The Sundance Kid

Turns out Colin was right, I could have packed the clothes I needed for the Sundance trip in a carry-on. Paul Reiser, Julia and I were the only people in our party who brought their biggest cases. But they were performing. I missed the email that said there would not be time to go snowboarding, so I needn’t have bought new (and expensive) ski pants and coat.

At least my case wasn’t overweight by two pounds like Paul’s and I was able to take the manuscript for his latest book, Familyhood, thus saving him $95 in excess baggage.

It pained me to have to pay $25 each way to check in a suitcase filled with outfit changes and six pairs of gloves in different shades that I didn’t use. Lesson learned.

I didn’t care that Paul could only get Julia into the first class airport lounge with him. Lori (Julia’s manager), Joan and I were happy in the Malibu bar drinking champagne and Bloody Marys with a surfboard as a table.

The gigs at the ASCAP Music Café on Main Street were a triumph. I loved being in the green room with the young rock bands who were also on the bill, so full of enthusiasm and excited about being on the road. Our favorites were The Manchester Orchestra, who became firm pals.

Paul was ready for a celebratory whisky after the last gig, but the young rockers had drunk the two liters ASCAP provided. Well, it was four o’clock in the afternoon. I went and found Paul some single malt and therefore proved myself invaluable on tour.

Julia and I were in an apartment with a fan that blew cold air - the Reisers, meanwhile, were slumming it in the Waldorf Astoria.

Thanks to Paul’s great celebrity, we were invited to many places and events where companies line up to give away their wares. I brought home hoodies with earphones sewn in, the headphones of Colin’s dreams, Ralph Lauren aftershave, a camera, drinking bottles, Moleskine notebooks, jewelry, a bracelet to be worn at all times to make me “balanced,” sweatshirts, ski hats and a pair of Shape-Ups. The vodka in my rucksack was confiscated at the airport, but my big case was able to hold the rest of my bounty.

We were determined to see at least one movie, and let Paul and Paula choose. It’s not as easy as you might think to see a movie at the Sundance Film Festival. The good ones are sold out well in advance and you need to get to the main office, a bus ride away, to collect your tickets. It’s incredibly well organized, though, with free and abundant buses and shuttles. Each shuttle stop has a volunteer on hand to point you in the right direction.

With great ceremony, Lori handed out our tickets, collected earlier by a nice lady from ASCAP. We had to be at the Egyptian Theatre at 9 p.m. sharp. We went for a farewell dinner before the movie, and it was there that Paul and Paula flaked, saying they were too tired. I had three words for them. Rock. And. Roll. But there was no budging them.

The rest of us raced to the cinema and were the last ones to take our seats in the packed theatre. I was sat behind the tallest couple in the world. The film was Cuban with sub-titles I had to crane my neck to see. It was a cheery tale set in 1993, where the impoverished, homeless, young protagonists deliberately get infected with AIDS so they can get a permanent bed in a hospital with regular food. There was some incest thrown in for good measure. The soundtrack was heavy metal. Death and misery and lots of suffering. Kind of the Buena Vista Anti-Social Club. It was called Ticket To Paradise and will probably win best foreign film.

The next morning at the airport, I gave Paul a hard time for a) choosing such a bleak film and b) not even sitting through it with us.

There’s talk of gigs in New York, San Francisco and possibly the UK in the late spring. I’ll be traveling light. And choosing the movie.

Driven to distraction

When we were kids and went out on a day trip, my brother, sister and I would pretend Dad was our carriage driver and command: “Home, James. And don’t spare the horses.”

So it was especially poignant that the limo taking Julia and myself to The Tonight Show was driven by a man called James. Despite my protestations, James insisted on calling each of us “Ma’am.” It’s just plain wrong that any human being should have to defer to another, but that didn’t stop me asking James to stop texting the studio every five minutes while driving in the fast lane.

He explained that everything is timed down to the last minute and he needed to keep base informed of our progress. We compromised and I did the texting for him.

