Sweary’s Jaw: 2010 Wishlist

Surreptitiously sniggering at Sharon Stone’s “I’m all natural, me” claims, so you don’t have to. It might have been a good New Year’s Resolution to stop caring about what celebrities get up to. If you could call it caring. Let’s face it, I haven’t exactly been gracious in my treatment of those richer and more physically enhanced than I am. I’ve been pretty snide. A bit vulgar. Not so inclined to treat celebrities as real people, even if they are a bit helter skelter, a bit removed from the cop on that a good, daily dose of drudgery would bring. You’d wonder why I bother, really. Am I so hollow that I can only elevate myself through dragging down safe targets, people unaware of my existence, and miles and miles away? Or are celebrities really that entertainingly daft? You know, I think it’s the latter.

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously rifling through Robert Pattinson’s wheelie bin, so you don’t have to. We all enjoy a bit of peace and quiet from time to time, don’t we? Nodding off in the armchair in front of Jonathan Woss, having a relaxing cuppa with half a Twix you found in the glove compartment, a gentle stroll along the seaside with a gambolling labrador by your side and Enya playing on your iPod. Or whale song. I can’t tell the difference. All of these are appropriate ways to indulge your inner hermit. But did you know that whenever you enjoy those stolen, golden moments, you’re honouring that unfortunate distance between your reality, and that of the rich and famous? This may not worry you; you may never want to be … er … smeared by the paps, or impregnated by Jude Law, or parodied by Katy Brand. But if you’re the kind of … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously reading Roman Polanski’s court transcripts, so you don’t have to. We’ve got quite a female-centic ragbag of raging oestrogen this week, fellow gossip hounds. Must have been a drought in the cocoa beanfields, or something - as a gurl, I’m no agricultural expert - but for whatever reason, female celebs have been over-shaking the Crazy onto their chips lately. Who exactly would dare disturb me so, you might ask; Lady Gaga? Peaches Geldof? Mary Hanafin? No, kids. In a much more sinister turn, usually-bland bunnies like Beyonce have just been spotted Dancing On The Broken Mirror - shall we investigate? Let’s! Ms. Knowles is under fire for nearly setting everyone backstage at Singapore’s F1 Rocks concert … well, on fire. The Pear-Shaped One reportedly hogged all of the air conditioning, causing nearby inconsequential mortals to pass out. Supa’sta’ DJ Seb Fontaine suffered heatstroke, and all! I know it wouldn’t … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously going through Eminem’s summonses, so you don’t have to. I have learned that there’s no point in being high-minded about a gossip column. Originally, I had planned to focus on the goings-on of our more worthy high-profile heroes, rather than on preposterous knobs like Jordan or Kerry Katona. But the problem with such a well-meaning mission statement is that … well, worthy stars don’t make absolute prats of themselves, do they? They don’t court Controversy, or indeed try to talk Scandal in for “a coffee” on the way home from the local disco. You won’t catch George Clooney dogging in the Tesco car park, or all four members of Interpol coked out of their oaks on the set of America’s Next Top Model. Basically, I’m warning you that while I shall endeavour to provide an environment free from Jordan and her ilk, I cannot always be sure that the … There’s more