The Anglo Files

Fuck, I miss England

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 04:31:00 +0000

So. Bad.

Upside Down: The Creation Records Story

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Wed, 11 May 2011 16:43:00 +0000

Being an Anglo-File and shoegazer comes in handy... I was recently asked to review Upside Down: The Creation Records Story and considering I'm a girl with "Slowdive" tattooed on her wrists, I was more than happy to. - TS

Here's my review of the film for British mag: Chris And Phil Presents:

http://www.chrisandphilpresent.co.uk/?p=9556

and the trailer:

All Night Rager... aka Cream Tea In Bed

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 08:34:00 +0000

Guess what dudes!
It's ROYAL WEDDING TIME.

AKA time for a new post!

Let's make it short so I can get back to ugly hat watching...

First off: David Beckham was the first attractive person to arrive - but he was not the first person to arrive...

B. Victoria, still afraid to smile and reveal busted teeth

C. Chelsea Davy. REALLY HARRY? REALLY? She is no Kate. Oh well, get it out of your system.

D. Live blogging at @ladolcetati

E. I baked fresh cranberry orange scones with meyer lemon poppy seed glaze and topped them with some Sussex cream (I used to live in Brighton, so I only use Sussex Cream. Devon can kiss my ass). I also whipped up some chocolate fudge and am putting off my PG Tips until actual morning so I can get some sleep.

F. The next time someone says "Americans are uncivilized," I would like to replay footage of the English crowd going bananas because a soccer star showed up at a big wedding. Ok?

G. Can't wait for the dress... yet, I don't wish I was her. As I bleached my hair and threw my Manic Panic Vampire Red on one more time, I realized rock 'n' roll royalty is the only kind meant for me. However, I love the English pomp and circumstance with abandon. America just doesn't have the same history.

H. Watching the Royal Wedding from Los Angeles takes commitment, the time zone change is brutal. This is like World Cup all over again... but with WAY LESS ANXIETY. (I'm half Brazilian, do the math.)

K back to live blogging on Twitter. Ridiculous, I know. It's 3 am what do you expect.

-TS

Union Jack Ring

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 16:37:00 +0000

Recent Exchange With My Roommate

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 21:26:00 +0000

Me:
2:25 PM
that dog has ruined the couch.
i want a steam cleaner :*
i meant :(
lol
i don't kiss appliances

Andy:
ha
what if its a british appliance

Me:
2:26 PM
and single?
then totally

Odds and Ends, Apples and Pears

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 07:29:00 +0000

So, the Mayor of London is now following me on Twitter... which leads me to think I should update this.

Here's the latest Anglophone things that have made my heart go swoooon for the Union Jack.

a.) Alan Rickman as the voice of the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland (which I saw today!). He has the creepiest voice ever, but is still hot, even as a bug. I'm sure the same could be said for Jeremy Irons. You may go weak for Johnny Depp (with his ever-so-inconsistent Mad Hatter accent, "Is it Scottish? Is it a lisp?") but I'll take Rickman, thanks.

b) Primal Scream are playing Screamadelica in its entirety in the UK. This is awesome, minus the part where I'm not going to be there. Lame. I think the British Consulate need to fund a cultural exchange whereby talented American journalists can document their country's fine musical offerings. Thanks.

c.) Alexander McQueen... oh man... I'm still in shock. I wrote a post on my personal blog about what his fashion meant to me. I don't even own any of it... but he had the ability to make you dream. I love the concept of aspirational fashion (paging Grace Coddington). McQueen was a designer for the elite but also for those blue collar girls poring over fashion magazines at home, dreaming that one day, that crazy amazing dress could be theirs. The dresses of my dreams were always made by McQueen. - TS

Happy Mondays on a Saturday Night

noreply@blogger.com (Judita Wignall) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 16:24:00 +0000

I was in Greenpoint, Brooklyn Saturday night at my favorite bar away from home, Bar Matchless, when I noticed the usual Saturday night motown mix had changed to smashups of Brit pop remixes and 80's hip hop. Lo and behold Paul Davis, former keyboardist for the Happy Mondays was at the helm turning the place, or more like my seat at the bar, into a major dance party. My friend, Brian, and I had so much fun we had to immortalize the night by getting our photo with the legendary Madchester Brit popper. He will be in Los Angeles this week spinning at the Beauty Bar in Hollywood. Guaranteed good times ahead if you go. I'd seriously consider it if I didn't hate LA nightclubs so much.

