Madame Arcati

Anna Wintour at the Met Gala 2025: Disguise!

2025-05-06T21:08:00.006+01:00

I liked the theme of the latest Met Gala 2025 of black dandyism. Not sure about all the white. Madonna I see wore an outsized white suit that needed manual aid to remain photo-friendly. Blue-carpet flunkies pulled fabric back into shape, and not just for Madge. Madonna is looking her age. Best face up to it.

Anna Wintour will have licensed these wonders. But what of her? How she disguises her mug. The bob is Venetian blinds. Or net curtains. Her visage is a thing of treasure to be preserved from exposure. Who can blame her? The world of Wintour is of fleshly ersatz. For half a century she has projected the same image. Scorpio fixity. Yet she remains mercurial, a surfer of trends. A paradox. The challenge is public display. The bob does the job. It largely disguises by head shift. You cannot see the face, except you can glimpse it, a map of channels and neck melts and thin-lipped scourge. Does this matter? No. Who gives a cunt? Pics below from the Met Gala....

Vanity Fair, its Exiting Just-So Editor and Gwyneth Paltrow

2025-04-23T13:18:00.002+01:00

Rhadika Jones is soon to exit the Vanity Fair editorship. Thank goodness for that. She seeks to climb a new career Matterhorn, as you usually do when the bosses leave the exit door ajar. Ages back I wondered aloud at the sheer dullness of her VF. Cover after cover out-wallflowered the last on the magazine shelves, desperate not to excite or be noticed. Quite why she was appointed in the first place is a mystery to me, though I suspect Anna Wintour had a lot to do with it. Darling Anna will have wanted le total Graydon Carter Exorcism, a ridding of vulgar political engagement, controversy, and funny hair (Graydon's). In its/his place? The joys of just-so. Rhadika strikes me as awfully just-so. She and I could spend an hour together over a Matcha Three Mint tea in a Dorchester tea room and t(w)inkle in light convo. Faint giggles. Not one reputation would be pulled apart. No gossip exchanged. We would depart the hotel in a state of sobriety, before I rushed headlong to a local boozer for restoration of stupefied clarity.

It is then a surprise to discover the latest VF with Gwyneth Paltrow as its star image. In her dying days as editor Radhika decides at long last to produce a not-uninteresting cover. Gwyneth is nonchalance itself seated (not sat) on a carpeted staircase, long seemingly bare legs crossed in Saint Laurent elegance. The SL scanty torso clobber is a tease: the cliched sexy tropes may give rise to sub-Hefner concern, but are struck dead in an instant by Gwyneth's unsmiling countenance. The hauteur of self-possession (or CEO power display - a male [XY!] thing for too long). Her expression is fuck you with a touch of Miss Whiplash admonition. What have we peeping toms done to be admonished about? For causing Gwyneth to pose in high-end lingerie? Which has been volunteered into our lives courtesy of mega-stardom? Courtesy of VF? Punish me!

Smile-seekers will be disappointed when they turn to the fawning, almost unreadable PR piece on (sorry, interview with) Madame Goop. More flesh is revealed yet the face remains inert, joyless, wrinkle-free strategic. Commercial. More lingerie is displayed out in the garden on a sun-lounger, and in other places. She is saying: I don't have to smile or please/I don't have to say cheese. It all seems so novel not to smile until you recollect that runway models rarely smile, either. What could Gwyneth be selling?

It's not a cover to ignite the world. Not like Tina Brown's Demi Moore one or Carter's Caitlyn Jenner. But in its own terms, the Paltrow triggers a low-wattage glance on the just-so spectrum. A pulse is detectable on the gurney. It's elegant, dry, sexless and noir-glam. It's a welcome spritzer after a tiring day before the cocktail hour. That's about as nice as I can be about our Radhika's editorship. See, I am all heart. Almost.

Farah Damji seeks a Volunteer Editor while resting in the Dock

2025-04-18T13:02:00.007+01:00

In a long life one is bound to come across all sorts of people - and who can be older than the Madame Arcati blog? Almost 20! In online terms this must surely be a near-record. Madame has encountered saints, sinners, cunts and countesses. It's a wonder a commode is not my new logo, with halo of air freshener. Among the clattering cans tied to my social rear bumper is the creature Farah Damji ['she/her'], once a frenemy of this site before I realised that among her many talents is the ability not to stay out of jail, here and overseas.

I have much to say about dear Farah even if I understand she is unwell, shackled to her cell bed. According to an odd Mirror report she has cancer. That is as may be. But more particularly she is on trial. Again. She is accused of harassing an ex-lover, among other allegations. Allow me to share this recent Times report lest I be accused of making things up...

Oh dear. Innocent till proven otherwise, poppets, even if the reader is cursed with deja vu. But while Farah pays visits to a courthouse in the UK, unshackled from her cell bed presumably, my attention is drawn to a job ad on LinkedIn (algorithmically brought to my attention via a shared contact with Cherie Blair KC) supposedly posted by someone called Farah Damji. The lucky applicant will become the 'Volunteer Editor' of The View, a publication dedicated to the wellbeing of female prisoners, such as Farah herself. Here it is...

Don't apply all at once. Farah describes herself as a 'Human Rights Activist and Justice Reformer' which could be true as far as it goes, but the CV omits 'Professional Jailbird' from the Robin Hood-style self-advertisment. Someone called Clare Simms is listed as a director, but this is Farah herself, allegedly - part of her modus operandi is to create a dramatis personae of pseudonymous Farahs who operate from different email addresses. If the real Clare Simms would care to get in touch with evidence that her dental records differ from Farah's I'd be most grateful. I won't hold my breath. But the matter remains open and subject to conjecture. Farah could be as pure as the driven coke.

Certainly The View offers an opportunity for career development, though the word 'Volunteer' suggests that he/she/neither might be looking at a pay break.

Horoscope: Your 2025

2025-04-09T20:45:00.001+01:00

Here's your horoscope for 2025.

Aries

March 21-April 20

The uphill struggle ends abruptly in February when your ruling planet Mars moves direct. An event enables you to assume your preferred pace – super fast. This could be to bring something to the boil, or you enter a whole new phase of growth. From June, bountiful Jupiter blesses home and family matters: a residential move can’t be ruled out, or more property is bought. In July a major new era commences lasting years, favouring all forms of communication and ideas. You are likely to be more outspoken, more independent in your thinking and more prone to casting away any situation (or person!) who has restricted or bored you. Yes, a lively, volatile year. Which frankly is how you like it.

Taurus

April 21-May 21

The first half of 2025 focuses on the company you keep: friends, colleagues and groups. This is because your ruler Venus is retrograde for a while. Who is loyal Mercutio? Who is treacherous Brutus? The use of this is to weed out people who undermine or fail to support you. In this phase there’s ample opportunity to make more money through enterprise: so, do what you can to put yourself out in the world. Many Taureans will be undergoing a massive change of life direction under Pluto’s new sign, setting a new pattern in career or public responsibilities. Though ‘change’ is not your favourite word, embrace it now. By the end of the year, new alliances are helping you progress.