It’s a big deal to be a guest on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. Every artist with new product to push vies for the music slot. Just Julia and Paul Reiser’s luck to have a record out the same week as Annie Lennox, Bruce Springsteen and Rod Stewart — but they all made the cut that week.

The band had already played through “Unsung Hero” (from Julia and Paul’s album “Unusual Suspects”) twice, then had to wait around several hours for the camera rehearsal. Julia had received her five-minute warning to be in her place. I could tell from the TV screen in our dressing room that the band were already on their marks, including Paul.

Julia’s singing teacher advises performers to keep detached from emotional stories on a gig day, so they can keep in the zone and ease those nerves. Just as Julia was putting on her boots, her manager, Lori, told us about the last episode of The Big C (on Showtime) where the character played by Laura Linney has terminal cancer. Her son found a garage full of gifts and letters for the rest of his life that she wouldn’t be able to give him because she’ll be dead.

I hope Paul, the band and The Tonight Show staff don’t think Julia was being a diva and kept them waiting on purpose, she was just trying to compose herself after sobbing like a baby at the sadness of the story.

It’s been a fantastic, roller-coaster week: The Tonight Show, then two triumphant gigs at The Catalina Jazz Club in Hollywood. When I wasn’t pulling Julia’s boots off after the shows, making her buckets of chamomile tea, flat ironing her hair and feeding her dog (and her neighbor’s dog), I was collecting Marley from school en route to the gig and dropping her off at Grandma’s.

Marley likes to play I Spy. This was the first time she ever beat me. I still can’t believe I didn’t get “sea” as I was driving her along Pacific Coast Highway. Once she had tired of that game we moved on to more philosophical questions. “Do you believe in God?” my favorite five-year-old asked. I side-stepped the issue and marveled at the weather.

My sisterly duties also included dropping off Marley’s friend, Charlotte, aged four. They were discussing, between fits of giggles, how boys like to kiss girls.

Marley: “…and some girls kiss other girls.”

Charlotte (howling with derisive laughter): “No they don’t! Girls can’t kiss other girls!”

Marley: “Yes they can. Girls can marry another girl if they want to.”

Charlotte: “No they can’t! Girls can only marry boys.”

Marley: “They can. Ask Claire. Claire? A girl can marry another girl if she wants to, can’t she?”

Claire: “I spy with my little eye something beginning with S.”

Marley: “Sky.”

Claire: “Correct.”

S#*! my mum says

If Oscar Wilde was right and all women become like their mothers, you can forgive me for feeling a little anxious after Mum and Dad’s trip to LA.

Not that they are losing their marbles, far from it, but they have been known to tell the same story several times a day. And the fact they must have the TV on maximum volume (and it’s still not loud enough for them) has done permanent damage to my own ears.

Fearing this might be their last trip, we wanted it to be a memorable one. Julia used her air miles to fly them over Upper Class. Trouble is, having sat in the lap of luxury, they have vowed never to fly any other way.

There are advantages to living in a one bedroom apartment. Mum didn’t want to be at Julia’s in Topanga (she now calls it Satan’s Hills, because the first day we all went there on this trip, it was baking hot and the winding roads made her car-sick), so they stayed in an apartment in Santa Monica. A few years back, before she vowed never to stay in Satan’s Hills again, Mum and Dad stayed with Julia, and have only just got over the shock of coming face to face with a rat, one of the perils of country living.

I had hoped I had met all Mum’s cleanliness needs by having a pair of rubber gloves and a proper dishcloth available, having made the mistake in the past of just supplying a selection of scrubbing sponges for her to choose from. Mum measures success by how clean and tidy someone's home is.

I got it wrong this time as well. Mum needs three dishcloths: one for the kitchen and one for each toilet which she wipes down every day with disinfectant… “That’s why your father and I don’t get diseases.”

Colin and I only moved into our brand spanking new apartment two days before my parents arrived. Every box was unpacked and everything put in its proper place. I knew this would make Mum happy and proud.

