on her wedding night. She didn’t love Baruch at first. Her parents wanted her married because he'd take care of her. However, the unconditional love and kindness he showed her made her fall deeply in love with him. They were never apart, until he died from Cancer four years ago.
Our weekly coffee and chat left me mulling over those ex-boyfriends - the ones who were keen but I wasn‘t fussed about. Have I snuffed out my chance of true love by not allowing one of those relationships to grow? Probably. But I’m off for a run now on the Heath with my I-Pod. I’m listening to audio book Ghost by Robert Harris.
Love as always.
Doris. x
Friday 23 October 2009
Mirror Mirror On The Wall Whose The Most Feared Agent of Them All?
One of the many things I love about living in London is … my morning routine. I like to get up early, jump on the 134 Bus, hop off at Centre Point, grab a Starbucks on Charing Cross Road and then stroll to the office via Leicester Square …. well before the Tourists start clogging it up.
The perfect time to do this is about 8am, when the regulars (like me) pass through on their way to work. Then there are the delivery men dropping off stock, ticket scouts laying claim to their patch and Homeless people trying to catch up on much needed sleep, whilst taking shelter in Cinema doorways - before being rudely woken by the emerging hustle and bustle of City life.
I’m office based today. We’ve got television actor and comedian Micky Doherty coming in to brainstorm factual ideas with The Grunt, the development team and myself.
Doherty is riding high at the moment. He won a BAFTA recently for his Channel 28 sitcom Boys on Tour. He’ll be accompanied by his agent and my good pal … Freddie Tenenbaum.
Freddie (late 40’s) stands tall at 5’4 ¾ . He is one of the industries biggest characters. He's brutally honest and that often gets him into all kinds of trouble.
Everyone has an opinion on him. No one has a good word to say. People have either fallen victim to one of his famous and foul temper-tantrums or he’s shafted someone in a business deal.
Over the years I’ve heard all the derogatory names for Fred, particularly regarding what the F & T in his name really stands for. They range from Fast-Talking Freddie to Ferocious Fred to Freddie Temper Tantrum. Then there are the abbreviations that are too harsh to print but usually rhyme with Trucking and Twit.
In private Freddie's very funny and a decent sort of bloke. The funniest aspect of his character is him not being able to fathom out why he has such a horrid reputation - usually directly after eff'ing and jeff'ing down the phone, (via his portable head-set. Very LA!) negotiating a clients contract with a traumatised TV Producer.
I’ll hopefully get a commission out of this though. The Grunt wants results, as he keeps telling me. I've bought the book The Cosmic Ordering Service by Barbra Mohr. Well, it worked for Noel Edmonds.
Wishing you a good day and chat later.
Yours Doris. x
The perfect time to do this is about 8am, when the regulars (like me) pass through on their way to work. Then there are the delivery men dropping off stock, ticket scouts laying claim to their patch and Homeless people trying to catch up on much needed sleep, whilst taking shelter in Cinema doorways - before being rudely woken by the emerging hustle and bustle of City life.
I’m office based today. We’ve got television actor and comedian Micky Doherty coming in to brainstorm factual ideas with The Grunt, the development team and myself.
Doherty is riding high at the moment. He won a BAFTA recently for his Channel 28 sitcom Boys on Tour. He’ll be accompanied by his agent and my good pal … Freddie Tenenbaum.
Freddie (late 40’s) stands tall at 5’4 ¾ . He is one of the industries biggest characters. He's brutally honest and that often gets him into all kinds of trouble.
Everyone has an opinion on him. No one has a good word to say. People have either fallen victim to one of his famous and foul temper-tantrums or he’s shafted someone in a business deal.
Over the years I’ve heard all the derogatory names for Fred, particularly regarding what the F & T in his name really stands for. They range from Fast-Talking Freddie to Ferocious Fred to Freddie Temper Tantrum. Then there are the abbreviations that are too harsh to print but usually rhyme with Trucking and Twit.
In private Freddie's very funny and a decent sort of bloke. The funniest aspect of his character is him not being able to fathom out why he has such a horrid reputation - usually directly after eff'ing and jeff'ing down the phone, (via his portable head-set. Very LA!) negotiating a clients contract with a traumatised TV Producer.
