CALIFORNIA Dreaming... Watchout Oscars here I come

So, it's the night before I jet off to Los Angeles for the American showbiz event of the year...THE OSCARS.
Feeling excited, nervous, animated and restless all at once.
I've packed the necessary stuff, passport, driving license, sunglasses, selection of dresses, vast array of high heels and the most important creation... my eye mittens - I can't sleep without those beauties. They've travelled the whole West coast of America, been to South Korea, Thailand, Mexico, Cuba, God knows how many Ibiza trips.... they are my secret sleep weapon.

Right off to bed now, fake tan sorted and alarm set for 9am...

Valentines Day without the boyfriend = Drunken Carnage...



Boy George spinning the Valentines tune....

What does Valentines Day mean to you???


While most couples were exchanging cards, soppy looks, stories of love and endearment over a meal out or bottle of wine in, I was 100 odd miles away from my Valentine this year. Surrounded by boring, sober celebrities.


The Elle Style Awards was on Valentines night, seriously, which marketing muppet thought this was a good idea?



I'm not going to say much about the awards as they were really poorly organised, and not much fun to work.

However, after all the work stuff  - Cheryl Cole winning the Best Music accolade (what the? how the?) and Emma Watson being crowned Style Icon of the year - we got seriously re-hydrated.

Should just quickly point out all the stars left within 10 minutes of the awards ending, except Dermot O'Leary, who stayed out to play.

Me, Dermot and Sonja chewing the fat

Me and my column sidekick Sonja got stuck into the free champagne, like newborn piglets on their mother's teats.

We drank, and danced. And danced and drank.
We left with an amazing goodie bag, a magnum of Moet (each), two bunches of roses, handfuls of Godiva chocolates and a random selection of business cards we'd picked up along the way.

All in all, a good Valentines, I'd say.

Oooh, just incase you care Dermot is still a big romantic despite being in a relationship for over eight years.

He told us: "As I knew I was going to be here on Valentines night I made sure I did my romantic boyfriend bit over the weekend.

“I took my girlfriend Dee away to a spa in the country. I drove her there and made sure she was royally pampered and spoilt.”

Some girls have all the luck.

Baftas: The Aftermath. Drunk and disorderly. Not me (this time).

So I chatted to Girls Aloud's Sarah Harding, who got heroically stuck into the free plonk, unlike her relatively sober band mate Kimberley Walsh.
After getting engaged, on NYE, in the Maldives, to her fella of three years Tom, Sarah was quick to put an end to the Girls Aloud rift rumours.
(Just to get you up to speed... the band are on a 'break', rumours and evidence suggest Nadine and Cheryl hate each other, Nadine never attends girlie Girls Aloud bonding session, or her bandmate’s birthdays, or anything similar. The others stick together like orphan lambs. Smells a bit fishy, hey?)


Anyway Sarah told me, insistently, Nadine Coyle will definitely be at her wedding. Along with Chezza, Nicola and Kimberley. Hmmm.

Sarah also claimed she was dying her hair brown the morning after the Baftas saying, "I'll be the same colour as you tomorrow, dark brown."
Haven't seen any pictures of her yet.

However, Sarah was completely blotto'ed and probably would've believed Jimmy Hendrix had risen from death if I’d put on a convincing enough face.
I like Harding. A lot. But she was more wasted at the Baftas than I’ve seen her for ages.

I don't think she'd appreciate the Amy Winehouse references which were being mutter around the room,.

Meanwhile Kimberley had been presenting live on the red carpet for the E! channel, greeting A-list stars as they arrived. She admitted she'd never been so nervous.

Apparently half way through one of the interviews she asked to edit the interview and start again, forgetting it was live. Eeek.

BAFTA Film Awards

I arrived at the pre-Baftas champagne reception at 4.30pm - candles, canapes, tuxedos, fur coats and fizz everywhere.
After an hour of hobnobbing I walked down the red carpet (in the rain, with an umbrella) at London's Royal Opera House with the likes of Sir Paul McCartney, Samuel L Jackson, Colin Firth and Helena Bonham Carter.
A great experience.

