The Grumpy Old Blog

I'm really sorry, but whoever invented the term "supermodels" needs not only taken to court by Trading Standards, but shoved up against a brick wall and insulted by the utterly repulsively-natured Naomi Campbell. Why are they 'Supermodels'? Yes, they are good at being over-priced clothes horses at the beck and call of the stylishly-challenged. But that it is. They are about as Super, as Super is a five-letter word. And that is it. There really is absolutely nothing super about any, single one of them! And it's not as if what they do is vital to the world. To allow someone to operate on your brain, you need a brain-surgeon, trained for years, and an expert in their field. Shove some fashion that lacks total style on your body, act like a mannerless, witless, sultry moron, walk like you have an oversized suppository shoved up your behind, and hey presto, you're a model. Anyone could do it, despite what the basket-case, fashion-house Prima Donna s wou...

The sub-headline on the front page of the Sunday Times business section for an inside story was "Get fit like Paris Hilton..." I do not want to get fit like Paris Hilton. I do not care about Paris Hilton. There is absolutely nothing she does that either contributes constructively to my daily life or increases my knowledge bank. And I certainly don't wish to read about this vacuous, pseudo-celebrity in my quality Sunday newspaper. And as for getting fit. I suspect her antidote to this is to throw some of her family millions at it and get someone else to get fit for her. Neither do I wish to hear about her friends, those overpaid, underweight, miserable beings called models. They are nothing but wooden clotheshorses elevated by the media to the position of rotary garden driers, glorified because they have struck it lucky having peraded around in the sewn rags and bits of affixed stray wool classed as "designer clothes" in front of people who embrace fa...