And.... diva power!

Power is... knowing they can't start without you...

I have been working in the media on and off for over ten years now (spending my "off" periods discovering the delights of bar work, travel and social services) so I've come across my fair share of divas. As a rule, the bigger the star, the nicer they are – it's only the starlet whose first film has gone to her head who is ever any trouble. (And extras, because they are nearly always a little bit mental.)

However, I have now twice been an assistant for a middle-aged woman who appears on a popular TV show, and I can honestly say she is the most bizarre "personality" I have come across. And because I am not going to mention any names, I shall feel free to vent here:  

The first time I was assigned the job of "looking after" the lady in question (let's call her "Mrs Nutsy) the whole crew laughed and regaled me with stories of her last assistant, who had been fired and never seen again. After surviving our first week together, I reflected that, while she had her difficult moments, she was alright really, and I felt quite proud that I had conquered the beast. However, because of "how well" we'd got along last year, this summer I was assigned her case again. (In case you're wondering, we were working for an annual event – no names!) My job basically involved keeping an eye on her, getting her food, and making sure she was in front of the camera at the appropriate time. 

The fun started on the first day when she was half an hour late (in TV, that is a lifetime....) and made the whole green room come to a standstill while trying to decide what to wear. She ranted “SOMEBODY must have some tights!” (Why? You don't!)  then complained that the bosses didn't give her enough work. I wonder why?

Dogged by insecurities, she would ask me asinine questions; “Do I look all old and wrinkled?” Er, yes, actually, you do. And you have NO STYLE! (Working for Mrs Nutsy, I realised that you don't have to be a diva of Mariah proportions to be surrounded with yes men. She got constant compliments on some of her most hideous choices of clothing. I’m sure everybody wasn’t blind.)

When somebody had a birthday, there were cupcakes for everyone. We had the following exchange: 

Mrs Nutsy: "Have one of these cakes!” 

Me: “Ooh, I’m full already thanks. I had jelly and cream for my pudding.”

Mrs Nutsy: "Where’s MY pudding?"

Me: "Oh, sorry, I didn't think you wanted any. I'll get you some." *Goes and asks for jelly and cream at the canteen, which had long closed.*

Upon my return –

Mrs Nutsy: "Oh, I can't have cream."

Me: *Mind boggles* 

Mrs Nutsy: "I thought you said ice cream!"

Me: *Boggles some more* (Isn't it... sort of the same ingredients?)

Later, I ate the last cupcake (at the pleading of the cupcake-bringer who didn't want the last on to get left forever and then thrown away). Mrs Nutsy: "Have you just had that cake? I wanted that one!”

Is it bad that I count my eating of the cake she wanted as the highlight of my week?

            

I freaking love cupcakes, anyway. Just in case you 

were wondering what to get me for my birthday

I started to think of her like toddler, and tried to adjust my behaviour accordingly. (This came after the memorable occasion when she waited for me to say "Ok, they're ready for you" before announcing that she needed "a wee".)

We were always on an extremely tight schedule, so when we ran late one morning, I made sure that I regularly reminded her “So Mrs Nutsy, you know we’ll really have to rush through lunch, because you’re going live at two o’clock,” and she was all "Yes, that’s fine. I don’t know what everyone’s making such a fuss about.” 

So I got her lunch, ate mine, and left her chatting. Quarter to 2, I went to check on her; “Are you getting ready?” Yes. 

At five to two, when she was called, she said “I CAN’T GO! I HAVEN'T HAD MY LUNCH!” It was actually as if I’d never had the previous conversation with her. Bonkers.

On the plus side, she is so notorious that if I could get her to the right place 50% of the time people will still applaud me for dong a great job.

I have honestly never met anybody with so little concept of time / schedules / doing your job properly. In the middle of filming, she said she’d go to the loo. I had long given up escorting her there and back as this seemed to make her drag her feet even more, but I wasn't surprised when she still took ages. When she returned, she excused herself with “I just had to go and see who won the X award.” Er, we’re all waiting to start FILMING. Do you have any concept of that? WHO DOES THIS?

She constantly whinged about how "TV company which shall remain nameless" don't want her. She just couldn't see the connection between her lack of professionalism and shortage of work.

The funny thing is, she's often held up as an example of how television bosses get rid of older female presenters in favour of nubile young fillies. Fans say "Why can't Mrs Nutsy have the job? It's ageist, I tells ya!' Little do they know what chaos her presence causes backstage. Two sides to every story, after all....

When the job was over and I thought I was free of that croaky voice (I heard one member of the public point her out "Look, there's that woman who always sounds as if she's got something stuck in her throat," which was cruel but accurate) she called me and all but accused me of stealing an award she had apparently brought in to show everyone.