While fans screamed wildly and limos and paparazzi dashed everywhere the A Lists greats just milled around as if they were browsing in a quaint pottery shop in Devon.


After the ceremony, which spun no surprises - The Kings Speech reigned supreme, I spent the night on Orange's private table at the awards dinner in Grosvenor House. Sweet.
The night was a mix of showbiz perfectness.
I… ate Venison for the first time and quite liked it.
Told Colin his hair looked really soft (he must use serum and/or conditioner). Chatted to a very drunk Sarah Harding. Drank too many glasses of super posh white wine. Resulting in me accidentally, on purpose, stealing four Black Swan designed dinner place mates from various tables.
It would’ve been rude not too, and besides, everyone was doing it. Even the celebs.

My new dinner place mats courtesy of Bafta

The Kings Speech stole the night grasping 7 of the 14 awards it was nominated for including Best Film and Outstanding British Film.  Colin Firth won Best Actor, with Helena scooping Best Supporting Actor.


Mr Firth told me:  “It feels amazing to win awards, but tomorrow I’ll be back down to earth with a bang, on the school run and taking the bins out. I might as well make the most of it tonight.”
And that he did, I kept seeing him clutching his award upside down while staggering around.
He celebrated in style partying until 5am before leaving his award on a bar somewhere (he had to send this flunkies back in to try and reclaim it. 

My favourite win of the night was Noomi Rapace who scooped Best Actress for her kick ass part in The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo flicks. 
She brought some drama to the red carpet in a gold metallic Givenchy Couture dress.
She told me: “I love the dress, but I can’t sit down properly as there are spikes on my belt. I’ve been having a few problems walking around as it’s really heavy. I have to walk in small circles

Sky News before Baftas...

I was up at 7am this morning to go on Sky News, who gets up before 11am on a Sunday? Vicious.
I was talking about all things showbiz including The Royal Wedding and Victoria Beckham’s gift to Kate Middleton (a new wardrobe full of VB dresses), the sad illness of Elizabeth Taylor, Cheryl Cole’s American X Factor dream (US bigwigs want to have control over her hair and makeup, they also want her to tone down her 'why-aye pet' Geordie phrases) and everything Bafta and Colin Firth related.

Got home at 10.30am and crawled straight back into bed.
At this point I decided to go back to sleep with my full studio hair and makeup on, so I could jump out of bed a few hours later and be ready for the Bafta awards.
Yep lazy, but I liked they way they’d done my eye makeup and, quite frankly, who wouldn’t want 30 mins extra in bed?

Nobody likes a show off...

I just felt a moment of glee when I realised in exactly six weeks time, to the day, I'll be lording around the Caribbean in a two-piece supping a cool Margarita.
Sorry to be a smug fool, but I'm really excited.
Take at look at where I'm galavanting off to....



Sandals Royal Caribbean, Montego Bay, Jamaica




It's Champagne o' clock

Any restaurant that has a "press for champagne" button on your private table gets a double thumbs up from me.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of these people who only eats in super expensive Michelin star restaurants.
In fact quite the opposite.
I love finding a little tucked away gem, which is small, poky, bursting with atmosphere and as cheap as chips.
But every now and then a girl needs to get glamed up and have some posh food and fizz with her girlie mates.

So I put on some heels and went to London's Bob Bob Ricard restaurant for the first time and was extremely impressed. I went with my old Galaxy radio colleague Alexandra Heybourne, who's now the Communications Manager at the Beeb.

The decor, ambiance, food, staff, cocktail list, everything was spot on. Highly recommend.

And the indulgent champagne button - just the icing on the cake.

The menu was packed with Vodka shots (it's a Russian inspired restaurant), caviar and a wide variety of truffle dishes -much to Alexandra's delight.
I'm not a truffles fan, they stink, the same thick stench of a boy's pair of old, sweaty gym socks.
Alex earnestly reassured me my tastes would changes the older I get. After trying her truffle infused mash potato I'm inclined to disagree. Not nice.