Jason Statham Sighting

noreply@blogger.com (Judita Wignall) — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 03:00:00 +0000

If you happen to watch the Superbowl next month look for me in the new big budget Audi commercial where Jason Statham steals my car. He was very nice to work with and a true English gentleman. He came right up to me on set and introduced himself. I'm pretty sure I turned beet red as he is one of my favorite English actors. Hopefully I won't get cut out of the commercial because mama needs a new pair of shoes. and pants. and culinary school tuition. and new headshots. and...

Fancy A Seat?

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 23:33:00 +0000

My friend Sandy found this. I have no idea where.
But I would like two, a matching couch and
Richard Ashcroft sprawling across,
while writing a song and offering me grapes.
Thanks.

Off To The Motherland...

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 05:29:00 +0000

Well, er, someone's motherland.

So, my Anglofiler friends, I leave this Sunday for a U.K./Ire-palooza that includes several days in Dublin (I must assuage my U2 fetish and visit the Guinness factory) then off to London to see My Bloody Valentine's first show since Kevin Shields went all J.D. Salinger and dropped off the face of the planet. I got some musician friends I might be meeting up with (two of whom fit right alongside - and probably played with - My Bloody Valentine)... then revisiting my old stomping ground of Brighton.

Brighton was seriously such an amazing place for me when I lived there in '97 then returned for a month in '99. A Brightonian friend once aptly described it thusly, "All the good bits of London without all the shit." I thought that was pretty astute.

When I was 21, I went to visit a friend at a bar he worked at on the Brighton seafront, drenched from the rain (which blows at you with hurricane force from the sea), I walked in to see no one in the dimly lit bar except my friend behind the counter... and Nick Cave with two of his friends. Wow.

I suspected my flamboyant friend wouldn't know who Cave was but silly me, he did a duet with Kylie so all the gays know who he is! My friend took one look at Nick and then my awe-struck face and promptly quipped, "Now don't you go run and over, sit in his lap and ask for a record contract." Ha. After Cave and his friends departed, we decided to eat his leftover french fries because we were broke, hungry and thought that it would make a funny story to say we ate Nick Cave's french fries.

Several years later, I interviewed Cave and regaled him with that tale. You can read about it here. Despite what I had heard about him being difficult with journalists, I found him to be charming, erudite and very kind. When I told him my friend was too terrified to ask him for an autograph despite being the publicist for his backing band (the Dirty Three), he promptly took his tea bag out of its cup and signed, "This is my tea bag. Nick Cave."

I was very thrilled that I could tell my friend that she had now officially been tea-bagged by Nick Cave.

Anyhow... yeah, U.K. ahoy. I have no idea what I'm in for, who I'm meeting or what will happen but - should be an adventure.

Swervedriver Doesn't Lose That Feeling

noreply@blogger.com (Judita Wignall) — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 05:10:00 +0000

2008 has become the year of the 90's Brit rock reunions. After nearly a decade long absence, Swervedriver brought back the magic in a spot on hour and half set last night at the Hendry Fonda Theatre.

Strange to go to concerts these days where there's no one under 25. Nonetheless, these are my people. Thirty somethings wearing Fred Perry and goth girls who remind me of myself from high school just a little older and fatter. It felt like home last night. Anglofiles were up front and personal but, alas, Adam Franklin just isn't the eye candy Richard Ashcroft is so we didn't take many photos. Sonically we were in awe, though. It was a great set even though Tatiana didn't get to hear "She weaves a tender trap" and I didn't get "Never lose that feeling." We went home quite satisfied and with massively ringing ears. Rock!

More Verve, Verve, Verve New Songs

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 03:24:00 +0000

Alright lovelies -

2 things:

Here are 3 clips from the show. 2 are of their new songs! And the ten second clip of "Already There" is pretty special because I requested it of Ashcroft in the lobby, when he introduced it too early he said, "Oh I ruined the surprise." We didn't actually think he was playing my request...even though he said "I hear there's some Storm In Heaven fans in the audience".

