Wireless

It’s the first weekend in July, the sun’s out and Hyde Park is buzzing.

This can only mean one thing... Wireless festival.

The Barclaycard VIP area was awash with celebrities including The Sugababes, Prince Harry, Elen Rivas and Alexandra Burke all eating mini burgers, mini fish ‘n chips and knocking back vodka and red bull.

We were given pink bands to go to the exclusive front of stage raised VIP area to watch The Black Eyed Peas, who were headlining Friday night.

Prince Harry and a massive group of his lad mates were raving to BEP’s. 

One thing is for certain Harry is never going win any kudos for his dress sense. My dad has more style, and that’s saying something.

Royal rocker Harry was dancing in front of me with his baggy stone washed jeans, green fishing jacket and a sports cap.

One of Hazza’s friends told me he had his wisdom teeth removed earlier in the day saying: “He’s got a really puffy face from the op. He’s hiding his swollen face under a cap.” 

Moments later Harry picked up a blonde toddler and plonked her on his shoulders as Will.i.am et al did their thang on stage.

Vanessa Feltz was snubbed from the Barclaycard VIP tent by door staff who said she “wasn’t famous enough”. Ouch.

Huey from the Fun Loving Criminals was chilling inside telling us: “I’m on my best behaviour, there’s a £30,000 glass snooker table over there, I can see it getting messy in here later and that getting smashed, not the most sensible thing to have at a festival, with drunk menaces around.” 

In other news the roller skates who dance around outside Hyde Park are amazing, we saw one guy shimmying through a row of plastic cones on one foot, on just one wheel

We also saw a 30ish year old girl getting a bollocking from Wireless security for pulling her pants down in the middle of the park and doing a wee.

The security was shouting at her, telling her to “stand up” and “walk on” while she was squatting, bare bummed shouting, “I can’t I’m mid wee”. Niiiice.

Apart from that it was pretty low key, we all got smashed on beer and vodka, danced like mentalists to the BEP's who were doing a medley of old skool 90s tune and missed the last tube home.


Huey playing on the £30,000 glass snooker table



Me and my fella Jimmy chilling in the Barclaycard area



The crowd waiting for the Black Eyed Peas to come on

Essex madness

The showbiz world has gone The Only Way Is Essex bonkers.
I can't deny I found the show amusing to watch during the first series.
It fascinated me, I couldn't believe anyone could be as much of a dickhead as Mark Wright, as empty-headed as Amy Childs, as pointless as Harry and as emotionally-pathetic as Arg.
Despite that, I really liked all four characters.
They are who they are and they're happy and proud of it. Fair play to them.
I found the show fun to watch, I really liked Sam and felt sorry for Lauren as she mugged herself off over man slag Mark time after time.

Billie (Sam's sister), me and Sam at the opening of their fashion boutique Minnies in Essex

However, then came the second series...
I honestly don't get Joey Essex... the fact he's so delusional annoys me.
My work colleagues think he's sexy, cool, and even funny.
I'm baffled.
He's a scrawny little fella, with horrendous dress sense and so dense his parents should be embarrassed.
His stupidity frustrates me.
He didn't know anything about the Royal Wedding, the day before he said to my reporter Ed: "What wedding? Is Prince Harry marrying a fit blonde bird or something?"
That would've been mildly amusing, if he hadn't meant it seriously.

His relationship with Sam is also ridiculous.
I'm surprised producers thought the public would ever believe they were actually dating.

And his cousin Chloe's had so much surgery and botox, I can't look at her face without wanting to turn over.
Why would anyone think that amount of botox and lip filler looks good?
She looks like a Janice Dickinson transvestite act.
I hope the third series goes back to the original format.
In fact, that's a lie...I couldn't really care less, I'm all TOWIE'd out.

Now where's The Telegraph's culture section?