Looking forward to going again, hopefully next time I wont be paying though, as it was a fair whack to the wallet.

We had to press it, come on, it would have been rude not too.

Me on The Vanessa Show

I was a guest on Vanessa Feltz's Channel Five show a few weeks talking all things showbiz.
Check out the video below.



The Star - Jessica Brown

Scandalous gossip

Ooh forgot to say I heard the best bit of showbiz gossip today.
Check it out here
See if you can work out who's been misbehaving this time.

Showbiz dining with Jamie Oliver

I'm on the count down to LA for the Oscars. Just eight work days left. Sweet.
The showbiz scene in London is quiet at the moment, the calm before the storm.
January and February are notoriously derelict party-wise.
As soon as a sniff of Spring arrives the celeb boozers re-emerge and the whole showbiz scene revives for another year.
I sampled some Jamie Oliver food today for the first time.
My friend and PR Alex Wilkinson took me out for a business lunch at Barbecoa restaurant in St Pauls, owned by my favourite culinary wide boy Jamie Oliver.
Alex works for M&CSaatchi PR and organises events like the BAFTAS and Glastonbury.
He's a bloody good egg and should definitely moonlight for a Arctic Monkeys tribute band. Scruffy hair, stubble, casual-chic. You get the picture.
The food was amazing, I had sea bass, Alex had the house burger, big enough to comatose most lads for a few hours after.
Monsieur Oliver wasn't present, do these celeb owners actually visit their restaurants? I like to think so.


Jamie and American chef Adam Perry Lang doing their thang  in Barbecoa kitchen



One of the favourite's pork belly, Brambley apple and water cress salad

 I've since decided I want to go on a food eating tour and visit all the celebrity chef's gaffs. Next stop Gordon Ramsay.

Vampire Diaries

I don't watch much TV. I never have, it bores me.
I love a good film, but on the whole would rather while away my life outside getting back to nature or having banter with my mates.
Festival season makes me delirious. I love getting dirty in field, swigging warm beer around a campfire, dancing like a loon to live music while hugging my mates. Roll on the first festival of the year - Isle Of White.

However, The Vampire Diaries rock my world.
Fit men running around with dark, brooding eyes and a instinctive animal-like sexual nature. Brilliant.
Yes it's cheesy, yes the romantic moments are ridiculous and yes the cast could be straight out the Next catalogue.
But the Salvatore brothers Stefan and Damon are so damn sexy, it's worth watching just for them. One's hot and romantic, the other's vicious and funny. A good vampire combination.
I'll take them both please.

Check it out ITV2 9pm every Tuesday. An hour of girlie time, don't let your boyfriend get involved, he'll just ruin things by pointing out how far-fetched and naff the story line is.
As my fella points out... it's just Hollyoaks but with vampires.

Here's a pic for you to perv on...

Funny Old Week

Last week was a strange one.
Despite attending just one showbiz event all week - The LAFTA awards -I only managed to go to the gym once and yet still didn't get to bed before 1am most nights.
My personal trainer (I got three sessions free when I joined up, I'm not THAT mad) almost destroyed me on Monday. After doing 45 minutes of squats, lunges, press ups, planks etc.. I couldn't walk properly for three days.
I could barley bend my legs to sit down on the toilet, let alone walk around town in high heels.
I even had to stand on the tube escalators.
And if you're like me, you walk up those steep buggers on daily basis, proudly thinking, "That early morning butt exercise definitely means I can eat chocolate later."
Come on, we all do it.
On days when I have to go out for a business lunch, in Soho, or wherever, it means I'll climb two extra escalators (one on way to meeting, one on way back).
And I'll admit it makes me feel a little smug, like I've burned off a smidgen of fat.
Maybe it's just a girl thing?

Something off Sex In The City

I had a weird realisation tonight while sitting around a table with some of my favourite girlfriends.
In between gulping Rose, scoffing nachos and homemade relish (made by my friend Nikki's fiance) I suddenly realised I've got a cool job and some of the best friends in the business.
I don't often dwell on such matters, and rarely even think about how lucky I am. Until tonight.