I’ll hopefully get a commission out of this though. The Grunt wants results, as he keeps telling me. I've bought the book The Cosmic Ordering Service by Barbra Mohr. Well, it worked for Noel Edmonds.
Wishing you a good day and chat later.
Yours Doris. x
Tuesday 20 October 2009
The Fittest Man in Television
I’m just about to leave the office for a pitch meeting with Jack Brown, Head of Factual Programmes at Channel Twenty.
Jack Brown is forty two years old and newly SINGLE. He’s the only REAL man in the entire television industry (all the others are gay, married or complete rotters). I’ve been besotted with him ever since I was an assistant producer.
Original from Leeds – Jack drinks Pints and smokes far too many Benson and Hedges (he’s so Northern. I love it). Adding to his masculinity, he has the deepest, sexiest voice I’ve ever heard in my LIFE. If his TV career goes tits up he’d make a lucrative living from recording those dodgy 0898 numbers.
I have bored my friend’s senseless about our every encounter. I’ve asked their advice on the text and sub-text of his every email and voice message.
I would like to think Jack has no idea I fancy the pants off him. However, the brutal truth is … it’s so bloody, embarrassingly obvious. Whenever, I speak to him my voice goes up a few octaves and then I blurt out complete rubbish. One time in a meeting I asked if he had seen a particular programme, broadcast the previous night. I then ploughed into how shit it was, realising later he had commissioned it.
He thinks I’m hilarious of course. He throws his head back in laughter whenever I open my mouth. This isn’t good. I want him to think … I’m a self-assured, sexy minx who he has to ask out on a date before someone else snaps me up. But NO … my fear is, he sees me as Doris, the funny, slightly eccentric northerner.
I need to sex things up a bit. Will keep you posted.
Yours, Doris. x
Jack Brown is forty two years old and newly SINGLE. He’s the only REAL man in the entire television industry (all the others are gay, married or complete rotters). I’ve been besotted with him ever since I was an assistant producer.
Original from Leeds – Jack drinks Pints and smokes far too many Benson and Hedges (he’s so Northern. I love it). Adding to his masculinity, he has the deepest, sexiest voice I’ve ever heard in my LIFE. If his TV career goes tits up he’d make a lucrative living from recording those dodgy 0898 numbers.
I have bored my friend’s senseless about our every encounter. I’ve asked their advice on the text and sub-text of his every email and voice message.
I would like to think Jack has no idea I fancy the pants off him. However, the brutal truth is … it’s so bloody, embarrassingly obvious. Whenever, I speak to him my voice goes up a few octaves and then I blurt out complete rubbish. One time in a meeting I asked if he had seen a particular programme, broadcast the previous night. I then ploughed into how shit it was, realising later he had commissioned it.
He thinks I’m hilarious of course. He throws his head back in laughter whenever I open my mouth. This isn’t good. I want him to think … I’m a self-assured, sexy minx who he has to ask out on a date before someone else snaps me up. But NO … my fear is, he sees me as Doris, the funny, slightly eccentric northerner.
I need to sex things up a bit. Will keep you posted.
Yours, Doris. x
Monday 19 October 2009
Walkies
The one thing I dread about a meeting with David Common from Liberty Talent is having to dose up on anti-histamines beforehand. The moment I step into his palatial offices on Oxford Street I start sneezing and wheezing. Yes, I’m allergic to dogs and the place is over-run with them.
David LOVES dogs. He currently owns about thirty and the number is rising. From Staffordshire Bull Terriers, Cocker Spaniels, Beagles, Bassett Hounds to Schnauzers. They’ve either been rescued from Dogs homes or brought over from his holiday home in Barbados.
Apart from the allergy. I’m not a big fan of dogs. The only breed I like are Labradors and Golden Retrievers. I don’t see the point in the handbag sized types, recently sported by Cheryl Cole.
On entering David‘s office, I steady myself as the dogs run in between my legs.