Gemini

May 22-June 21

Fortune continues to favour you under profitable Jupiter in your zodiac sign. This influence continues to June. Already you will have benefited from this influence so long as you are proactive and prompt in your dealings with people. Jupiter prefers workers, not the torpidly entitled. The theme of growth continues in the second half of 2025, again under Jupiter which will be moving through the chart house of income and assets well into 2026. A chance to make more money should be grabbed. And look to November for a career opportunity under practical Saturn. With Uranus in your sign from July, expect the unexpected as you act more from inspiration. Your word of the year? ‘Kerching’.

Cancer

June 22-July 23

If you seek a partner or new friends, 2025 will not disappoint – you now prefer people who understand responsibility, not wastrels and spendthrifts. Spiritual energies are heightened to June: many of you will immerse in religious or philosophical supports to better understand life – and this takes on greater significance from July when more unorthodox ideas start to appeal under inspirational Uranus. When Jupiter enters Cancer in June a whole new energy takes possession for the rest of the year. Not only will you be a lot more adventurous, but fate itself urges you to broaden horizons and take a few risks as you grow increasingly impatient with moribund situations. This is a year to do what was once unthinkable.

Leo

July 24-August 23

There are alternative ways of putting this. Either you’re in battle mode, ‘slaying’ foes right, left and centre. Or such is your determination to see something completed that you cannot fail. Major projects can be launched in 2025. You’re spoilt for choice! With Mars and Pluto opposed, it is inevitable that much can be achieved by not always surrounding yourself with ‘yes people’. Great things can be achieved by negotiation and listening to advice from those who know what they’re talking about. Also, this is a year to sort out or settle financial matters, though later in the year favours this. From July, seek the support of mavericks in your social and professional circles – get (slightly) weird.

Virgo

August 24- September 23

Career issues are greatly benefited by Jupiter in the first six months of 2025. Expect promotion or developments that bring you closer to a sense of vocation. Do not fear moving on from work that no longer satisfies you. More problematic are certain relationships. Tread cautiously with people who never quite reveal themselves or seem ‘mysterious’. But don’t doubt it: you’re in the mood for love (or more love). From July to December, life in the world (such as career) orients you to greater independent actions – and expect a jumble of events that prepare you for the unexpected. You may not welcome this news, but it will stimulate you mentally. Prepare for major change in day-to-life.

Libra

September 24- October 23

A major theme of 2025 is your need for a complete overhaul of social company, especially intimate relationships. Naturally, you treasure the ‘old faithfuls’ yet there is sufficient vim and vigour in you to seek (in addition) more exciting companions, or even a lover. From June, career or public responsibilities are accentuated for progress: no matter your vintage or work status, there will be a major opportunity to expand. Pleasant surprises are in store. There’s an ongoing need to maintain a sense of balance in workload and/or wellbeing: take greater interest in limits and rest. From July, the self-improvement bug takes root, and this may be expressed in a desire to study or travel. Update your passport if needs be.

Scorpio

October 24-November 22

A caring-sharing year lies ahead. In your dealings with or about banks, trusts, tax people or inheritance – expect a gain. Any enterprise involving a shared investment (such as a joint mortgage) is under Jupiter’s sweet gaze. From June to December, there is the raised likelihood that you’ll be heading to an airport for the sheer pleasure of adventure. So far, so good. A new influence grows in power from July in that what is shared financially may feel stifling: it’s as if you must exercise greater freedom. But be careful what you wish for. Tread with caution. If a new responsibility to care for another arises, welcome this as a chance to apply your moral principles. Be good.

Sagittarius

November 23-December 21

We all must balance competing claims on our time. It’s the struggle between what we want for ourselves and what others (usually family) want from us. This the theme of the Saturn/Neptune conjunction for you. The direction of travel is finding more space for own creativity and gift for fun, especially as the year matures. Do not feel guilty: view this as ‘evolution’. Similarly, your relationship with other people is in a period of growth and this usually manifests in multiple associations as you separate the wheat from chaff. Later in 2025, you will start to bond with people well out of your comfort zone – this is a long-term pattern. Important domestic decisions will have to be made.

Capricorn

December 22-January 20

The question of personal history or even one’s ancestry has elevated importance in 2025. The need to understand one’s identity is central to most people, and you’re no exception. Family-related issues rear up through the year, not all of them problematic. Some will enlighten. But you maybe accused of being too self-preoccupied. Ignore this criticism. In the second half of the year, there is a greater likelihood that daily routines are disrupted by unforeseeable events – you may not always welcome these, yet the outcome is renewal and release from tiresome duties. From June onwards, social life enters an exciting period. New connections take you into new worlds: so, boldly go where you have not gone before.

Aquarius

January 21-February 19

You probably know that Pluto entered your sign last November. It stays with you for 20 years! Pluto has a bad reputation, but that’s false. This is the planet that promises rebirth. It may not happen immediately. Yet sometime in 2025 or beyond, expect a personal liberation; a new way of living your life. You’re in a very buoyant mood as we enter 2025, open to fun activities and expressing your soul. From June onwards, expect opportunities to find greater satisfaction from work or wellbeing exercises. Take out more me-time. A power struggle is indicated in a close relationship, yet this can have its passionate side – especially if you both have a sense of the absurd.

Pisces

February 20-March 20

This is a makeover year. A chance to remodel yourself. Not just outwardly in your personal appearance, but spiritually, as you embrace the need to get more anchored in the world. Pisces can struggle to adapt to actuality, tending to put dreams or projections first. Result? Collision with reality. But not in 2025. Practical Saturn in your sign sees to that. If you have wondered at times what your life purpose is, it will become a lot clearer as the months progress, especially in the latter half of 2025. Idealistic Neptune will deepen self-insight. From July, the home area requires greater attention and there may be some kind of departure or ending of a situation. Prepare for a fresh start.

Molly Parkin with George Melly

2025-04-09T20:19:00.000+01:00

Vintage fans of Madame Arcati will recall that I was once the permanent fiance of Molly Parkin who is now in care. In our pronoun stew of a world that last sentence will make some sense to the few. Let me share a fabulous photo of her with the late jazz thingy and writer George Melly, a sometime lover of hers. The photographer is the brilliant Brian David Stevens. Check out his work here. And here is the art...