But upon looking through our show photos now, Detective Tatiana just realized that the song IS NOT on the set list we have... so basically, he did take her request and it was a surprise! SNAP! W0W!

New song... set list said "Disco"... we say, Verve meets New Order = magic

Sit And Wonder

Already There... gone wild.

More photos added here...

We Met Richard Ashcroft!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 16:32:00 +0000

Hells yes!

Let me tell you my friends - we got something even the NME don't have from the sweat pit that was Coachella and that is exclusive photos and...video of the Verve's show and 2 new songs (the last one which is a herculean jam that sounds like Verve meets New Order) from their kick ass show in Las Vegas. We'll put it up until we get busted and it has to come down. :) 1,600 capacity crowd + air conditioning = we rule.

Judita is going to be posting about the show but we had a blast. When Tati ran into Richard in the lobby she requested a number of cuts off A Storm In Heaven. She also jumped around like a fraggle after he walked away. Before he played her request, "Already There" that night he said, "This is 'Already There' and...I think we have some Storm in Heaven fans in the audience." Tati will pretend he meant her.

Here are some photos, expect more coming as well as our reenactment of meeting Ashcroft (as we didn't get photos or autographs and what have you)! We're classy! ...and didn't have cameras handy. Your faithful detectives are the fine ladies using chopsticks below.

xo
the AF

Theanine Is Makin' Out With Caffeine

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 16:13:00 +0000

On the side of P.G. Tips tea boxes it boasts one of its selling points as being "your natural source of Theanine." That's fantastic... except... what the hell is Theanine? Is this a cultural mistranslation between the U.K. and the U.S. or is Theanine an actual nutrient or vitamin of some sort that the F.D.A. has cleverly suppressed knowledge of from my theanine-starved cells? Or... was I just not paying attention during health class in high school because I ditched fourth period to hang out with cute anarchists and listen to Morrissey. I don't know... but you know who does...

My ghetto sister, Wikipedia.
Let's go ring her up and see what she has to say...

"Theanine is an amino acid commonly found in tea (infusions of Camellia sinensis). Theanine is related to glutamine, and can cross the blood-brain barrier.^[1] Because it can enter the brain, theanine has psychoactive properties.^[2] Theanine has been shown to reduce mental and physical stress^[3], may produce feelings of relaxation^[4] and improves cognition and mood when taken in combination with caffeine."

Oh, that sounds nice. I bet Judita already knew that because she's doing a Master's in Nutrition... but guess what? She's in Costa Rica on vacation so instead you get me Wikipedia-ing like a ninja. Did you like how I just turned Wikipedia into a verb? That's the hard core investigative journalism you'll find here at the Anglo Files. I expect the NME to ring me up any moment and offer me a job.

Your natural source of Theanine,

Tatiana

Oh Russell Brand...

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 03:25:00 +0000

This is a story of how I met (but did not sleep with) Russell Brand...which will probably put me in the minority of women who post blogs about him.
--

I've seen some of Russell's comedy before online and was curious to observe him in person. His presenting style on T.V. is bizarre. He speaks so fast it's insane and it's hard to believe he's sober (and frightening to imagine what he would have been like if he wasn't). But the bottom line however, is that he is funny and very intelligent.

So, I went with another honorary member of the Anglo Files to see him perform this past Saturday at a little ass theatre in Hollywood. It held maybe 90 people and was very intimate although Russell conceded it wasn't large enough to hold his ego. Which was true.

I've waited several days to post this because I really wanted to sit with how I wanted to write about RB. I'm not really interested in being another smarmy blogger wanking their sarcasm all over their blogosphere in an effort to one up someone with my coolness (which is ironic anyhow because bloggers are geeks already by occupation). The evolution of contemporary criticism sees writers frequently esteeming themselves to a great degree and trashing all subjects but that is simply all a made up estimation of who we are and completely fake. So, I'm just going to try and be honest.

I feel that comedians don't have it as easy as writers because writers can craft things a bit more elaborately and while comedians might be good at embellishing they're generally funnier when telling the absolute truth... and that requires vulnerability and frequently, humiliation. One of the primary tenets when you study comedy is "tell the truth." The truth is what makes good stand up easy to identify with and ergo, funny. The audience ironically enough tends to disconnect from this fact though...

So, here was my dilemma. Russell's show was painfully honest. He talked about really embarrassing moments and how when he goes to sleep sometimes, is reminded of something embarrassing he did as a child and it still bothers him. He went off on random discussions about Derrida and Kant and then awkwardly explained who they were to the audience assuming a crowd in Hollywood probably doesn't know about post modernism and semiotics (I took offense at that personally and then realized... he was probably right). He repeated over and over how famous he is in the U.K. and how he hates not being famous in America because it just makes him look like some weird guy with big hair and he can't get laid as easily. And then, sex. I've never seen anyone as consumed by sex as Russell. And from the stories I've heard from people in L.A. he's been making the rounds... and rounds...

So he's saying all these things and they're very extremely funny and yet at the same time, I felt this overwhelming sense of sympathy for him. It was hard for me to view him as just some funny, wacky guy because he seems like the archetypal tragic comic figure. The ol' "tears of a clown" cliche. Who he is behind all the scissor tongued attacks on people, obsession with ego and trying to hump the leg of anything with breasts... I don't know... but I felt kind of worried about that person. Not in a pity way, like "Oh, poor rich guy..." but in a human way. There was just something there that struck a chord and made me sad.

But, as for meeting him... it was what you would expect. I tried to talk to him about Derrida after the show and he was quickly disinterested as he was transfixed by my friend's chest and tattoos (which makes sense as it is heaving and she has many). He immediately chatted her up and told her in no uncertain terms he'd like to get her away from myself and our other friend later as what he had in mind required "intimacy". I was shocked as I don't even think I've heard the cheeziest guido guy in L.A. pull a line out like that and yet, I was fully aware that Brand probably says this line every day... quite successfully.

Our other friend present works in the sex industry and remarked on our way out, "Girl, I wouldn't even sleep with that guy. At least porn stars have to get tested." And that is a telling commentary on the evening.

Here's the photo story of the night... Russel and me... and then Russell and my friend having a moment. :)

(RB and the flat chested writer)

(RB and well-proportioned hairdresser)

ANARCHY IN THE UK INDEED! (A chapter from the upcoming photography memoirs of Matt Wignall)

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 15:33:00 +0000

click images for full view

Hi all - Today we have a special entry. It's an excerpt from the forthcoming memoirs by my former bandmate (and Judita's husband) rock photog extraordinaire (and Cold War Kids' producer) Matt Wignall about the UK portion of his touring with the Cold War Kids. Enjoy the blog and fancy photos.

==

MATT & MATT VS. PORTUGAL PIGLIANO AND THE COWARDS OF BELMONT SHORE
by m.wignall

We left Dublin after 24 hours of literal traveling insanity. I met the Cold War Kids at their London hotel at 10 at night when this all started. Maust, Beeman and I went to a pub and had crappy food that we kept saying was surprisingly good, mostly on account of the price. We had to wake up at 4 am to fly to Edinburgh Scotland for T in the Park music festival. This was a special kind of drag as I had just come from 9 days of not getting enough sleep with Mando Diao in Sweden. We drove in BMW's with suit wearing drivers to Gatwick airport which seems as far as France especially at 4:30am. We got to the gig after a flight on Easyjet which we now refer to as cheesy jet, idiot jet and any other number of names that seemed more clever at the moment, if you've flown them you'd understand. Scotland was rainy, and the band lost their room to someone called Razorlight who had a larger entourage than us (I being the only one in the CWK entourage). I've learned that these UK festivals largely consist of mud, and people living in it. The bands for the most part live in their buses only exiting onto a metal ramp where they are whisked onto stage. The Cold War Kids are not big enough for a bus as they are still a pretty ma and pa organization, they have something like a bus, and while not living in squalor, they sure don't live like the people called Razorlight. So we spent the day in Scotland looking for places to lay down and get free food both of which were graciously available in the main hospitality tent. There was little contact with mud, and the gig went famously, right after Sinead O'conner in fact, who we all agreed is looking very hobbit like these days. That evening, having already been at Gatwick and Edinburgh airports, we headed back to Edinburgh in our jalopy, which I have failed to yet mention, and boarded our 2nd jet for the day to Dublin where we would basically repeat the aforementioned scenario. Our jalopy, driven by our rough and tumble british driver was acquired through the company Blah Blah Blah. They are the cheapest way to travel as a band in the UK. The wheels are vintage Mercedes plumbing truck or some such work vehicle, and the trailer was a horse or donkey trailer with a tarp tied over the open top, that had a very suggestive female printed around 6 feet high on the back of it. The driver was cool and I spent most of the time in the jalopy sitting next to him in the front seat as I tend to get car sick any where else. I asked a lot of questions about the UK, as I had never been. The boys sat in the back on the wrap around leopard skin couch which was either based on, or the inspiration for, a leopard print tattoo on the drivers forearm. I loved the whole thing as I like people with character and this whole scene was just dripping with it.

Outside of eating late at some variety restaurant in Dublin where an asian lady that ran the place eyed us with hate and scorn as we danced to gangsta rap music being played unnecessarily loud, we had a largely uneventful time, I acquired an unnamed quota of good photos of the band and it was off to London in morning where we would begin to move our different ways. Matt Maust and I would stay in London with our friend, financial tycoon Nate Rose, and the rest of the band would head to Portugal to visit Matt Aveiro's relatives on an island where they eat coconuts and have no or very few cars. This is where things began to get exciting.

Getting onto Cheesy Jet is problematic if you have more than a fanny bag. We all had a lot of crap, especially me with all my photo gear, at check in we had to combine, rearrange and condense to save money and not have to check in said photo gear. The color photo of "dangerous materials" are the items that for whatever reason did not make it into the collective check in bags of Maust and myself. A lighter, a knife, and various containers containing a who's who of dangerous substances hidden within hair re-growth shampoo and conditioner bottles that are way too big to fit in the plastic bags. I speak for Matt and myself when I say sneaking this through Dublin's bag screening was a thrill the likes we rarely see. We figured out over the course of many flights, that by buttoning or zipping up a jacket, it becomes a shirt in the eyes of the screeners. It can't be a heavy jacket, you'll get popped every time for that, but a wind breaker, a blazer, buttoned, no problem, walk on through, unbuttoned, you have to strip down, red flags galore. We had an apple which was to be our diversion, and pockets riddled with our precious booty. I held the apple aloft and loudly asked, can I bring this through the beeping arches? Everyone is now focused on the apple, me and Maust walked quickly through, David Blaine and Criss Angel would have been proud, in relative terms we just made the Statue of Liberty disappear. Sadly, our brand of magical diversion was so flawlessly executed that only we could revel in its brightly burning glory. Every instinct I had was to turn around and say, "Ha! We have just infiltrated your shoddy system, we know the secret, that it is all a show, all wound up in political correctness and self importance and continuing under estimations of our clever foes." The crowd at the screening area would have been in awe, we would have been the object of envy and secret flatteries. I looked down, swallowed my pride and clutched my precious survival lighter and knife. Matt had his herbal hair regrowth shampoo, and we knew we were more than just men lost among the oceans of human beings traveling the world. Anarchy in the UK indeed!

At the airport that day we all hugged and said our goodbyes. I have surfed for most of my life though I try to keep it a secret, being an artist and having an alter ego called Matt Death in tow, it looks pretty bad to my public to be hanging out in flowered shorts getting a tan and engaging in happy sunny beach activities (ironically, I have little to no public to worry about and any public I have is purely delusional). For this and other reasons I was and am insanely jealous of Matt Aveiro (Portugal Pigliano), Nathan, Johnny and Beeman. Portugal is fabled to have some of the best surfing in Europe and they were to be on some island with the same name as a crumby town in the central valley of California. I knew they were going to Portugal but they kept saying they were going to Madera I think, and I kept wondering why they were so excited to go to that crap hole not realizing it was the island's name. Having that all cleared up, Maust and I decided to stay in London as he needed a break from traveling and I was on my way to Africa to photograph the installation of charitably funded water wells in remote villages. After 2 weeks of European work and travel, sitting around financial tycoon Nate Rose's Notting Hill flat was sounding pretty grand.