Mrs Nutsy: “Do you remember me showing you?” 

Me: "Er, no, but go on."

Mrs Nutsy:  “Well I did actually.” 

(No she didn't)

After a fruitless few minutes in which I channeled mother energy and asked "Hmm, did you check the car? Maybe it could be stuck in one of your shoes?" Knowing that she had bundled everything up crazily on the last day and couldn't find her arse with both hands at the best of times.

It soon became clear that this was more than just a courtesy call, as she said, in menacing tones, “Well, I’ll have to get the police involved.” 

Me, sympathetically: "Yes, of course!" 

Mrs Nutsy, threateningly:“So, if they call, you’ll know what it’s about.” 

Me, brightly: "Yes, I will. Hope you find it! Byeee!"

Ye gads. How RUDE! 

More recently, I worked as production designer on a film, where an actress in the cast agreed to let us use her flat as a location. Knowing the director liked the plain white walls, she swiftly wallpapered with a swirling design. Hmm, that was a strange thing to do...Oh well, at least we've still got those blinds we needed... Oh, wait. Guess what had desperately needed to be taken down for cleaning? 

Some people really take the passive out of passive aggressive, don’t they?

The return of Girl Power

       Nope. Absolutely no idea why Janet Street 
        Porter would feel the need to bitch about Kelly...

This week in her Daily Mail Column, Janet Street Porter treated us to this edifying observation: "Kelly Brook is planning to design a new range of bed linen. I hadn’t ever thought of the singer, dancer and swimwear model as a challenger to the Kelly Hoppen home furnishing empire. But Kelly does possess two huge assets that always remind me of those over-stuffed cushions you find strewn on the bedspreads in swanky hotels."

This was accompanied with a picture of Miss Brook looking suitably voluptuous. I'm not sure what point JSP was trying to make, but It SEEMS to be that Kelly can't possibly have any talent at design because she has large breasts. 

And they say feminism is dead!

Astounded as I am that Ms Street Porter would display her childish jealousy so unsubtly, her attitude isn't all that uncommon. I can only assume that women's magazines are run by hideous trolls, so often do they earnestly assure us that really beautiful women MUST be lacking in the brain department, because "they've never had to try". (The unspoken belief being that it would be UNFAIR for one person to be endowed with the gifts of beauty, intelligence AND talent.) 

(There is so much more to say on the subject of misogynistic women's magazines – not least the endless "fat" pictures of formerly slim celebrities to crow over, or the ubiquitous question levelled at the physically flawless "What's your least favourite body part?" – because of course you must have one! The price you pay for your bodily perfection MUST be raging insecurity. And if you don't hate anything yet, we'll print unflattering pictures until you do! Enjoy!)

To be fair, the attitude that nobody is allowed to have it all is not only aimed at women. Mel Gibson was ridiculed for wanting to extend his acting career from action hero to Hamlet, and for making a film about Jesus in the original Aramaic and Latin. Which made it especially satisfying when he delivered the definitive performance of the Danish Prince, and broke the record for pre-ticket sales, respectively. 

These days it's not enough to just be an actor or singer; it is almost compulsory to be both, (and possibly a director and producer as well) and to build a media empire with sidelines in perfume and clothing. Not to mention marriage to a rock star, the odd catwalk strut, DJing session or cookbook. Gwyneth Paltrow does pretty much all of the above, and is roundly criticised for it. (If all else fails, just call someone "smug".) But I get the feeling that Gwynnie isn’t bothered by the green-eyed haters, because living to please yourself is a million times more satisfying than being fawned over by the editors of Heat. 

Meanwhile the sisterhood got a boost this weekend when some mouthy broads on The X Factor hit back at Tulisa for daring to criticise their singing ability. Kelly Rowland stepped up to defend her fellow judge, explaining that she came from "a female group that always talks about how women should come together and they shouldn’t be bitchy towards one another…." How nice to have some solidarity for once! But what's the betting that by next week, the papers are reporting a "feud" between the two ladies? 

Meanwhile, I am enjoying the fact that Janet Street Porter can never again spout any drivel about being a feminist or being supportive of women in any way. No doubt she will soon be complaining that nobody takes her seriously... 

Families are funny Part 2

 

I didn't write this note, honest. Check out passiveaggressivenotes.com for more post-it fun.