Sam Taylor: The True Star of The Lady magazine

2025-04-04T18:12:00.002+01:00

Sam Taylor

Rachel Johnson is in today's Times reminiscing about The Lady magazine which has gone up to the "great boudoir in the sky" as she writes in her payoff. I believe her salary was an incredible £100,000 a year, or more, a sum that the fiercesome Julia - the matriarch of the Budworths, known as the "Gorgon of Deerbolts Hall" (her hice) - came to resent. There is a movie in all this. If directed by Quentin Tarantino I am sure we would see Julia throwing Rachel out of the latter's office window, in an 'alternate history'. We would not be spared the street gore. Slow-mo natch.

But we must not over-preoccupy ourselves with darling Rachel Johnson who I think once offended Dame Joan Collins by alluding to the star's purported financial limitations. Today, I want to celebrate the true hero of The Lady - one Sam Taylor. After Rachel's editorship there was Matt Warren's and then Sam took over from him. I did wonder whether she would get rid of me as the magazine's first and last astrologer, but I must have done something right. I survived. Actually, I thrived under her stewardship. I always did get on with Aries types. Not only were my human horoscopes welcome and placed well away from the arse end of the book, but she suggested I write horoscopes for pets. For our friends of fur, feather and fin. Suddenly, we were in the menagerie of Libran cockatoos and Aquarian Tiger Barbs. The column didn't last long (I can imagine somebody upstairs thought it all very silly) but I am told it was popular with readers. Perhaps humour was its engine rather than the celestials, and it has been my curse to collide with laugh-free bollards.

All the media coverage of The Lady's winding-up has neglected Sam's considerable contribution to slowing the decline of the magazine. In response to my previous post and a video, she messaged me this afternoon on Facebook and she agreed I should publish her remarks on this site. She writes:

"At the risk of incurring the wrath of Madame Arcatti, I was actually at the mag for almost 9 years - hired initially as features ed when dear Rachel was working out her notice and to shore up the lack of experience of her replacement, Matt. And whilst I cannot claim to have persuaded you to adorn its hallowed pages, I did set about encouraging a first class team of writers to join the mag including Louis Barfe, Liz Hodgkinson, Maureen Paton Maguire, Robin Dutt, Richard Barber, Rod Conway Morris, Ivo Dawnay, Richard Ingrams, Thomas Blaikie...I asked heavenly Juanita Coulson to become the Fashion AND Literary editor which she continued to do with all the style and expertise that made her sections sing. I want also to thank designer Lee Southey and my entire editorial team. In the end, I served as editor for almost 5 years, steering the ship on a tiny budget but with a remarkably talented team including Melonie Josephine Philips and Lorna Wilson and James Crawford Smith. We had huge fun, were nominated for 8 awards, and I was always happy to personally pay for those contributor lunches that were so uproarious - although I'm sorry you felt the beady eye of RI [Richard Ingrams] on occasion! Even after I left, I adored the mag from afar and I am thrilled that Madame A believes it was sparkling till the last...but then, how could it not with such a stellar cast still sprinkled over its pages ? Very much looking forward to raising a glass or ten to the joy that was The Lady...."

I have to say all the above are great talents and it's a mark of an excellent editor to hire and keep them. Even better, they survived her departure. My hope is that they all move onto greater glory.

The Lady magazine: Madame Arcati Reminisces

2025-04-03T11:56:00.011+01:00

The Madame Arcati blog was the first to report on the demise of the British publication The Lady. Four days later, the sloth-like gosser Richard Eden at the Mail picked up the story followed by The Times in which I am quoted (online version). The Lady Limited is being wound up and liquidated as I write. Reportedly the magazine owes £360,000 to HMRC. In addition there will be outstanding sums in wages, writer fees, subscriptions, rent, image uses, etc.

The title had lasted 140 years. It was founded in 1885. Queen Victoria reigned then and Oscar Wilde was yet to frequent London's male brothels with Bosie. Despite subsequent two World Wars and strikes galore it never ceased to come out weekly - even Covid could not interrupt it. It once operated from a grand, off-white Georgian quartet building in London's Bedford Street: as a structure, it resembled Miss Havisham's wedding cake, prior to the crumbling of rejection. Within this sweet place, beyond the front door, one was met by a pub-like hinged counter which would be raised for admittance once it was established that one was not a psycho. All around on the ground floor sales staff worked the phones. I noticed that the word 'advertisement' was pronounced adver-tisement which is not the English way so far as I know.

The editorial floors were upstairs and there you risked life and limb. Past issues of The Lady were piled high in rooms and corridors, along with books and other things. A minor earthquake would have brought these multi-storey collections crashing down on one's head. What a way to go. 'Offices' resembled converted drawing rooms. The editor's office may have once been a bedroom for a child. Getting lost in this labyrinth was one peril.

An old man lived at the top of the building, and he lurked silently about. I understand he was the previous owner of The Lady and related to Ben Budworth who owns the title. There were rumours of a ghost in the basement and a much-told tale we might term 'turd-gate'. The past was very much alive here and that was part of the challenge the magazine faced.

I was hired by Rachel Johnson as the magazine's astrologer back in 2011. Rachel became editor (I think in 2009) and commissioned to drag The Lady into the 21st century. In a sign of sanity and alertness, she was a fan of the Madame Arcati blog and amused that in one story I retitled the The Lady "The Old Cunties' Weekly". On the basis of this (I presume) she asked me to write for the magazine and finally was persuaded to run my horoscope column.

I only met Rachel once, at a Molly Parkin party at the Chelsea Arts Club, maybe around 2012. She had the air of someone permanently in transit, or en route. She purposely homed in on the useful of the guests before exiting fast, Anna Wintour-like. She had other parties to zip through. The one thing Rachel did do successfully was raise the profile of The Lady, or remind the public it was still extant. Channel 4 broadcast a wonderful documentary about life on the magazine (The Lady and the Revamp). Feuds and fallings-out were witnessed that included a nonplussed outgoing features editor, a numpty noisy 'literary editor' and the bereft daughter of the previous editor (who would later ask to be my PA after she got the Rachel boot).

The documentary I think sealed Rachel's fate. Following one filmed row between her and Ben, she described The Lady as a "piddling little magazine that no one even cares about or reads". This enraged the Budworth matriarch Julia (now sadly passed) who threatened to throw Rachel out of her office window. Thereafter, matters deteriorated further. At some point, she published a Jilly Cooper fiction extract which included the term, "lady gardens", a reference to the nether regions of ladies, not to horticultural matters. The only way was out, though to this day I don't know whether she was fired or she chose to leave.

I think Sam Taylor followed (or she followed Matt, see below) and she lasted two or three years. Everyone agrees she was a very good editor. But when Ben decided to move the magazine out of Bedford Street, Sam was off.

Someone called Matt Warren followed, once a young star of the Daily Mail. I was seated next to him at a Lady literary lunch one day when he turned to me and said/joked, "We only hire you because you're cheaper than Russell Grant". He was off my Christmas card list after that.