‘Do you like Dogs,’ barked David jumping up from his old battered leather chair to greet me. Rather too enthusiastically I reply, ‘I LOVE them. The only thing I regret about living in a one-bed flat without a garden is that I can’t have a dog.’
Sarah Holden - a former Liberty Talent agent once told me how she was ’got rid off’ after a particularly unfortunate incident with four year old Bella, a Schnauzer David had rescued from Battersea Dogs Home.
One of Sarah’s male clients had recommended she try the Atkins diet. He had lost three stone in preparation for a film. Preparing her lunch in the office kitchen she peeled back the plastic from her M & S Turkey slices. Realising she’d left her pot of hummus on her desk she rushed upstairs. On her return Sarah had caught Bella chomping through the Turkey slices (with extra stuffing).
As Sarah shouted, ‘You f***king mangy mutt. I’ll kill you.’ David walked past the kitchen with one of his A - List clients in from LA - also a dog lover.
Although, HR didn’t mention the dog incident as the reason for terminating her contract. Sarah knew her card had been marked from that day on.
On hearing this story I knew I had to LOVE those dogs as much as David, if I was ever to develop a TV show for one of his A - List clients.
Plonking myself down on the giant, well-worn leather sofa in the dusty office. Olivia (PA) hands me a cup of tea. Taking a sip, I place the mug on the floor by my feet. We move straight on to business.
‘Doris. Tony Daniels has just had a film fall through, so he might be up for doing a factual project.’ David stated abruptly with that famous twinkle in his eye.
Tony Daniels is the HOTTEST thing to come out of Chester. The forty year old (newly SINGLE) action hero recently won an Oscar for his role in Spy Movie Gadget Man.
Not believing my ears, I lean forward to reiterate what I‘ve just heard. ‘TONY DANIELS wants to do a FACTUAL programme?‘
‘Yes Doris,’ David grins, ’Tony is a big diver. He wants to get up close and personal with Sharks.‘ Taking a gulp of his tea, he sits back in the battered looking chair and continues. ‘He’s flying in from LA next week. Can you meet him at The Ivy Club?’
‘I don’t know David. I might be busy that day!’ I beam. ‘OF COURSE I can meet him. Thank you.’
Whaaaaa … Hooooooo! This is too good to be true. Just wait until I tell The Grunt.
Desperate for a sip of tea, I lean forward to pick the mug up from the floor. Too late Coca has already beaten me to it.
‘COCA !’ David bellows. ‘You naughty doggie!’
David LOVES dogs. He currently owns about thirty and the number is rising. From Staffordshire Bull Terriers, Cocker Spaniels, Beagles, Bassett Hounds to Schnauzers. They’ve either been rescued from Dogs homes or brought over from his holiday home in Barbados.
Apart from the allergy. I’m not a big fan of dogs. The only breed I like are Labradors and Golden Retrievers. I don’t see the point in the handbag sized types, recently sported by Cheryl Cole.
On entering David‘s office, I steady myself as the dogs run in between my legs.
‘Do you like Dogs,’ barked David jumping up from his old battered leather chair to greet me. Rather too enthusiastically I reply, ‘I LOVE them. The only thing I regret about living in a one-bed flat without a garden is that I can’t have a dog.’
Sarah Holden - a former Liberty Talent agent once told me how she was ’got rid off’ after a particularly unfortunate incident with four year old Bella, a Schnauzer David had rescued from Battersea Dogs Home.
One of Sarah’s male clients had recommended she try the Atkins diet. He had lost three stone in preparation for a film. Preparing her lunch in the office kitchen she peeled back the plastic from her M & S Turkey slices. Realising she’d left her pot of hummus on her desk she rushed upstairs. On her return Sarah had caught Bella chomping through the Turkey slices (with extra stuffing).
As Sarah shouted, ‘You f***king mangy mutt. I’ll kill you.’ David walked past the kitchen with one of his A - List clients in from LA - also a dog lover.
Although, HR didn’t mention the dog incident as the reason for terminating her contract. Sarah knew her card had been marked from that day on.
On hearing this story I knew I had to LOVE those dogs as much as David, if I was ever to develop a TV show for one of his A - List clients.
