Back in civilisation, back in London, thank God. I went on a bender to celebrate my mom’s departure to the US. Ben took me to this weird place where we ended up with a bunch of young trendies that included the insufferable Peaches Geldof. God knows what it is that this girl does to fill her empty days.
She tottered about the place like a walrus on stilts telling anybody who’d listen about some new TV show. I presumed it involved following her through rehab, but, unbelievably, she appeared to be presenting something. This surely required her to read an autocue so I have absolutely no idea how she gets by. But she was staggering about this place telling anybody who’d listen that she was “like… into… like… poetry and... like… stuff.” I told Ben that she was too much for even someone like me and we left and headed to the Groucho where we would be more among our own sort. Having lived in LA for several years, it’s interesting to try to work out who are thicker – the “it” girls of London or LA?
It’s a close one. Paris and her acolytes are as dumb as dead chickens but the difference is that they never pretend to be anything else. The Brit versions – led by Peaches – seem to think they have something to say, some inner knowledge gleaned from getting trashed and spending Daddy’s money. This makes them way worse in my eyes. Say what you want about George W but he knew he had his limits and delegated well to smart people like Rummy. Cooper Out.
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