Matt was followed by a Maxine something-or-other. She didn't last long. She scarcely ever responded to my emails. One sensed her distress across the ether. One hopes she recovered.

Ben's wife Helen Budworth was The Lady's last editor and I must confess I always liked her. Glamorous, smart, sharp, Aries (like Ben). She had led the advertising team at the magazine, and was the company's managing director. Her Lady sparkled. But by then it was too late. For decades the magazine had been in decline, and the world had moved on in its moods and tastes. I don't think anyone could turn this great vessel around.

The Lady social events were always huge fun. Before Helen became editor, Richard Ingrams and assorted gossip-rakes attended the magazine's free 5* lunches. Ingrams always turned to stone the moment he spotted me as if I were a trans-Medusa. Perhaps I am. An exotic dandy called Robin Dutt would diffuse his way through parties and lunches like a Clive Christian No 1 fragrance, but bearing a default grim countenance. This would be replaced by joyful animation the moment his attention was focused on fresh quarry.

Scarcely any magazine now is in its pomp. Vogue is as skeletal as its models; Vanity Fair a flaccid ego stroke. Reader's Digest is no more in the UK. The same with Glamour. Could The Lady re-emerge in another form in the hands of a souvenir guru dedicated to the service of the rich and famous (or merely well-to-do)? Let's ask Grok.

The Lady horoscope for April 2025

2025-04-01T15:46:00.000+01:00

As I reported the other day, The Lady has ceased publication. So here is my April 2025 horoscope that would have appeared in the next issue of the magazine.

April 2025

Aries

March 21-April 20

A dramatic or eventful month, particularly after 18 April for several weeks. Ruler Mars is then in a better position for direct action after a longish period of holding your horses. Any project fired by your passion benefits from decisiveness. Even so, avoid impulsiveness. Your best strategy is: ‘premeditated intervention’. Something is ready to rock ‘n’ roll.

Taurus

April 21-May 21

Ruler Venus turns direct on 13 April, ending a perplexing period in any group situation. Thereafter, you’re in a much better place to assess who best to align with and who to show the door. New friendships can be formed, particularly with those who share your politics, ideals or charitable instincts. Your raised charm does the trick.

Gemini

May 22-June 21

If the career area has felt stuck in the mud, there are subtle shifts to suggest that change is afoot, as ruler Mercury’s retrograde ends early in April. The advice is to get out and about. Share your thoughts with friends and allies. Their observations could trigger an entirely new way of looking at your life.

Cancer

June 22-July 23

Finances are set to improve under pushy Mars and Pluto – in other words, take the initiative and ask for a raise. You may have under-valued yourself. Time for a correction! The best moment for this is after mid-April. And pensioners will be pleasantly surprised by a useful uptick. But don’t splash out as a result.

Leo

July 24-August 23

Do not fear instability. Its chief virtue is that it challenges the status quo in your life, holding out the possibility of you having a greater say in how life can be lived. Uranus – planet of the unpredictable – is bringing all sorts of unlikely things and people into your life, increasing chances of a breakthrough.

Virgo

August 24- September 23

No better time than now to make financial plans and fill forms. And your new state of mind makes you more effective at discerning people’s motives. Which is useful if someone’s trying to be persuasive. In matters of wills and legacies, it could just be that a revision is required. Who has been neglectful of late?

Libra

September 24-October 23

A ‘social makeover’ is due. Again. This time, events take you into new situations. And your mind is more easily bored by old anecdotes and lengthy accounts of ailments. If this sounds callous, it’s really about being honest and staying fresh to life. Stay kindly in touch with familiars while gallivanting with more sparkling types.

Scorpio

October 24-November 22

The ‘spring clean’ can be applied to day-to-day life. Making even the smallest change in routine raises morale and triggers creative developments. Wellbeing, too, is a major topic. Whatever gives you space to be pampered or gently pummelled, go for it. A new kind of therapy attracts your interest and could be just what you need.

Sagittarius

November 23-December 21

Property matters continue to dominate life. Unlike recent past months, April is an excellent month to move forward with any domestic, building or family project provided sensitivity to other perspectives is maintained. Loved ones are more likely to be agreeable to a plan because you are listening to them, even if they have reservations.

Capricorn

December 22-January 20

There’s much to be excited about this year yet you’re feeling uneasy. Your world feels under threat. What does the future hold? Have I missed an opportunity? Am I safe? Ruler Saturn soon enters a new sign, and such a transition is usually marked by nervousness, especially with Cappies. Take a more relaxed approach to what cannot be controlled.

Aquarius

January 21-February 19

Local world matters don’t greatly interest you, such is the cosmic nature of your mind. Yet the skies decree that neighbourhood politics will preoccupy you. Council Tax? Traffic cones misery? Too many nail salons? Are you still awake? Yet, you will address any of these matters and more with campaigning zeal, to the horror of many.

Pisces

February 20-March 20

People will have noted an edgier you in recent weeks, due to ruler Neptune having moved into a bold, fast-moving sign. It’s going to be there for years. This takes time to get used to. On the to-do list is sorting out assets and income. Seek clarity. Fortunately, you have time yet to re-order priorities.

The Lady Magazine Commences Liquidation Proceedings

2025-03-29T16:18:00.005+00:00

Very sad news received today under the solar eclipse (traditionally not great) in Aries. The Lady magazine has commenced liquidation proceedings arising from HMRC pursuing an alleged £360,000 tax debt. I am supposing the magazine is no more. Only recently it brought out its 140th birthday edition, having been launched in 1885. My condolences to proprietor Ben Budworth and editor Helen Budworth.

I was recruited to the magazine back in 2011 by then-editor Rachel Johnson who was a fan of the Madame Arcati blog. I was The Lady's first and last astrologer. Did I see doom coming? The myth about astrology is that hard and fast forecasts can be made. But let me put it this way. The solar eclipse of today is ruled by Mars, and the magazine's Mars is in its 8th house, traditional zone of death and taxes. The future is not set in stone. But we way reflect on where the planets are at certain events.

I had the honour of working with some great editors of the magazine. Rachel did the essential thing of breaking moulds and she enjoyed spikes in circulation, but only spikes. I think it was Channel 4 that broadcast a riveting documentary of life at the magazine when it was housed in a wedding cake of a property in Covent Garden. Sam Taylor was a joy and I felt appreciative of astrology, or of acausal approaches to life. Helen brought a great pizazz to the title and I always liked her.

I'll say more about The Lady another time.

How Vanity Fair put Graydon Carter in his Place

2025-03-27T14:32:00.004+00:00

Faint praise is one way of damning something. Another is to throw a knowing glance at the something before shifting one's fanning gaze elsewhere, fast. As if to say, "Next!" This latter course has been adopted by the April 2025 edition of Vanity Fair, and the 'something' is Graydon Carter's memoirs, When the Going was Good, about his time as editor of that magazine - all of 25 years.