Plonking myself down on the giant, well-worn leather sofa in the dusty office. Olivia (PA) hands me a cup of tea. Taking a sip, I place the mug on the floor by my feet. We move straight on to business.
‘Doris. Tony Daniels has just had a film fall through, so he might be up for doing a factual project.’ David stated abruptly with that famous twinkle in his eye.
Tony Daniels is the HOTTEST thing to come out of Chester. The forty year old (newly SINGLE) action hero recently won an Oscar for his role in Spy Movie Gadget Man.
Not believing my ears, I lean forward to reiterate what I‘ve just heard. ‘TONY DANIELS wants to do a FACTUAL programme?‘
‘Yes Doris,’ David grins, ’Tony is a big diver. He wants to get up close and personal with Sharks.‘ Taking a gulp of his tea, he sits back in the battered looking chair and continues. ‘He’s flying in from LA next week. Can you meet him at The Ivy Club?’
‘I don’t know David. I might be busy that day!’ I beam. ‘OF COURSE I can meet him. Thank you.’
Whaaaaa … Hooooooo! This is too good to be true. Just wait until I tell The Grunt.
Desperate for a sip of tea, I lean forward to pick the mug up from the floor. Too late Coca has already beaten me to it.
‘COCA !’ David bellows. ‘You naughty doggie!’
Sunday 18 October 2009
Rule Britannia !
Today is the 5th Birthday of Alexander - the grandson of my Mum’s partner Doug.
‘The Lovebirds’(Mum and Doug), as Linda and I call them (Doug’s daughter and mother to Xander), were visiting for the weekend family celebrations. They often visit from Cheshire. They’ve just come back from a three week road trip around the US. They have the Life of Riley.
Alexander - the Birthday boy is sparky, in the way a five year old can be. He tells it how it is. With that attribute he won’t go far wrong in life. He's been trained to growl at on coming Traffic Wardens. Genius.
I wouldn’t have necessarily thought of the Ice-Cream Parlour at Fortnum and Mason, (located on the first floor if you ever fancy it!) as a venue for a child’s birthday party. However, I do love Linda’s style. Quite fabulous. The ice-cream here cost ten times more than a Mr Whippy but PWOOOOAR - once you’ve experienced the delights, the bar is set high and there is no going back to a Ninety-Niner.
I adore Fortnum and Mason. From its wooden panelling to the clipped tones of the privately educated shop assistants. It’s the last old fashioned British department store in London. Staying true to its character and charm, it still oozes class, sophistication and money. They also know how to put on a decent window display. At the moment there’s a British Seaside theme - soon to be replaced by a Christmas one.
Off the back of London Fashion Week, there are trendy Rule Britannia product displays almost everywhere you look. Everything from Mugs to Bedding to Cushions. My Mum bought a mug, telling me, ‘You’ll have a decent cup of tea out of that.’
For some reason my Mum worries about me. Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest of four children AND the only girl. OR, it could be down to the contents of my Fridge. Presently, it’s home to one tomato, two eggs and a bottle of Champagne.
On waving Mum and Doug off at Euston. I took the short cut home through Highgate Woods. It’s Autumn in London.
Passing the Joggers with their I-Pods, hearing the chatter from Families pushing those trendy three wheeler prams and observing those sat on their own, drinking Starbucks - whilst having a bloody good think about life no doubt. I found myself in a reflective mood.
The day has reminded me of everything that is magnificent about our City. Our Families. Our Friends. Our sense of humour, our ability to unite when needs be. Our TV programmes (in particular Coronation Street and The X Factor), our Fish and Chips. Our Cream Teas. Our Eccentricities. Our Britishness.
Maybe this sudden rush of reflection and optimism has something to do with the New Moon or drinking one too many glasses of fizz at F & M. Whatever it is … Rock on Cool Britannia. Rock on!
‘The Lovebirds’(Mum and Doug), as Linda and I call them (Doug’s daughter and mother to Xander), were visiting for the weekend family celebrations. They often visit from Cheshire. They’ve just come back from a three week road trip around the US. They have the Life of Riley.