I promised you some more quotes from “The Book,” my family’s personal record of weirdness. (We all need something to read on these dark, cold, er, August nights.) Reading the books as a whole reveals some odd themes. For instance, most of my entries seem to be a case of premature dementia: “I can’t remember the word for... I can’t remember it now.” (It was mittens... I kept calling them “muffins”.) “What’s that word for making a credit card come alive?” Activate? “Yes!”) Which sounds strange for someone who writes as much as I do... maybe I just have too many words floating around in my head.)

My dad, however, shows an unusual level of empathy with birds, with declarations such as “If I were a bird, I’d have a nest all through winter,” and when watching a wildlife documentary, “I wouldn’t want my mother pecking me.” (A programme about exotic pets elicited the comment “I don’t see how you could have a relationship with an alligator, really.”) Spending a lot of time in the garden obviously affects his thought processes; Apropros of nothing, he once mused “Of course, when you eat honey, it’s been chewed by little bees and spat out.”

And for someone who spends most of his time gardening and playing golf, Dad has an unexpected alter-ego that we refer to as “Clarence.” (Imagine a character with a smock, beret, cropped trousers and a pencil moustache.)

Clarence is the side of Dad which feels the need to criticise the outfits of women on television and has a deep love for Lush products, with all of their unusual ingredients... once prompting Mum to suggest “Tell your son what you did in the bath with your liquorice.” (For the record, he ate it.)  

He lives in our hearts: this is how I imagine Clarence would look. (This is actually 
Phillip Bloche, yet another celebrity stylist. They get everywhere, don't they? Like ants.)

  

My mother the comedienne has a kind of wide-eyed Lucille Ball vibe, apparently totally unaware that what she's saying contains double entendre-style hilarity. This child-like simplicity means that she's probably the person with the highest number of entries on the book, with comments such as “It’s all too hard... this is a children’s book..!” when puzzling over some writings about the solar system.

She also resembles a small child in her generosity; always anxious to share. She regularly throws rubbery jelly sweets in my direction, saying “Eat these! They’ve got spinach in them!” and once begged “PROMISE me you’ll have some of this chocolate!”

Growing up, our family always had a somewhat laid-back attitude to housekeeping, resulting in one visitor asking “are you aware there’s a cake under this cushion?” (To be fair, it was in a bag) and when a drink was spilled, my mum saying with relief “It’s alright, it’s all gone into the cushion.”

My parents’ idle chatter is a heady combination; my mother’s stream-of-consciousness conversational style and my dad’s ability to think along completely different lines to her. For example, one such talk went like this:

Mum: I don’t take sage anymore, because that lady said not to....although I haven’t had as many hot flushes lately.... but then it’s been colder, so it’s hard to tell, isn’t it?

Dad: You saw a froggy the other day, didn’t you?”

We soon realised that he was referring to the weather being unseasonably mild for December, hence the frogs appearing in the garden. Incidentally, the ‘rents are very fond of these and have a little frog friend, Ferdinand. Mum was once heard to say “Would he eat a bit of potato?” and “He’s getting to know my voice!” before Dad informed her “They don’t have ears". (Actually, it turns out they can hear – with tiny eardrums in their lungs! Who knew?)

I have inherited my mother’s tendency towards malapropism; her attempts at ethical shopping resulted in: “You’re supposed to buy that rechargeable cod.” (And her idea of organic vegetable boxes? “I always imagine it just a little thin carrot covered in mud.”) I tend to confuse words which look or sound similar, such as euthanasia, utopia and Esperanto. Which makes conversation about languages quite interesting.

May I include a non-family anecdote? I’ve recently been enjoying Sunday morning trash TV in the form of The Rachel Zoe Project. You may recall the name – she’s the celebrity stylist who dresses everyone in big loose dresses and leggings. She also talks, hilariously, like a robot; a valley girl accent with a monotone delivery which sounds exactly the same whether she’s saying “Oh my god, that’s hilarious,” or “Oh my god, shut up right now. This is a disaster.” If you’ve never seen her, imagine someone whose face is numb with novocain. (Actually, she has funny little bulldog cheeks too, so maybe she has some recurring dental problems.)

Anyway, her assistants are equally emotionless and odd, but one of them made me giggle this week when gushing about a designer: “The collection was amazing. Each dress was better than the next.”

Believe it or not, I’m no stranger to the stupid comment myself. After being surprised to discover that Russia is technically part of Asia (in my school, the first three years of geography lessons was spent making relief maps out of paper mache), I said to my dad “I didn’t even know Russia was in China!”

Genius.  

Something rotten in the state of... London

On the bright side, Rise of the Planet of the Apes is out soon.

What a week, eh? Without delving too far into the origins of the protests, they began when police messed up – and not for the first time. However, the legitimate complaints were soon hijacked by some very angry people.