VF's fanning gaze takes the form of a tiny capsule nod to the fact of this book's existence, a review-ette no bigger than a postage stamp. Oh here it is...

Given Carter's eminence - among other things, presiding over the sensational Caitlyn Jenner cover marking the transition of Olympic gold medal-winning decathelete Bruce to the sisterhood - one might think that the book worthy of a longer review and/or an extract and/or an interview. It was not meant to be. There was the chance to mire the readership in celebrity goss and relive VF's glory days! A chance to celebrate its best editor, arguably. Current editor Radhika Jones plainly decided - or it was decided elsewhere - that the book should not experience an excess of enthusiasm. On the other hand, to ignore it altogether would be less than elegant. After all, one of the reasons why statuesque intellectual Radhika holds her post is because Graydon (and Tina Brown before him) made the magazine such a success in the first place. Kerching, poppet.

The review-ette has all the hallmarks of an amateurish nepo-intern job. Have you spotted its tautology? Do write in. So, what's going on? We now turn to last week's The Sunday Times Magazine for likely backstories and Hadley Freeman's breathless interview with Graydon.

Hadley shows some gusto as a writer, and what she lacks in exquisiteness of style is plainly over-compensated for by an abundance of gall (or chutzpah). This latter goes far in mainstream journalism. Pushy-push push. AI-subs can tidy up the outpourings. Alas, Hadley had to fly steerage London to New York to meet Carter, a revelation that plainly amuses him. He flew Concorde in his pomp.

The interview is quite revealing. First we learn that he thinks not too affectionately of American Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour, his boss at Condé Nast as editorial director in the last eight years of his editorship. We discern a long-standing froideur between the legends. He tells Hadley: "It's funny, Anna's job title has gotten longer as Condé Nast has gotten smaller. She's like one of those Ruritanian princes". He also shares that Anna has the vulgar habit of terminating a restaurant meal as soon as she is done, leaving "dinner-mates...mid-bite". Anna was always "frosty" and hints he could have said so much more. While Anna will not have known what Graydon had say to Hadley, we may suppose she got wind of the book's contents - the "cheeky anecdotes" about her - and it was editorially intuited that a minimal reception was in order. Fanning gaze!

We then come to Radhika and her VF - a gelding compared to Graydon's big bollocks stallion. Hadley finds the gelding "less fun", and here I would agree. The layouts are sophomorically distracting and the features candy crush toothless, but for the recent profile of the Sussexes which found its courage in running with the media pack and slagging the Montecito royals off. Hadley tells Carter that she finds Radhika's covers "dull" to which he responds, "You can say that, I never could". A good House of Cards line of non-self-incriminatory agreement. He looks happy to note that today's VF has fewer ads.

Personally, I would have run a long extract from Graydon's book and relished the indiscretions. Get dirty. I mean, who cares? But Radhika's VF is just nice. And if it does get mean, it looks over its shoulder first.

River the Regalista: Now Meghan Writes Him a Letter!

2025-03-21T21:16:00.003+00:00

Good heavens, the Duchess of Markle has written a letter to one of her trolls, River. Below is my take on him-she with tiara. Meghan attempts to deploy humour in her elaborate epistle, and she reveals some self-satire to her credit. River may accept to gift from Montecito. Meanwhile, River...

Among the baubles of YouTube podcasters is a young femme-chap called River. And how he flows and flows. A torrent of royally-inflected words pour forth on a regular basis, and he is indeed articulate. University-educated probably, or an inspired autodidact. River is a vision of tiara’d pulchritude, and is yet another specialist in matters Meghan and Harry; a regalista in the mode of drawling Lady Colin ‘aw aw’ Campbell and Dan ‘spite face’ Wootton (litigation pending, poppet?), sniping at anyone who may offend or challenge The Firm. In all instances, Meghan of Montecito is marked for especially vicious scorn. Unlike Lady C, River does not pose as an insider with direct Windsor wormholes spewing goss. At least I don’t think so. I have not watched all of River’s videos. I find my horoscopy to be quite time-consuming. From what I gather he is an assiduous reader of royal tattle with a sharp eye for a revealing detail missed by most others. This prompts engaging monologues that sustain the impression of exclusivity.

I have no idea who he is. He says he lives near Hampstead, London. Even Grok is non-plussed, muddling him with the Michael Jackson American impersonator River Gibbs whose videos can be found on YouTube and Instagram. Indeed, I confused the two until River himself drew my attention to one of his podcasts in which he scotches the multiple personality rumour. I must admit I did find it hard to reconcile the athletic rollerskater River G with his Serene Highness River on his armchair throne, imagining that he boarded the transatlantic red-eye to play two different parts. How silly of moi. (Btw, since following River G on Instagram he has made the account private. So my other alter egos watch him instead.)

River’s YouTube channel is popular. He has 154,000 subscribers, and his 367 videos to date have been viewed 47,000,000 times. I’m well jel. Each video draws a cacophony of commentary, mostly of the pleasuring kind, though one recent message earned River’s ire. He was berated for using ‘Jesus Christ’ as a ‘quss’ word and was told to ‘man up’. River’s response was a thing of wonder as he majesterially tore into his critic, telling his public that he could not give a fuck what they thought of him. In any case, as he wondered in effect, what kind of Christian would be watching a faintly louche Rocky Horror Picture Show-type podcast? And why would River, a master of princessy maquillage, want to be manning-up?

This last point takes us to this week when River went off usual topic and gave an entertaining account of his well-populated love life history. Male members (or ‘tree trunks’) were size-queened by ethnicity, and apparently ‘gingers’ smell of pig’s urine. I’ll take that under advisement. It was all very fruity, my fruits - one of his signature endearments. When not engaged in sexual congress, he is quite psychic, confidently predicting Trump’s victory, and appears to approve the 47th’s dictum that there are only two sexes/genders. Tell that to Caitlin (a Trump pal). I gather that divinatory topics are not his thing.

In our short exchange on his YouTube channel comment section, willowy River warmed my heart by asking whether I was ‘THE Vic Olliver’. I like the THE bit. From this I must deduce that in his formative years, before he grew to just under 6′ 2″, he was an avid reader of my old Madame Arcati blog on Blogger. Goodness knows what he made of my cunt-cockery language. What or whom have I created? In the metaphorical sense River is my blog son (or daughter if you prefer), and he has used my example of what else you can do solo and get away with in public. River is my electronic blood but, no, I shall not leave him anything in my will. I draw attention to his PayPal account where you can reward him for his successful screen labours.

Of late, River has moved residence, which was quite a trial for him it seems. He used to be filmed in what looked like a well-decorated snug. Now he has a courtyard of ivy and a new armchair throne set in a drawing room. The mise-en-scène is witness to the sharp study of glossy magazine palace interiors pics, and it is just possible that he will one day do a Lady C and acquire his own Castle Goring. Whether he has to do any whoring so to do - jungly Lady C-style - remains a matter of speculation.