RIGHT-ON BRIGHTON JULY 10

Maust had this picture of him and Nate in front of the burned down pier in Brighton, and based on this feature I suggested we go out there and do some proper photography. Maust is great at wandering aimlessly around whatever city he is in and usually is traipsing around looking at stuff and doing whatever he does. We decided that Brighton would be a great day trip and we would feel like we were on vacation, and would live large, and would have a far better time than our brothers eating coconuts on the island in Portugal. On the train, we repeatedly discussed how Nick Cave lives in Brighton and in our little worlds this may as well have been the Queen's palace we were going to see. It is funny the people and things that strike us as royalty: Nick Cave's part of town and a burned out pier fouling up everyone's view. I was in heaven. Me and Maust took beautiful photos and mentioned a handful of times how we should have had the whole band there to photograph. It really is such an amazing area. I resolved to take the best portrait of Maust that I had ever taken in my life just to stick it to the our brothers eating coconuts on the Island in Portugal (view picture at the start of this page for said portrait). We came across a big dumb happy dog and a ferris wheel and it was all very sad in a happy and nostalgic kind of way. That kind of sums up Brighton in my thinking.

We met a guy with a handle bar mustache from the Rumble Strips, he was touted as one of the nicest people Maust had met in Europe and after he bought us a round of Guinness and poorly executed Irish Coffee I was in agreement. Over a pint he told us the story of two Welsh men, who with a GPS tracking system and months of gear, boarded a pink peddle boat and peddled their way to America. When they arrived some months later, with no clothing in tact and full beards, they were arrested and deported. He said this kind of behavior is to be expected from the Welsh. I think I like the Welsh.

We got back to London and did more sitting around in financial tycoon Nate Rose's flat. We occupied ourselves for hours with his stupid Internet connection and the 40 some odd wireless connection signals that were every last one password protected. Not very sharing the Brits. I was supposed to photograph this band the Ettes who I very much like. They have a fabulous girl drummer with big hair and dark eyes, a cute and friendly girl singer, and a strapping, ascot wearing bass playing young man who may or may not be involved with the singer. I photographed them once before and it was great and we hung out and talked about Strangers With Candy, a very funny show which is obscure enough to create an immediate bond between people in the know. We were to meet at the millennium bridge, which I find overstated, and the big communist looking museum. I was tired from 3 weeks of photos, me and Matt wanted to see a movie, and they were 45 minutes late so we split. I couldn't get a phone to work right anywhere in Europe so we couldn't call, and I was feeling more self important than usual in regard to the respect of my time. With a lot of travel behind me and what would become an African travel cliche of self realization and epiphany to come, it was a welcome break to my sometimes crazy life behind the camera. I left my cameras at financial tycoon Nate Rose's and Maust and I went to see Elvis Perkins and his goons. They put on a fine show and it was nice to see some faces from our side of the pond. The next day Maust carried my bag for me to the train station, listened to me bitch about petty problems and complaints about my failed music career, and saw me off to Heathrow Airport where my 2 weeks in Africa would begin. I never found out what happened to Portugal Pigliano and the Cowards of Belmont shore.

Oi! Day one

noreply@blogger.com (Tatiana) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 17:35:00 +0000

This blog was started because I have an influx of girlfriends who currently share my affinity for things like P.G. Tips, watching Extras, gossiping about Russell Brand's ardent sex life and complaining about the cost of international trips. I keep joking that I'm going to start Anglomania parties where we just get together and watch The Mighty Boosh and eat scones and cream. Do we have a problem? Yes. But considering our alternatives are: the NFL, Nickelback and no accents... we were really left with no choice.

My current obsession is Stephen Merchant from Extras. Ricky Gervais gets all the attention but seriously, Merchant is a hot, comic icon with brilliant timing. And I love that he complains about his "bulbous eyes" in real life, because that makes me feel soooo much better about mine which are (literally) probably twice the size of his (boo hoo). Anyhow, I figure the wedding invitations will have a picture of us holding hands but his head will be cut out of the shot as I'm 5'0" and he's 6'7"... who wants to come? Bring your umbrellas and famous friends, it's gonna be a hoot. And don't worry, all the proceeds from the subsequent photo spread in Hello! will be donated to charity... and Gucci. (By the way, I think I need to do a whole forthcoming entry about the magical majesty that is Hello! and OK! photospreads. Before I lived in the U.K. I had no idea such grandeur existed. The awkward posing, the strained looks of supposed happiness and reveling in excessive consumption...it is pretty amazing. )

This video has too much Jonathan Ross but look at Smerchie in that cute suit.