During the time we were technically homeless, we loaned our furniture to some friends. Some fleas from their cat had migrated onto the bed and sofa and proceeded to bite me to buggery. Various homemade and natural remedies are being tried to eradicate the problem before we nuke the bastards with the hard stuff.

After days of scratching until I bled and fearing I might lose my mind, I finally found relief with a daily dose of antihistamine. The fact that my mother is aware of the flea situation is an even greater source of irritation. At least I’m no longer homeless.

Mum and Dad’s trip has actually been triumphant on many levels. The main highlight was Julia and Paul Reiser performing the first single, “Unsung Hero,” from their new album, to rapturous applause at a $1000-a-plate charity event in Laguna for wounded warriors. And they got to stay at the swanky Ritz Carlton in Laguna Beach (see picture above).

Watching Mum dance with her youngest grandchild brought a tear to my eye and taking Marley to kindergarten was truly memorable. I have never heard Mum laugh so hard as when Marley and I went through the steps she (Marley) had learned at Princess Ballet. Mum said it was even funnier than the Dawn French ballet sketch with Darcy Bussell. I was not trying to be funny.

My pork chop and apple sauce dinner was another highlight in three weeks of unusually disastrous meals from me. The spicy sausages were a genuine mistake, hot on the heels (if you’ll pardon the pun) of the cottage pie made with tinned tomatoes that I didn’t realize were laced with chilies (honest). “Your father and I don’t like spicy food.”

Ironically, Mum found the “guatemala” Julia made too bland. She meant guacamole. But my all-time favorite miscommunication has been Mum thinking that I said I “make a cake” every day when I actually said I “meditate” every day.

It would not be fair to give the impression that my mother is less than stellar in many ways. This is a woman in her 70s who doesn’t dye her hair, has had no Botox or facelift (she’s never even had a facial), who, if there were only four pieces of cake for her family of five, would say she’s watching her weight and will pass on the cake, even if it’s her favorite.

Her most-uttered phrase is: “Everything in moderation.” I recall her once thoroughly enjoying a raw carrot. When I offered to get her another one she said: “No thank you. I don’t want to get addicted.”

Deeply suspicious of all medication, Mum rarely takes even an aspirin. Because the midwife had the day off when Mum went into labor with Julia, Dad delivered her at home. On his own. My brother and I slept soundly in our rooms throughout as Mum didn’t make a sound.

This stoicism has come in handy for me in particular. Mum had such terrible morning sickness when she was expecting me that her doctor prescribed a new wonder drug, Thalidomide. She wouldn’t take it. She did take a course of antibiotics once when she had severe bronchitis and is currently receiving Vitamin B12 shots for pernicious anemia.

I walked back into our apartment last night, having dropped my folks at the airport and told Colin how annoying it is that Mum and Dad have started to repeat themselves. “If they’ve told me once how disappointed they are about the marine layer at the beach, they’ve told me a hundred times,” I said. Colin replied without looking up from his computer: “Yeah, you told me… about a hundred times.”

This is the Oscar Wilde quote (from The Importance of Being Ernest) in full: All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.

Home sweet home

For the first time in 10 months, I see light at the end of the tunnel – and not a freight train slamming toward us – as Colin and I prepare to move into our new home. (http://www.thetidesandwatersedge.com/)

I shall spare you the tedious, exhausting details of trying to find the right place that included one apartment in Woodland Hills so close to the 101 we could almost touch it from the bedroom window, or being pipped at the post to the perfect place in Topanga.

At first I thought it was my fault we lost the Topanga place by admitting to the landlord we were both freelance writers. Until I learned it had gone to a drummer and a belly dancer.

We found an even better home, at the beach, where we belong. Well almost at the beach – Marina del Rey, one street away from where we were before. Thanks to Colin working his fingers to the bone writing about cars, we are back in the black, as it were, and finally able to afford our own place again.