One ubiquitous youtube video showed Fiona Armstrong interviewing Darcus Howe (She came a cropper in the media for asking "You are not a stranger to riots yourself, are you? You have taken part in them yourself." To which he replied, "I have never taken part in a single riot. I've been part of demonstrations that ended up in a conflict.”) What I found sad was that Darcus Howe apparently believed that the rioters were in some way politically motivated, as he had been when protesting in the 1970s. It appears to me that rioters were cynically using the death of Mark Duggan as an excuse for their own agenda.

At least some of the “protesters” made it clear they were not the champions for social change that some suggested, as this recording (sure to become a classic) indicates.

Apparently rioting is “good fun” and “it’s the government’s fault.... I dunno... Conservatives... whatever, who it is, I dunno....  It’s not even a riot, it’s showing the police we can do what we want... and now we have.”

And why were these radicals targeting local people?

“It’s the rich people, the ones that have got businesses..... that’s why all of this has happened, because of the rich people.....so we’re just showing the rich people that we can do what we want.”

That’ll teach you for trying to build a successful business, won’t it! No wonder the people who dared to have homes got them burned down, too. These girls have obviously never heard the sage old rabbi's advice: "don't waste time counting other people's money".

Perhaps wading into the crowds for some hand-to-hand combat would have caused more problems (and been near suicidal in some areas) but police seemed paralysed – TV reports frequently showed little groups of them around the one person they had managed to handcuff. I imagine the threat of being sued – "It's my human right to set fire to houses!" must be quite debilitating when trying to do your job. The questions floating around Facebook were direct: Where were the rubber bullets, the tear gas and water cannons? (It seems that we all lose our liberal views at the sight of a chav with a nicer iphone than our own). 

“Those people were fighting for something; for a cause. To them out 
there, this is just entertainment.” Michael Caine, Harry Brown

Hand-wringing about the state of Britain’s moral decline could wait. We needed to STOP what was going on, and NOW. This did not happen; chaos continued for days, and more innocent people lost their homes and livelihoods.

Of course, to your average rioter, smashing in a shop window and nicking a laptop is a victimless crime. Because those businesses make lots of money! (And you know that’s a crime, right?) While The Guardian claimed “There is a context to London's riots that can't be ignored”, it seemed that the only context was “People like smashing, stealing or setting fire to things that don't belong to them”.

Lee Jasper, a former adviser on policing, allegedly said that certain shops were attacked because they don’t create projects for under-privileged youths. He was quoted as asking: "When did Curry’s build a school?" Since nobody seems to have the original quote, it strikes me as hearsay (or hastily buried) but it’s the kind of thing an idiot in politics WOULD say.

Ed Miliband asked "Is it culture, or is it poverty and lack of opportunity? It is probably both." Exactly – until now we’d all lacked the opportunity to get away with looting a shoe shop.

Nina Power wrote in The Guardian; “Combine understandable suspicion of and resentment towards the police based on experience and memory with high poverty and large unemployment and the reasons why people are taking to the streets become clear.”

Which would all be perfectly valid, if it wasn’t both patronising and insulting to the many people living in poor areas who DIDN’T riot. (You could also argue that she was suggesting most rioters were black, given the stronger history of conflict between black people and the police.)  As looters were caught, many people were astonished to find that, far from being the “betrayed youth,” they were often middle class 20 and 30-somethings with respectable jobs. They were just greedy morons. (And the context here would be: “It’s ok to like the products of your corporate foes, as long as you’re not giving them your money.”)

Why should we be surprised that, among others, a millionaire’s daughter, a charity worker and a graphic designer were caught stealing? For years we’ve watched politicians lie, cheat, and claim for bath plugs on their expenses. Selfishness and avarice is the culture, and it’s not exclusive to the ghettos.

Peter Oborne of the Telegraph pointed out that self-made millionaire Richard Branson was thinking of moving his headquarters to Switzerland to avoid heavy taxes, and “I couldn’t help thinking that in a sane and decent world such a move would be a blow to Sir Richard, not the Chancellor. People would note that a prominent and wealthy businessman was avoiding British tax and think less of him. Instead, he has a knighthood and is widely feted".

He also gives many examples of politician’s hypocrisy in lambasting looters, when “I find it very hard to make any kind of ethical distinction between (Hazel) Blears’s expense cheating and tax avoidance, and the straight robbery carried out by the looters.”

Obviously, something has gone wrong in the moral landscape of Britain.

"The Opposite of War Isn't Peace, It's Creation" – Jonathan Larson

Camilla Batmanghelidjh (pictured) is founder of the Kids Company and is generally an amazing person. She wrote “How, we ask, could they attack their own community with such disregard? But the young people would reply "easily", because they feel they don't actually belong to the community.... In this false moral economy where the poor are described as dysfunctional, the community fails.”