Alexander - the Birthday boy is sparky, in the way a five year old can be. He tells it how it is. With that attribute he won’t go far wrong in life. He's been trained to growl at on coming Traffic Wardens. Genius.
I wouldn’t have necessarily thought of the Ice-Cream Parlour at Fortnum and Mason, (located on the first floor if you ever fancy it!) as a venue for a child’s birthday party. However, I do love Linda’s style. Quite fabulous. The ice-cream here cost ten times more than a Mr Whippy but PWOOOOAR - once you’ve experienced the delights, the bar is set high and there is no going back to a Ninety-Niner.
I adore Fortnum and Mason. From its wooden panelling to the clipped tones of the privately educated shop assistants. It’s the last old fashioned British department store in London. Staying true to its character and charm, it still oozes class, sophistication and money. They also know how to put on a decent window display. At the moment there’s a British Seaside theme - soon to be replaced by a Christmas one.
Off the back of London Fashion Week, there are trendy Rule Britannia product displays almost everywhere you look. Everything from Mugs to Bedding to Cushions. My Mum bought a mug, telling me, ‘You’ll have a decent cup of tea out of that.’
For some reason my Mum worries about me. Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest of four children AND the only girl. OR, it could be down to the contents of my Fridge. Presently, it’s home to one tomato, two eggs and a bottle of Champagne.
On waving Mum and Doug off at Euston. I took the short cut home through Highgate Woods. It’s Autumn in London.
Passing the Joggers with their I-Pods, hearing the chatter from Families pushing those trendy three wheeler prams and observing those sat on their own, drinking Starbucks - whilst having a bloody good think about life no doubt. I found myself in a reflective mood.
The day has reminded me of everything that is magnificent about our City. Our Families. Our Friends. Our sense of humour, our ability to unite when needs be. Our TV programmes (in particular Coronation Street and The X Factor), our Fish and Chips. Our Cream Teas. Our Eccentricities. Our Britishness.
Maybe this sudden rush of reflection and optimism has something to do with the New Moon or drinking one too many glasses of fizz at F & M. Whatever it is … Rock on Cool Britannia. Rock on!
Just tuned into a music channel. I like to keep up with the latest tunes on a Sunday. FYI. I never download music. I much prefer to download Audio Books these days … maybe it’s an age thing.
Anyway, I particularly like the single Oopsy Daisy by a rapper called, wait for it …. CHIPMUNK !!!
Since when has a rapper called himself Chipmunk? The last I knew they were carrying guns, into gangs and using fowl language such as Mother F****r.
Off to a children’s birthday party at Fortnum and Mason’s Ice Cream Parlour now. Hope to be home in time for the X Factors result show.
Chat later. Doris x
Anyway, I particularly like the single Oopsy Daisy by a rapper called, wait for it …. CHIPMUNK !!!
Since when has a rapper called himself Chipmunk? The last I knew they were carrying guns, into gangs and using fowl language such as Mother F****r.
Off to a children’s birthday party at Fortnum and Mason’s Ice Cream Parlour now. Hope to be home in time for the X Factors result show.
Chat later. Doris x
Wednesday 14 October 2009
A Lesson Learnt
Fuckerty. Fuckerty. Fuck! This evening I was invited to the World premiere of Roald Dahl's Fantastic Mr Fox, held in Leicester Sq. However, I politely declined thinking it would be a load of rubbish. But have now heard on the Wireless that George Clooney, Meryl Streep and Owen Wilson are there. I'm so annoyed with myself.
Note to Doris. NEVER turn an invitation down, as you just never know who you might meet.
Note to Doris. NEVER turn an invitation down, as you just never know who you might meet.
Meeting Talent
Just had a coffee with Fielder Newton – the former camp king of daytime TV. In the late 90’s he was one of TV’s top earners. But as the work dried up and the weight piled on and a love affair ended, he took his final bow (or so we thought) from Showbiz (and Soho) and graciously retired to his holiday home in Marbella.
‘I’m BACK darling,’ he beamed over a Peppermint tea. ‘And I want YOU to develop a prime-time Saturday night show for me on ITV1.’