To join River’s court, here is the link to his channel River Broadcast. If Netflix is reading this, sign him up. And if you know River, do leak into my lughole.

Diane Abbott and her psychic testimonial

2025-03-21T20:00:00.010+00:00

I adore Diane Abbott MP, even more so now that I learn she seems to have provided a testimonial to psychic talents on the website psychics.co.uk, home of the modern Nostradamus, the medium Craig Hamilton-Parker. I wonder what her psychic foresaw for poppet Diane.

Craig is famous for his forecasts, which appear to be based on a forensic study of the news with shrewd extrapolation, as a starting point natch. Only recently he speculated on the future of Keir Starmer and wondered whether he might be bisexual. Or has a love child. Well, yes. That latter tale awaits mainstream oxygen. Far be it for me to suggest that Craig is right of centre and anti-woke, but many of his followers appear to be so. Birds of a feather...

And who would think that Diane might be in the company of David Icke and Julia Roberts's bro? I am sure this cannot be intentional.

Spooky! BBC Radio's ghostly duplication of title

2020-10-13T14:12:00.003+01:00

I was most excited to learn this morning that BBC Radio 4 is running a new series entitled A Natural History of Ghosts, hosted by someone called Kirsty Logan - a name fresh to my synaptic leaps as are her profoundly politically correct and therefore fashionable vowel sounds.

Naturally, I assumed this was a series based on Roger Clarke's classic book, A Natural History of Ghosts - until I visited the BBC website and discovered no mention of Mr Clarke. I cannot comment on the content of Kirsty's show, but thematically the radio show (like Clarke's book) takes us into the realm of the afterlife - with the twist of a distancing cultural history approach which usually means you don't have to believe in ghosts to appropriate some of the spookiness while maintaining one's treasured reason.

The coincidence of titles is most unfortunate, though these things do happen. And we must try not to jump to conclusions. However, I was dismayed to learn via Twitter that Mr Clarke had no knowledge of the Radio 4 show. Later, I spotted a Twitter exchange between him and Logan in which she denied knowledge of his book and offered an assurance that she had not used any of his material for her show.

This claim was then seemingly thrown into question by an Arcatiste who noticed that back in 2016 Logan had listed Roger's ghost book as one of her faves (last but one on the list):

Doubtless this slipped her memory - well read people are wont to forget all the titles they digest even if some titles are more memorable than others. I do it all the time, or so I am told.

I am confident that BBC Radio 4 will do the right thing and run a series by Roger Clarke on A Natural History of Ghosts, unless they can think of a good reason why not. Alternatively alter the title of Logan's show.

Buy Roger's book here (a brilliant book):

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0141048085/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_awdb_btf_t1_x_l7yHFb0NF3B3F

Farah Damji is rearrested in Dublin - as an Icelandic!

2020-08-21T18:47:00.006+01:00

Farah Damji - variously described as a "serial fraudster" and "convicted stalker" - has been rearrested in Dublin after absconding from justice during her last London trial in July of this year.

She was up for breaching a restraining order arising from an earlier conviction for stalking. She was sentenced in her absence. Judge Michael Gledhill has indicated that he wants her brought back before him for breaching bail conditions even though he now works in Oxford.

According to The Irish Times, she was apprehended by the police last Monday and taken before the High Court in Dublin and remanded in custody. She is expected to be extradited shortly. The Garda National Economic Crime Bureau claim she was passing herself off an as Icelandic national and fake IDs and credit cards were found at her apartment, it is reported.

Oh dear Farah, if true. You never learn. Same old baloney over and over again. Yawny!

In happier times (or were they?) Farah had the honour of interviewing Madame Arcati (see here). Madame is perfectly prepared to give even the incorrigible the chance to see the light, though she is often disappointed.

Of late, while in prison or on the run or whatever (hard to keep up), Farah "helped to" start up The View Magazine for "women in the criminal justice system". She even persuaded the painfully modish George The Poet to contribute. In this piece, she describes life in prison as "grey and boring" so it is curious that she seems so keen to make return visits to the clink. Prison governors, she writes, couldn't run a corner shop which is one reason why recidivism is no high, hers especially no doubt.

One gets the impression that she thinks she would make an excellent prisoner-governor. What a great movie idea. Who should play Farah?

In other matters, I am still wondering who it was who waged a campaign against this site some years back. I make no allegation for now but Madame Arcati is an unforgiving opponent. Cross my path and prepare to become roadkill, in the figurative sense of course. I have a list of suspects and I will be avenged.

Here is poppet Farah advertising The View on YouTube. infamy, in-for-me...

Made Arcati self-identifies as....

2020-08-19T17:23:00.002+01:00

Darlings, so good to be back, though you never know with me. Not much has changed since I kicked off this blog in 2006, except the dramatis personae of moments. Old foes have swanned away or waned while others stay in post like stuck turds before strike of prunes - Francis Wheen at Private Eye, Camilla Long and India Knight at The Sunday Times, et al. My ex-permanent fiancee Molly Parkin still reigns in Chelsea but we are no longer an item or even an 'item'. Duncan Fallowell is awaking to the joys of electronic publishing - and where is Roger Lewis? I must get another story out of him, Farah Damji is now on the run in Ireland, eluding an arrest warrant - I had no idea she stalked ex-fucks or rejectionist fucks and am astonished people still fall for her self-laundering campaigning scams. Give yourself up poppet and place yet another burden on the public purse.

The big theme du jour (for five more minutes) is gender fluidity. Naturally, Madame Arcati is ahead of the curve. Back in 2006 and onwards, a number of readerly cocks and cunts asked Madame who she really was, not just the identity behind the living legend, but her sex. It was noted that there was a certain "aggression" in my prose, out of kilter with the scented female stereotype in plaid skirt, which could only jar in the minds of those yet to sample Julie Burchill's work. I seemed butch yet decorous of form and awfully capable on a bicycle. And of course I commune with the dead and the 'dead' - such as Jonathan King who frankly should be knighted. The preoccupations of the playground never really entirely leave us - all too apparent in the media and now social media.

I defy categorisation in the way angels cannot be sexed, even if their names suggest a cock or cunt or both. I belong to your cultural dreams, dear; a figment of someone's imagination, dashing up and down the gender-labelling theremin without touching, posing as this or that depending on intent or whim. Yes, I am a self-identified idea - this is what a self-identified idea looks like. Moi.

Now run along and play boys and girls or b*ys and g*rls in your homes and offices, making a cult of your genitalia, whether cis, trans or cobblers. Fantasy has its place, such as here. But not there for the most part.