I went for dinner at my friend Nikki's flat in north London. She's a features journalist at The Sun, she's blonde, hot, young and already found the man of her dreams.
The other two dinner guests were my best mate Sam - a former journalist who now works at a top London PR company and my wonderful friend Ellie - a showbiz journalist for leading woman's magazine New!

Firstly, Ellie has the best name is showbiz, Ellie Piovesana - try spelling that when you've had a few. She's a cool bird, she could probably drink Kate Moss under the table and has some of the best jewellery this side of Vivienne Westwood.
Sam's been my loyal sidekick for 15 years, we lived our intoxicated University years living together and probably still cause as much mayhem now as we did then. It goes without saying she's one of a kind.

Anyway, as we sat and drank and debated work, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, other journalists, the desperation in PR's voices trying to pitch something shit over the phone and men... I realised we were the current day reality of a London Sex In The City scene (without the TV cameras or huge pay check, obviously. Or superstar glow.)

Four young women, working hard, playing hard and generally not really giving a crap about life except for cherishing the things we love.
I thought as an outsider we probably looked like a cliquey bunch of media types. We really aren't - just four girls from the Midlands, working hard in the Big Smoke.) It suddenly dawned on me, this was a moment worth remembering.
I always hoped to be successful enough in life to have a great job, great friends and a great social life. Bingo.

Nikki's modern day man Simon cooked chicken fajitas and spicy rice for us girls while we sat back and nattered like fish wives. He's a good egg.
When the conversation turned to communal wanking - men, not ladies, I realised it was time to call a taxi.
And yes, lads actually do this together, with their friends, in the same room! I know, weird or what? I hope to never see any of my mates 'sex faces' let alone hear their cries of that 'final moment'.
Simon also admitted, quite proudly, that as a kid he owned a sex sock. A sock he kept under his bed for times of.... ahem... solo fun. Sorry Si.

Anyway, I'm at home now and contently full and happy. I hope we always have these girlie nights, even when we're grey and wrinkly.

Ellie, Sam, me and Nikki

It's February you know

It's February 2nd today and I've decided to try and spend the month drinking as little booze as physically possible for a showbiz journalist who goes to parties most nights.

This is a bold statement for a booze botherer like me.
I'm a night owl who loves a good knees up but after spending January off the liquor and fags the feeling of well-being is now intriguing me.
I fancy spending a few more weeks in the same vain.

I've been doing yoga daily for nearly five weeks and since feel my inner peace and zen aligning. OK, that's a lie... but I love the ideology behind it.



In other news I was starting to get worried when my boyfriend kept talking, really amorously, nonstop, about a gorgeous, long-haired blonde called Roxy who was sat near him at his new work place.
Turned out the little beauty was a tad on the smelly side but gorgeous all the same.

The LAFTA awards

It's not often you get a slap on the back for being comical.
However, the showbiz column I edit was nominated for a LAFTA awards in the Funniest Column category.
Me and my wingman Sonja went along to the lunch soiree today to watch a host of comedians and wannabe funny people size up each other balls while enjoying a fine afternoon of champagne (magnums everywhere) and posh fish grub (oysters and monkfish).
The likes of Alan Carr, Jimmy Carr and Leigh Francis all won awards... and the butt of their jokes were aimed at the unheard of glamour girl who was handing out the gongs. Poor sod. Although it's probable that she loved the attention.
I've never seen her before but within 15 seconds Jimmy Carr told the audience: "I have no idea who she is, but I can see her boobs and I want to honk honk on them."
Richard Keys and Andy Gray would've been so proud.
Leigh Francis took over the mic and told the unsuspecting glamour girl: "You look just like how I imagine my girlfriend looks when I'm smashing her back doors in. Except she's fatter than you and has far more split ends."
Richard Keys and Andy Gray would've been so proud.
And Alan Carr couldn't resist a sexist gag too... saying he hoped to be "hanging out the back of Kelly Brook one day soon".
Richard Keys and Andy Gray would've been so proud.

The awards ceremony was definitely missing some partying totty... where's Sarah Harding when you need her?