Oh Sweet Jesus. It always amazes me how celebrities have this sense of entitlement. Never really grasping they’ve been replaced with younger dogs with newer tricks.
‘Oh Fielder you are a one.’ I giggled as I attempted to fudge his request, steering the conversation around to FIVE.
‘The thing is …you should have your own chat show and FIVE is the place for that to happen.’ I stated, as if I’d just thought of the idea!
‘What’s the idea,’ he quipped, irritably, just as he’d rumbled that I had no intention in wasting time my time talking about getting him back on ITV1. Simply not going to happen
‘Word has it Woolfy is looking to re-invent someone fabulous with their very own chat show,’ I leaned forward, hoping not to be overheard by the other Exec’s lying in wait. ‘I wondered about you and your old pal Cecile doing the job.’
Former swinging sixties singer Cecile Gray was once the highest paid TV presenters on the box but she handed in her notice during a LIVE programme back in 2001.
Clearly, horrified, Fielder snapped, ‘I don’t co-host darling.’ Then … as if a light bulb had been switched on in his head, he followed with, ‘Unless it was with…’ he paused.
Taking the liberty to finish his sentence, I jumped in, ‘Cheryl Cole is not going to do FIVE anytime soon Fielder. However, think of the publicity you and Cecile would get. The viewers still love you and R & J are no longer competition.
Cheryl Cole! I ask you
On leaving the Ivy Club, I bumped into David Common, as he ungraciously climbed out of his chauffeur driven car. On spotting me trundling out from behind the highly polished glass doors onto West Street, he bellowed, ‘Darling, how are you?’
David Common is the agent to the serious A-List talent. He’s RICH. Clocking on in years now though, but still a fine figure of a man. He made millions from the sale of his agency Liberty Talent.
‘I’m fine Dave, how are you and the dogs?’ I enquired.
‘Darling, you must come into office to see them. Coca’s back from Barbados. Fix something up with Olivia.’he said.
Coca is a mongrel he rescued from a Caribbean dirt track on the island of his holiday home. Olivia is his bewildered personal assistant.
‘I’m BACK darling,’ he beamed over a Peppermint tea. ‘And I want YOU to develop a prime-time Saturday night show for me on ITV1.’
Oh Sweet Jesus. It always amazes me how celebrities have this sense of entitlement. Never really grasping they’ve been replaced with younger dogs with newer tricks.
‘Oh Fielder you are a one.’ I giggled as I attempted to fudge his request, steering the conversation around to FIVE.
‘The thing is …you should have your own chat show and FIVE is the place for that to happen.’ I stated, as if I’d just thought of the idea!
‘What’s the idea,’ he quipped, irritably, just as he’d rumbled that I had no intention in wasting time my time talking about getting him back on ITV1. Simply not going to happen
‘Word has it Woolfy is looking to re-invent someone fabulous with their very own chat show,’ I leaned forward, hoping not to be overheard by the other Exec’s lying in wait. ‘I wondered about you and your old pal Cecile doing the job.’
Former swinging sixties singer Cecile Gray was once the highest paid TV presenters on the box but she handed in her notice during a LIVE programme back in 2001.
Clearly, horrified, Fielder snapped, ‘I don’t co-host darling.’ Then … as if a light bulb had been switched on in his head, he followed with, ‘Unless it was with…’ he paused.
Taking the liberty to finish his sentence, I jumped in, ‘Cheryl Cole is not going to do FIVE anytime soon Fielder. However, think of the publicity you and Cecile would get. The viewers still love you and R & J are no longer competition.
Cheryl Cole! I ask you
On leaving the Ivy Club, I bumped into David Common, as he ungraciously climbed out of his chauffeur driven car. On spotting me trundling out from behind the highly polished glass doors onto West Street, he bellowed, ‘Darling, how are you?’
David Common is the agent to the serious A-List talent. He’s RICH. Clocking on in years now though, but still a fine figure of a man. He made millions from the sale of his agency Liberty Talent.
‘I’m fine Dave, how are you and the dogs?’ I enquired.
‘Darling, you must come into office to see them. Coca’s back from Barbados. Fix something up with Olivia.’he said.