What Lady Colin learnt of Boris after she sued him

2020-08-13T16:52:00.006+01:00

I do adore Lady Colin Campbell's regular chat shows from her drawing room at Goring Castle. In her latest video, now hosted by son Misha after Croatian aristocrat Prince Leo unaccountably took off, she talks about the time back in the Noughties when she successfully sued Boris Johnson.

He was then editor of The Spectator magazine and had characteristically failed to stop his columnist Taki writing something defamatory of Lady C. You can listen to her story below. But two things are striking about her recollections. The first is that after she sent Boris "an excoriating three-page letter" which touched upon one of Boris' then ongoing extra-marital affairs - he was married to Marina - a spy at the magazine told her that he reacted to her insults in a most amazing way: instead of denouncing her he said to colleagues that the magazine should hire her as a columnist because she was such a good writer. Lady C recounts that this impressed her and suggested that he was a man who despite many personal flaws could "think outside the box". Consequently, she thought he'd be suitable for Number 10 when years later he fought to become PM.

Fast forward to an intriguing moment after Lady C won substantial damages and costs against The Spec: she was at the grand French Brasserie Zedel in London with a party that included her two sons Misha and Dima. Boris was also there with Marina and at some point he got up and with no hint of rancour introduced himself to Lady C and her sons. Charm itself. This also impressed her. A mark of "character" and "gumption" she observes.

Given this level of gumption, I fear Boris will be PM for longer than anyone can imagine.

Julie Burchill joins Twitter - at last!

2020-08-13T11:46:00.000+01:00

Madame Arcati is delighted to see that Julie Burchill has joined Twitter at long last. Its brevity and range suit it to guerrilla warfare and instant reaction - as well as the occasional schmooze. In the old days this site relied on Google spiders and a few darlings in the media to mention me when I fed them a tale or two. Now I have only to post something and link it to social media and Arcatistes flood in like sewage.

Dame Julie (why not?) is to be found at the charmingly named @boozeAndFagz page. Her current post has to do with the peculiar India Knight, her even more peculiar partner Eric Joyce and the silence of mainstream media on the subject of his recent conviction for what the BBC calls "a child sex offence". Read Burchill's piece here.

Susan Penhaligon: two poems

2020-08-12T13:50:00.002+01:00

Darling Susan Penhaligon (a delightful Cancerian; I sooo attract crabs these days...) has honoured us with two more poems, both utterly lovely. I especially adore The Cremation (St Ives). One of my all-time TV drama series favourites is her Bouquet of Barbed Wire from the '70s, and many will fondly recall her in A Fine Romance that ran in the '80s. I really do think an enterprising publisher should collect Susan's poems and put them out. If you wish to show your appreciation, leave a comment below. Don't be cheap and just go back to the fucking social media.

With Apologies to Jenny Joseph

Now I'm seventy I shall not wear purple,

I have no need for satin slippers,

my red hat will sit snug on my highlighted hair

and I shall only sometimes wear it.

I will giggle much, much more.

I shall love all young people and

pass my wisdom as voodoo,

it is they who will press alarm bells.

I shall not hoard pens and beer mats or regrets

and I will sit down frequently,

not brandy stoked or pavement squatted,

but comfy and content with a lit stove.

I will not eat three pounds of sausages

or wear terrible shirts but grow peppers

in a pot on my windowsill

and if I spit it will only be to polish them.

I shall choose the moment to say fuck

with exquisite precision.

But Jenny Joseph you are right,

I will pick flowers in the rain

2019

The cremation (St Ives)

I am down near the weathered rocks again,

by surf, the smell of surf, the ceaseless, black

souled cry of gulls and my mother,

my mother, in the sea filled house of memories.

She has gone,

swept in a pod caressed with flowers.

We played 'That's entertainment'

I saw her dancing, her arms waving like a swimmer

making sure she was watched.

I walk the cobbled streets without her,

a map stapled to my childhood,

each crease has been explored,

each fold examined,

and there is the sloping beach as I remembered,

the smell of Blue Grass perfumed her bag

propped up against a basket full of pasties

with a check rug, rough against our baby skin.

The harbour beach for tea,

we were raised with sand in our stomachs.

The sea, the sea, my mother and the sea,

I am formed by its stones and lashing waves

as moody as my mother and her painful love.

I am not easily here.

I know the tides are forever,

but she is not.

Madame Arcati's virtual background beach reads 2020

2020-08-03T11:27:00.005+01:00

How sad that Lorraine Candy has lost her job at The Sunday Times. That'll teach her to cross astrologers and me in particular. Now, who are my top people right now? I am fickle and quickly fall out of love, so make the most of my kindness, bitches.

My summer read authors are as follows (set against a Covid-19-averse virtual background beach in my boudoir):

1. Lady Colin Campbell. Now known popularly as Lady C and Georgie to her friends. Riding high with her Meghan and Harry book and posting marvellous YouTube chat shows hosted by Prince Leo von Breithen-Thurn - who I am given to understand seeks a wife. Lady C thinks it a good idea that he marry a royal cousin, but animal husbandry advises against genetic localism. Listen to Madame. Lady C's verbal assaults on rapidly souring Philip Schofield (or "His Majesty of the Closet", as Georgie refers to him, cruelly) are sublime. Incidentally, Georgie plans to sue the Daily Mirror over some stories it ran.

2. Duncan Fallowell. A perennial favourite of mine. Thanks to him I have no need to travel to New Zealand. My carbon footprint is in intact. Do buy his new novel LONDON PARIS NEW YORK: a precarious tale. You won't find a better writer, though Will Self fancies himself.

3. Roger Clarke. A master of mists and energies in empty spaces, aka ghosts. The Anna Wintour of spectral fashion trends, poppets, though far, far brainier. Headless ghosts are no longer in vogue apparently. Do read his fab book A Natural History of Ghosts. Perfect as nights start to lengthen. And then re-read.

4. André Leon Talley. His memoir The Chiffon Trenches is bitter and therefore divine. He bangs many nails into the coffin of American Vogue editor and former ally Anna Wintour, to add to all the others. Indeed, she is starting to resemble Pinhead in Hellraiser. She'll be great in one of the franchise horror sequels. No script to learn. As for André, well, let's just say he writes as he speaks. I suspect his memoir was gossiped into a dictaphone.

5. Lyndsy Spence. I can't wait to read her Maria Callas biography. Her Insta account is a dedication to the book-in-progress and I am intrigued to learn that the opera diva was so into astrology. While you're waiting why not read another of Lyndsy's biographies, such as Mrs Guinness: The Rise and Fall of Diana Mitford, the Thirties Socialite. It enraged Daphne Guinness for some reason so it's worth finding out why. Zebra-haired Daph designs and sings - a duet with Nicky Haslam should be expedited. But put away the cut crystal first.