As I said to Colin this week, if we can make it through these last 10 months of no fixed abode, our marriage can survive anything. I thanked him for his creative endeavors that are putting a new roof over our heads and food in our bellies, and promised to get a proper job if one of my creative projects doesn’t come to fruition soon. “Any idea when that might be?” he asked.

The trouble with relationships is that the one who earns the most money tends to have the upper hand. But I think the balance of power just tipped back in my favor with this chocolate cake. Colin’s digestive system doesn’t do well with gluten, so I took Marley’s birthday cake recipe and used rice flour instead of wheat. I didn’t have any buttermilk, so used what I had in the fridge – two percent – and it was absolutely delicious, though I say it myself.

Life is about to get even crazier than usual: we’re moving this week, Mum and Dad arrive for three weeks at the end of the month, Julia has a CD coming out and Marley starts kindergarten. Now where did I pack my Bach Flower Rescue Remedy?

Chocolate Cake

Trader Joe’s claims on the front of its cocoa powder that this is the greatest and easiest chocolate cake recipe. I think Joe may be right.

Ingredients

3 & 1/3 cups flour

1 & 1/3 cup cocoa

3 cups sugar

1 tbs baking powder

1 tsp salt

12 ozs softened butter or margarine

3 cups buttermilk

1 tsp vanilla

5 eggs

Recipe

1. Pre-heat oven to 350
2. Grease and flour or line with parchment paper 2 x 9’’ round baking pans or line cup cake cups with paper liners.
3. Place all the ingredients in a large bowl and beat on high speed for 3 minutes, scraping down the sides of the bowl once.
4. Pour into prepared pans or cupcake cups
5. Bake cakes for about 55 mins or until a toothpick comes out clean or bake cupcakes for 20-25 minutes. Make sure you halve the mixture evenly or it will overflow the pans.
6. Sandwich cakes together with your favorite butter cream frosting. Here’s mine:

Vanilla Cream Frosting

Ingredients

3 cups confectioner’s sugar (icing sugar in the UK)

1 cup softened butter (salted)

1 tsp vanilla extract

1-2 tbs cream or milk

Recipe

1. Whisk together sugar and butter on a low speed till well blended then increase to medium and beat for another 3 minutes.
2. Add vanilla and cream/milk and continue to beat on medium speed for 1 minute, adding more cream/milk if needed for spreading consistency.

The spirit is willing, the Fleshie's weak

Julia, along with 3,339 other foreigners, became a U.S. citizen during a swearing-in ceremony at the Los Angeles Convention Center as I and thousands of other family and friends waved our flags and cheered. Not only did she pledge allegiance to the American flag, but she promised to take up arms if required. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Is it against the law to impersonate an American citizen? My intentions were entirely honorable, your honor. I pretended to be Julia to save her the trouble of being on hold to Virgin Atlantic for seven hours, trying to get our parents upgraded using her air miles.

To confirm that I was indeed one Julia Fordham, the charming and most helpful Virgin representative asked for my date of birth, to which I answered in all honesty: March 10. Which was a shame, because that’s not Julia’s birthday. The Virgin rep said: “That’s not what it says here.” I managed to convince him that I had temporarily forgotten my own birthday and that it is, in fact, August 10.

Then as I confirmed my parents’ names and mine/hers, he wondered – beside himself with glee – if I might be the actual Julia Fordham of singer-songwriter fame and of whom he is the biggest fan with all of her/my records, which he proceeded to list, and wondered if I might sing a few lines from “Girlfriend”?

I thanked him for his kindness, even though there still weren’t any Upper Class upgrade seats available for Mum and Dad’s flight to L.A. and couldn’t get off the phone quick enough. I had broken into a cold sweat and was babbling so much incoherent crap and felt so sick with nerves having almost blown my cover that I wanted to puke blood.