Coca is a mongrel he rescued from a Caribbean dirt track on the island of his holiday home. Olivia is his bewildered personal assistant.
Monday 12 October 2009
Closing in on Cowell
.... I’m getting closer to entering Cowell's inner-sanctum. Last night I was invited by my very good friend (and jogging buddy), who happens to be a Top Personal Assistant to a Big Cheese in telly - to join her at the X Factors Results show filmed at Fountain Studios in Wembley.
The evening was HEAT heaven. Whilst in the queue to be seated, we got chatting to This Morning’s showbiz reporter Alice Hammond. Lovely girl. Whose face lit up when she realised my friends connections to GOD (Cowell). In her Brummie accent she asked what she needed to do to ‘get in there’.
Cowell looked fabulous. Sharp, slim, tanned, groomed and VERY RICH. It seems we’ve forgiven him for once owning a fine pair of man boobs and let’s not forget the trousers, worn up to his neck …. because now … the man in GOD. He knows it and so do we lesser mortals.
There was a real buzz as Robbie performed for the first time in years. Is it me or has he turned into Norman Wisdom?
Last year's winner Alexandra Burke also performed on the show. Very good she was too. Louis Walsh voted but was absent after the tragic death of Boyzone star Stephen Gately.
The audience was full of contestants Families and Corporate types. My friend - the Top Personal Assistant and I were seated behind the mum of Edward and John - the twins. I tell you something. I wouldn’t like to meet her down a dark alley. In fact, I don’t fancy GOD’s chances either particularly after his acidic comments about ‘her boys‘. And by the look on her face - something tells me she’ll make it a life mission to give him what for.
The Mini-Minx from ITV (who looked as if she’d borrowed Minnie Mouse’s shoes for the evening) flirted her way through the after show party crowd. At one point she purred over the GAY exec. She’s a one. No man is safe. Watch and learn Doris. Watch and learn.
There were a few minor celebrities there such the fella who plays Bo Selecta, the one with the hips from Girls Aloud and Emma Bunton - who looked as if she hasn‘t eaten since last Christmas. She’s probably been on the Atkins diet in which case I‘m glad we weren’t sat next to her. There was also a person from GMTV but can’t remember his name.
However, the highlight of the evening was meeting The Afro. Who is my favourite to win.
The evening was HEAT heaven. Whilst in the queue to be seated, we got chatting to This Morning’s showbiz reporter Alice Hammond. Lovely girl. Whose face lit up when she realised my friends connections to GOD (Cowell). In her Brummie accent she asked what she needed to do to ‘get in there’.
Cowell looked fabulous. Sharp, slim, tanned, groomed and VERY RICH. It seems we’ve forgiven him for once owning a fine pair of man boobs and let’s not forget the trousers, worn up to his neck …. because now … the man in GOD. He knows it and so do we lesser mortals.
There was a real buzz as Robbie performed for the first time in years. Is it me or has he turned into Norman Wisdom?
Last year's winner Alexandra Burke also performed on the show. Very good she was too. Louis Walsh voted but was absent after the tragic death of Boyzone star Stephen Gately.
The audience was full of contestants Families and Corporate types. My friend - the Top Personal Assistant and I were seated behind the mum of Edward and John - the twins. I tell you something. I wouldn’t like to meet her down a dark alley. In fact, I don’t fancy GOD’s chances either particularly after his acidic comments about ‘her boys‘. And by the look on her face - something tells me she’ll make it a life mission to give him what for.
The Mini-Minx from ITV (who looked as if she’d borrowed Minnie Mouse’s shoes for the evening) flirted her way through the after show party crowd. At one point she purred over the GAY exec. She’s a one. No man is safe. Watch and learn Doris. Watch and learn.
There were a few minor celebrities there such the fella who plays Bo Selecta, the one with the hips from Girls Aloud and Emma Bunton - who looked as if she hasn‘t eaten since last Christmas. She’s probably been on the Atkins diet in which case I‘m glad we weren’t sat next to her. There was also a person from GMTV but can’t remember his name.
However, the highlight of the evening was meeting The Afro. Who is my favourite to win.
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