So how have we raised a society with so little empathy?

Neuroscientists have learned that when we see or imagine the pain of others, we activate regions of the brain that are normally activated when we feel pain ourselves. Experiments such as those by Alessio Avenanti and Tania Singer illustrated that participants showed a greater response when seeing pain inflicted on someone of the same “group” – be it race or football team. Brain activity revealed that knowing someone is a fan of a different team is actually enough to shut down empathy for that person’s pain. So, someone who feels completely alienated from their community will have no problems turning on their fellow man, whether it's the police or their neighbours.

I know gamers hate it when people point fingers at the beloved x-box, but check out some youtube vids of State of emergency – it’s not a giant leap to imagine that a gaming addict could get excited when offered the opportunity to try out some well-practised moves in real life. (But most likely they were sitting on their arses when the riots went on anyway. Ho ho.)

In contrast to the total lack of compassion shown by rioters, one thing which makes me happy is the “spirit of the blitz” atmosphere which has emerged. Groups stood shoulder to shoulder and refused rioters access to their neighbourhoods. Clean-up operations transformed ruined shops in hours. (The only disappointing part is that the rioters weren’t forced to return to the scene of their crimes.) Incidentally, I was in the US at the time of the 7/7 bombings, and Americans would often tell me they thought the Brits’ “Keep calm and carry on” attitude was amazing.

I follow writer Naomi Wolf on FB – I enjoy her books, and mostly disagree with her politics (all the more reason to follow and get some interesting points of view, yes?). This week she was theorising about agent provocateurs, saying “Look closely at all these 'masked rioters' – half of UK youths are overweight or scrawny from lack of exercise... these young men have been bench pressing. Their 'yob' clothes are brand new. Something is wrong with this picture..... people just don't show up dressed like a thug from central casting.” One fan replied “Oh NayNay... leave it to you to realize how cute the rioters are.” Wolf went on to point out that “NO ONE under thirty stands up ramrod straight, chest out arms at the sides except young people trained in the military. Seriously.”

Brand new sneakers and unimaginative clothing is not exactly incompatible with Britain’s youth (especially when JD Sports was no 1 on the loot list) and it seems unlikely that the police secretly mobilised riots spread across the country. (And all the looters I saw on TV looked skanky anyway, sadly adhering to Naomi’s first impression of British youth). But there were more theories popping up; Nay Nay’s supporters theorised that planned riots may be part of a “global blueprint” to make changes while the public is all of a dither.

The reality is that David Cameron has the perfect opportunity to bring in stronger laws (if I hear him say “robust” one more time, I might scream). There is also ammunition for those who argue in favour of more CCTV cameras – who needs privacy rights when you can catch criminals? (Activists who campaign against cameras always mock the phrase “If you haven’t done anything wrong, you won’t have anything to fear,” but I’ve never heard any of them explain why they think it isn’t true.)

I might also suggest that “next time” the police and press should make it clear that if you’re not a rioter, you should get off the streets whenever possible. People standing around with camera phones just cluttered up the place and unnecessarily swelled the ranks of the troublemakers. Not to mention the fact that some of those who have since been arrested have argued that they were just “caught up” in the crowds...

You know what? I’m starting to turn into my granny, because the phrase that springs to mind is “they don’t know they’re born”. I’m trying not to think about the fact that all of these poor, repressed youths have blackberries, and I don’t. (The irony is that without the privilege of expensive technology, they would never have co-ordinated their attacks on, um, all those black-hearted capitalists.)

These spoilt kids have the same sense of entitlement we see on X factor: “What do you mean I can’t have what I want? F--- you, then!”

If they had to live in any of the many countries in which police can and will beat you to death just because they don’t like the look of you, or where politicians have almost no restrictions on their expenses (try Italy for starters), they might realise that, imperfect as Britain is (never so clearly illustrated as it has been this week) it’s not such a bad place to live.

But now that the masses know they can rise up and own the streets, what’s to stop them from doing it again? And can we trust the police to protect us?

I suspect sales of baseball bats and inspirational DVDs such as Harry Brown and Dexter (recommended!) will go up.

I leave you with the wise words of Miranda Lambert. 

ETA: I don't mean for this piece to come across as overly critical of the police – when I say "Can we trust them to protect us?" I am talking about the fact that they are tied up in red tape which doesn't allow them to do their job as effectively as they'd like to. I know that they appreciate it when members of the public give them words of support on their toughest days; a "thank you" and a cup of tea and a jammy dodger go a long way.