Julia can call Virgin herself next time. But not today, as it’s her birthday. August 10. We’re celebrating quietly this year with afternoon tea – just we sisters, Marley and Marley’s friend, Lily. This birthday morning, Julia is going to hear the first playback of her newly mastered CD, co-written with Paul Reiser. This will be her 11th. She started recording her first album on her 25th birthday and here she is, quite a few years on, still in the music business, and still writing and singing great songs that people want to hear. I am so pleased and so very proud. Happy Birthday, Fleshie! (Our latest and possibly most favorite pet name for each other, as in “flesh and blood”).

They wrote the songs...

I hate to name-drop, but pull up a chair: Neil Sedaka, Stephen Bishop, Paul Reiser, Tony Orlando, Julia Fordham. And here are some names you’ve probably never heard of: Charles Fox, Dean Pitchford, Mac Davis and L. Russell Brown, yet they’ve written some of the biggest hit songs and theme tunes ever, like Killing Me Softly, Fame, Footloose, Tie A Yellow Ribbon, In The Ghetto.

They were all on the same bill at LA’s Wadsworth Theater last night for The Songs Of Our Lives, songs performed by the people who wrote them, in aid of www.fulfillment.org, a most worthy charity that helps young people realize their dream of a college education.

I am still on a high from the sheer brilliance of the evening. Tony Orlando, the only non-composer on the bill, paid homage to all songwriters who have touched our hearts and kept him in business for 50 years, especially L. Russell Brown who co-wrote most of his hits.

You might be wondering why actor/comedian Paul Reiser is mentioned in this esteemed songwriting company. Not a lot of people know this, but Paul actually majored in music and has co-written an album of great songs with my brilliant sister, Julia Fordham. The album is currently being mixed, as we say in the biz, and will be available in stores and for download on a website near you in the fall. Paul also hosted the evening and, as if it were possible, is even higher in my estimation for having made a, shall we say, mostly “mature” audience laugh heartily at his hilarious monologue that included the word “cocksucker.”

Here’s a trailer for NBC’s The Paul Reiser Show that will be broadcast early next year. Top telly.

Art and artifice

Top of my wish list for physical improvement is a smaller (much smaller), pert bottom. But this is closely followed by decent eyebrows. I hate mine. They are too thin and one of them isn’t nearly long enough.

I was in Beverly Hills for a screening of The Making Of Plus One… the mockumentary inspired by my book and in which I have a cameo role. Fearing that filmgoers might judge my pathetic brows, and as I was in the hood, I visited the premises of one Anastasia. Not only is she the world’s most expensive eyebrow plucker, Anastasia sells a range of products to give us eyebrows to be proud of.

An assistant offered to demonstrate their most popular products. The screening was in an hour and I was thrilled at the chance to look like a film star. She found a template of the perfect brow for me after measuring angles and doing various calculations. I loved it that she was taking my plight so seriously.

Twenty minutes and $122 later, I left the store with Anastasia’s Essential Brow Kit and the thickest eyebrows since Joan Crawford. I had been feeling very guilty about the expense of the ’brow kit because Colin and I have been on a “is it a want or a need?” regimen, as recommended by financial guru Suze Orman.

My mood was cheered by attending the star-studded BAFTA/LA Britannia awards with filmmaker Mary McGuckian as her plus one. The highlight for me was Kirk Douglas singing ‘Maybe It’s Because I’m a Londoner’ after he was presented with an award by Arnold Schwarzenegger for his contribution to film entertainment. Also honored were Robert De Niro, Colin Firth, Emily Blunt and Danny Boyle. Stephen Fry did a great job hosting and Ben Stiller gave a funny speech presenting Robert de Niro’s award. I suspect Colin Firth regrets asking Minnie Driver to present his.

The best night of the week for me was watching DV8 Physical Theatre’s astonishing performance at Royce Hall with some dear old friends. Back in the day, Julia shared a council flat in Camden with Angie Giles (another great singer/songwriter) and Lloyd Newson. Lloyd was a dancer who went on to achieve international acclaim as DV8’s artistic director and choreographer. Lloyd and Angie had been introduced by Angie’s brother, designer Steven Giles. Check out Steven’s store, www.baseworld.com.

Angie and Steven are pictured above at the DV8 show with Julia, who had to borrow my glasses to read the program.

I remember visiting their London flat and first glimpsed the artistic life. I knew then that the four of them were extraordinary people leading extraordinary lives and how honored I felt to even be in the same room as them.

Steven and Angie flew in from Miami for the show and we have had an incredible reunion, catching up and reminiscing. I won the prize for “most creative irons in fires.” Who spotted the unintentional gay pun? I tried ‘fingers in pies’ but that sounded worse.

Yes, we Cannes!

I am writing this on my new laptop, a Toshiba, that my Man Child bought me for my birthday. I think I might have had more children if I’d realized they could one day provide so generously for me.

It has been a rollercoaster few weeks. Colin and I house- and dog-sat for some friends whose fabulous place is right under the Hollywood sign off Beachwood. Our charge, Delilah, had a bladder infection that involved the need for a doggy diaper. I was sorely tempted to take a photo and show you how funny she looked, but decided against it in case Delilah’s owners sued me or, worse, didn’t ask us to stay there again for ridiculing their beloved bulldog/pit bull. Yes, that’s right, half pit bull – the great white of the canine family.

Many dog lovers think the pit bull has a bad press (certainly Delilah is a sweetheart who never barks), but not a friend who turned up for dinner with her toddler, took one look at Delilah and called a babysitter to come and get the kid.

The next weekend, Colin was invited to the launch of the new Audi Q5. He looked at me over the top of his own laptop (a Mac) and wondered if I might like to go as his plus one. I politely declined until I learned the launch was an all-expenses-paid weekend at The Biltmore in Santa Barbara. I have dreamed of staying there.

It was everything I hoped and more. Margaritas (fancy ones with Cointreau) by the pool, amazing food, endless champagne, a cruise, tennis on the astroturf court, croquet, a suite, matching bathrobes, a mountain bike ride along the coast and staff – lots of staff. This is where I belong, I thought.

Having tasted and enjoyed living in the lap of luxury, you can understand how excited I am that ‘The Making Of Plus One…’ is being launched at the Cannes Film Festival on May 17. It was screened for the selection committee yesterday but canny director Mary McGuckian has hired a cinema to launch it there with a big fanfare whether it gets into the competition or not. With some 3,000 films competing for 16 slots, the chances are slim.

And I got paid the movie money I’ve been waiting for and assured was coming for almost a year. There was much rejoicing in our small but perfectly formed apartment when the money was wired into our account. This was an important moment both psychologically and practically.

I have booked my flights and will be staying in a lovely little hotel my friend Sheran found (and has sworn me to secrecy as to its location). She and another great friend, Diane, are also flying to Cannes to share this amazing trip with me. Julia will miss it because she has gigs in Japan, but she wrote a song for the movie and she’s in it for about five minutes.

Here’s a link to a trailer for the film. The distributor, New Films International, has retained the services of a top PR firm, DDA, to promote it. ‘The Making Of Plus One…’ sets things up nicely for the movie actually based on the book. I shall be armed with copies of the book and my adapted script, and will be in Cannes networking shamelessly to sell said wares.

Whatever happens, this has been a wonderful adventure and Mary McGuckian has pulled off a series of miracles to get our little movie funded, finished and set for its big launch.

Why can’t they clone Clooney?

For the first time in seven years, my hairdresser didn’t ask me to remind him which side I part my hair. Then I went The Omelet Parlor for lunch where I’ve been ordering two poached eggs on a toasted English muffin for almost ten years and was finally greeted as a favorite and regular customer.

I was so excited at the possibility that I might actually matter that I stepped outside my comfort zone and ordered the chicken tacos. And very nice they were too.

The next day it was off to the ER set on the Warner Brothers lot in Burbank where Eriq La Salle and Noah Wyle (Doctors Benton and Carter) were filming their scenes in this the final series of my all-time favorite TV drama.

John Wells, the Executive Producer of the show wrote and directed this episode. I was sat right behind him with his wife - my great friend, Marilyn. I had my own director’s chair and set of headphones.

For one glorious moment I thought I was going the week before, when Gorgeous George was filming his guest appearance on the show that made him famous, but it was a closed set for the obvious reason that women like me might try and touch him. The fact remains: I am one degree of separation from George Clooney and not a lot of people can say that.

The final edit of The Making Of Plus One is in post production in Toronto. The plan is to get our little movie into the Cannes Film Festival in May. Even if it isn’t accepted into the festival (as if!), Mary McGuckian has booked a theatre in Cannes so it WILL be premiered there. Incidentally, the full title of the movie about trying to get my book made into a film is The Making Of Plus One Starring Kate Winslet, Cate Blanchett and George Clooney.

The Making Of Plus One… sets things up nicely for a film actually based on my book. Wouldn’t it be amazing if art imitates life and Kate, Cate and George star in it? My hope is that there’s a big enough buzz about The Making Of Plus One… that a big studio will come knocking and want to option my book then commission a script based on it. I’ll whip out my screenplay and say: “Here’s one I prepared earlier!” and laugh all the way to the bank.

The Cannes Film Festival is very conveniently around the same time as our Dad’s 80^th birthday so Julia, Marley and I have already booked our flights to London. Julia may not make it to Cannes as she’s been invited to sing at The Blue Note in Japan for real money. Julia asked me to go with her to Japan from England to help with Marley while she sings two shows a night for five nights. Sorry, Sis, I’m going to Cannes! My daughter is first reserve to go to Japan instead of me.

Just when you think life can’t get any better, I returned home from the ER set to learn the joyous news that some outstanding invoices that Colin and I had abandoned all hope would be paid, have been paid.

Custom built

There was no sign of the recession at Galpin Auto Sports in Van Nuys, California when some 2,000 guests partied the night away at a star-studded bash that cost a whopping $3 million, according to a man sat at our table. Most of the event was sponsored and several local charities benefited.

Galpin – the most successful Ford dealership in the world - was launching its vehicle customization facility. Husband Colin was there covering the event for an auto website. I was there as his plus one.

Fuelled by Absolut vodka, with food by Wolfgang Puck, I danced (I use the word loosely) to Xzibit and the excellent Camp Freddy, with Dave Navarro on guitar, acting as house band for special guests Macy Gray, Mark McGrath, Steve Jones, Slash, Cypress Hill and the Prince of Darkness himself, Ozzy Osbourne.

Sporting a new facelift, Ozzy sent the crowd wild. He wasn’t the best singer of the night by a long shot. That was Mark McGrath. No spring chicken himself, but looking and sounding great, Mark acknowledged Botox for helping to keep him in the game. In his case, it’s not Botox, but talent.

My feeling is that a nip and tuck is preferable over Botox. There’s something just plain wrong about putting that poison in your face. Trouble is, once some people start on Botox’s slippery slope, they can end up with the frozen features of Michelle Tuzee, who reads the news for ABC, Desperate Housewife Marcia Cross and NBC’s Andrea Mitchell.

Of course, a face can be lifted too many times, see Michael Jackson and Joan Rivers, but I’m saving up for a one-off mini face lift where the jowls are lifted just a fraction (Moira knows someone who had it done for $4,000 in her lunch hour and looks great) and liposuction.

When one is on camera, one has a responsibility to look one’s best. Yes, dear reader, the plane tickets have arrived. It’s really happening. Julia and I are off to France next weekend to play ourselves in “The Making of Plus One,” a Pembridge Pictures film in association with Invited Guest Productions and Scion Films.

Julia has just returned from a triumphant mini-tour of the East Coast where she received a standing ovation halfway through the set after she sang one of her classics, Towerblock. The last in this run of gigs is Wednesday (October 22) in LA at the Catalina Jazz Club. The next day, she’ll be recording a sketch for Tracey Ullman’s “State of the Union” which will leave her 24 hours to wash her undies before we fly to France for the movie, then England to see Mum, Dad and my daughter.

I’ll be away for three weeks and won’t be taking my laptop with me, but when I get back I’ll fill you in on all the juicy details. A big “thank you” to Allison from Glagow for sending me these two clips of Julia and me when we were guests on Tracey Ullman’s “Visible Panty Line” in 2002.

Never give up

It was like old times for Julia and me. Here we were, at a 40^th birthday bash for Matt Goss. I can’t remember the last time we went on a girls’ night out. The party was amazing. A hip and happening disco (I realize the fact that I just wrote the words disco, hip and happening means I’m not), great food - British fodder like fish and chips, bangers and mash, and mushy peas - endless champagne and a sensational cake surrounded by Cadbury’s Flakes. A truly top night. Just 100 of Matt’s closest friends.

Being 40 isn’t so bad when you have a gorgeous fiancée who adores you, a great house, a new album coming out, drive a Maserati and only look 25. Matt’s mum was there, but not his identical twin, Luke (who was celebrating their big four-oh quietly in Palm Springs). It’s wonderful that the Goss brothers are still in the game after more than 20 years.

Julia’s busy preparing for her next tour to promote her jazz album, China Blue. Click onto www.juliafordham.com for details. And we’re looking set to go to France on October 24^th for The Making Of Plus One movie. I have a meeting with Mary McGuckian this week to hear the latest, so, all in all, I musn’t grumble. Fingers crossed the current financial woes aren’t affecting our movie. She’s invited all the cast to the Chateau Marmont for lunch this weekend. I doubt she’d do that if she had bad news.

When will I be famous?

I was thrilled that Brian Cranston won the Emmy for best actor in a drama series. Especially as I said I was rooting for him when we met at a party the day before the ceremony. It was plain wrong that he always missed out on ‘best actor in a comedy’ for
Malcolm In The Middle, where he played the dad so brilliantly. His victory was a jewel in an ocean of shit. The ceremony’s opening 12 minutes with the five reality show hosts was possibly the worst television ever seen.

At the same party, I saw my old chum, Matt Goss, who invited Julia and me to his 40th birthday bash. Funnily enough, I recently bumped into Matt’s identical twin, Luke, at LAX when we were dropping Mum and Dad off. I made the mistake of calling him Matt, but he still gave us his email address and said let’s do dinner. By most accounts, Luke was the best thing about Hellboy II. And I saw him in a Cadillac TV ad recently.

I remember interviewing them both for Sky News back in the day, in a helicopter flying them to a Radio One roadshow on Weymouth beach. There have been rumblings in the press about a reunion of the great Bros, the first and, in my opinion, best boy band.
I think my first-ever ‘plus one’ event was going with Julia to their after-show party following a Wembley Arena gig. Or was it Wembley Stadium? Anyhoo, it was at a fab house in Queen’s Gate and my first taste of the high life.

I asked Matt what I should wear to the party. “Something sexy,” he answered. I explained that I don’t do sexy, so we decided I could sit in the corner with his mum. Matt’s fiancée, Daisy Fuentes, is hosting the party. Now she is sexy.

Julia is on a roll right now. This morning she was booked to appear with Vonda Shepherd in a sketch for Tracey Ullman’s State of the Union. And The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson want her to appear in November, date to be confirmed. That’ll be after we fly back from France where we will be playing ourselves in The Making Of Plus One movie.

Tracey has also asked my pal, former top model Debbie Brett, to be in a sketch. I made a bit of a twit of myself when I played Tracey at tennis last week. “How come you’ve asked everyone I know to be in your show except for me?” I said. “Because,” she replied, “you can’t sing. And you’re not five-ten and thin.” Fair point, well made.