Shelley von Strunckel stars no longer at The Sunday Times

2020-06-30T11:35:00.004+01:00

Shelley von Strunckel

PS to this post: Lorraine Candy has been fired from The Sunday Times. One can only hope someone saw sense and removed this dreadful secular and pop-psycho cliche.

I have only to turn my back on the world for a few years and look what happens. Trump and Johnson get to power, Earth is locked down by pandemic and...Shelley von Strunckel parts company with The Sunday Times! This last happening is perhaps the worst to bear. Sufficient to stir Madame Arcati from her afterlife boudoir - and yes, uniquely I am able to reconnect the mortal coil. At will.

For those of you unacquainted with the divine Shelley, she was until last Sunday the astrologer to the above newspaper. One Saturn Return-ago (approximately 28 years), editor Andrew Neil - formerly aka Brillo - had a revelation: his newspaper needed Shelley and her horoscope column. A Uranian-style inspiration. Sleekly spiritual, Californian, honey-voiced (useful for the phonelines), opera-loving, versed in all things astrological and blessed with a reassuring answer to just about everything, Shelley was and remains the high-end media counterweight to darling Russell Grant who had already cleaned up from the TV and tabs mass markets.

Before either's ascendancy, the late Patric (no k, darling) Walker ruled the media astro-world. Then e-coli reportedly finished him off. It was rumoured he had murdered his Harpers & Queen predecessor Helene Hoskins ('Celeste') by booting her down a staircase. A very Baby Jane-sort of thing to do. I was prepared to believe it. In Hell, he now tells me that this was a joke. Legend has it that Shelley was his chosen heir apparent and that he was instrumental in getting her the ST gig. Patric neither confirms nor denies - he is such a tease. He won't even tell me if he ever went to bed with actor Richard Chamberlain.

So, who knows?

Quite why Shelley is no longer at The Sunday Times can only be guessed at. It seems odd that after three decades as one of the publication's go-to fixtures, she was seen off with a two-word "final column" in the intro as the only indication of her defenestration. The column ran in the After Eight Mint-thin Sunday Times Style magazine and somehow survived the ambient flow of narcissistic and self-regarding drivel that populates the supplement. Only people lacking style could treat it as any kind of inspiration to keep up. But at least Shelley was there to encourage readers to rest their ego-driven anxieties and tip-toe into expansive cosmic reflection for a minute or two. You never know, such tentative trips can turn into productive voyages.

Without Shelley, Style is now the fully-fledged monoculture for scented boo-hoo mirroring that only its editor could dream of. Speaking of whom, if the Style editor Lorraine Candy is so antipathetic to astrology (do we imagine that she fought hard to save the column?) why not relocate it to another part of the newspaper bundle? It is the abiding habit of many editors to turn their publications into self-extensions with all the usual prejudices, assumptions and lack of curiosity. Occasionally, an editor is found with an open mind, a sense of adventure and an awareness of life beyond the parochial. Not here.

Ironic really when you consider that astrology is big among monied millennials. Odd that Style can't keep up.

To stay in touch with Shelley, visit her website.

Solar Eclipse 21 June 2020: UK, US and Trump

2020-06-16T20:27:00.001+01:00

Kevin Spacey is hugged by a Steph

2018-12-28T22:40:00.001+00:00

Aw...Kevin Spacey with his former sister-in-law Stephanie Mastini, once married to his brother Randy. It was your dear darling Madame Arcati who years ago told the world of Spacey's proactive sex life of the young men variety. The stories I could tell. I do have to laugh about the Old Vic bitch now fainting at the thought that Spacey's cock quivered in the presence of spunk incarnate. Do fuck off. I have most fascinating transcripts on this topic. Chauffeur deary! I hope Spacey's career is revived. He is just another daft old queen who thought he could kid kidders. He is guilty of nothing much.

Stephanie's blog is worth visiting. You lazy complacent bastards. https://stephmastini.blogspot.com/.

Madame Arcati's song of the year: LP - When I'm Over You

2018-12-08T19:04:00.001+00:00

LP - utterly divine dearies. Her love life - fuck me!

John Ford is, er, coming. Oh - hello Tina!

2018-11-20T19:24:00.000+00:00

The frightfully delightful John Ford, former blagger/hacker extraordinaire for The Sunday Times, will shortly be paying a visit to my psychic parlour and naming names on the astral plane.

Meanwhile, another tale from the phone hacking annals, at the Sunday Mirror under Tina Weaver, disgraced former editor.

Madame Arcati: Why were my online knickers rummaged in?

2018-09-19T18:55:00.000+01:00

Thought I'd gone away did you? In your dreams, hybrid bitches and bastards. I have been summoned to life by a most peculiar revelation. Madame Arcati's online knickers were rummaged in. Or to put it in your prosaic terms, someone illegally broke into the Madame Arcati email account for reasons yet to be ascertained. Sometime in 2007 or thereabouts.

People familiar with the world of Arcati will be used to surprises. So here's another. The person who rummaged about in my online knickers is a man called John Ford. He was a private investigator seasoned in the dark arts of blagging - conning his way past the underpaid lumps employed to protect our privacy in various organisations in order to gain access to confidential data, such as contained in bank or email accounts. His principal hirer was The Sunday Times - and if you need further education, this piece in the Guardian is a good starting point.

This is a scandal rumbling under. Mainstream media are sitting on the vibrating spin dryer of this tale of shame and, for all I know, deriving much pleasuring from the experience, with eyes wide shut. Many, many famous people were blagged, claims Ford. Some are well known - Cherie Blair, John Prescott, for starters. Perhaps as I compose this little post they are talking to their lawyers. Who knows but they?

The Sunday Times answers that it is a delver of Plutonic proportions, a digger for dirt without a stain, that's done nothing wrong but ferret for the truth within the law. One hopes so! I wonder what truth was sought in Madame Arcati's online knickers? Especially after I ran a story or two back in 2007 which may have embarrassed certain lifers on the newspaper. Well, in the absence of facts, one is compelled to speculate. What was Madame Arcati to anyone much?

But back to Mr Ford. Ordinarily, I would bring down a curse upon his head and home - people familiar with this blog know its history and what untold damage it has done to transgressors, bullies and cheats. Instead Mr Ford and Madame Arcati have become buddies. I don't quite yet understand the nature of his spiritual or medical epiphany but at some point he saw the light and the error of his ways. He turned against his old muckers at The Sunday Times and elsewhere and spilled with documentary evidence. Google it. It's not on the dark web.

Oh, news to you is it? You need to get in more - read this cunties, or this filth.

Quite what Madame Arcati does next in terms of legal reaction remains to be seen. May be something, may be nothing. After all, there are much bigger fish to fry, aren't there Hacked Off? Even in the world of lawyers, the celebrity values of Hello! hold sway. But shortly, Madame will be talking with John Ford.

Meantime, meet Mr Ford: