Avocadon’t

Most weeks in Popbitch we include an example of nominative determinism, which is where a person’s name matches up pleasingly with the thing that they’re best known for.

Things are slightly different this week, insofar as this one is not pleasing in the slightest.

Spotted in the Boots on Victoria Street on Monday, buying what looked like a box of 12 ‘Thin Feel’ Durex?

Dominic Cummings.

News that Woody Allen has started shooting his latest film in Spain has reminded those who worked on previous Spanish effort Vicky Cristina Barcelona of the horrors he put them through on that set.

The filming itself was fine. Penelope Cruz, Scarlett Johansson and Rebecca Hall were all lovely to work with (Javier Bardem was supposedly “a complete cunt”, but such is life). This was also back in the days before #MeToo, so there was no real press backlash involved either.

What was the big problem then? Mainly the impromptu clarinet recitals that Woody would put on for the crew, forcing staff to stick around after hours to watch him toot about – completely unpaid.

Which recent celebrity wedding was more of a fairytale than we first realised? It seems the groom ended up shagging someone on a trip to Vegas ahead of the big day, so the bride had to add ‘A court injunction’ to the wedding registry.

Every year the list of celebs lined up for Strictly Come Dancing is announced to a resounding cry of “WHO?” – but, in all fairness, it’s really not an easy show to book for.

The long list of considerations that producers are lumbered with runs from the trivial (stars need to be certain heights to be properly paired up with the professionals) to the tediously administrative (poring over contracts to check they aren’t in breach of any exclusivity clauses elsewhere). Toss in the fact that Strictly’s schedule clashes with the much more lucrative panto season, and the process of confirming celebs can literally end up taking years.

That’s no exaggeration. Landing Judge Rinder took three years from start to finish. And if it takes that long to secure a man as thirsty for attention as he is, is it any wonder that proper household names are so thin on the ground?

Anneka Rice has been getting plenty of mileage out of the story that she spent a decade pretending to be her own showbiz agent, answering emails and phonecalls in character as “Clemmie Hart”.

It’s a great story, but the grand dame of this sort of deception is undoubtedly Barbra Streisand. In 1997, the composer David Arnold was in LA to meet with Babs about working on an album of James Bond themes. Only when he went to pay her a visit, her front door was answered by a woman who looked exactly like Streisand – except all hunched over, wearing an apron and rubber gloves.

The woman apologised, saying that Barbra wasn’t in at the moment, that she was just the cleaner, and asked if he could come back tomorrow?

Confused, Arnold left and returned the next day. This time to find Barbra answering the door and saying “Hi!” to him as if they’d never met – before apologising that he’d had to talk to the housekeeper the day before.

Ever since he was convicted of being a gargantuan paedophile in 2013, it’s been easy to forget that Ian Watkins was once a hugely successful rock star.

The headlines coming out of his court case this week (in which he basically stands accused of stuffing a mobile phone up his arse) have done little to remind the public of his former glory days either. In fact, the only real remaining evidence of his previous success exists at Morley’s department store in Brixton.

One of the lifts there is adorned with a huge vinyl wrap depicting the iconic local venue, Brixton Academy.

A picture that, unfortunately, happened to be taken the day that Lostprophets were playing there…

If you think the British press have been desperate to find any possible angle to attack Meghan Markle, it’s really no better in the States.

US gossip site BlindGossip published a very thinly veiled item last week suggesting that the Duchess of Sussex had thrown an almighty diva tantrum because she had wanted a very rare and hard-to-procure delicacy known as “an avocado” – and apparently got mad when no-one on her staff was prepared to fly one over from America for her.

British readers took to the comments below the article to point out that avocados are readily available in the UK and Meghan would have had precisely zero problem in sourcing one here. What happened to all those comments? You’d have to ask the moderators at BlindGossip to know for sure, but it looks as though they’ve been deleted.

The ones saying she’ll be the death of the Royal Family are still up though.

After we asked for your celebrity confessions last week, one reader got in touch with a long overdue apology for Erykah Badu.

The reader in question saw Erykah play in London many years ago, back when you were able to smoke at venues. They know because they’d snuck a huge spliff in with them which they sparked up with no trouble when Erykah took to the stage. They must have puffed away at it a little too quickly though as the next thing they knew, they were coming round backstage, attended to by a 7ft bouncer and a first-aider.

Not wanting to get ejected from the venue, our reader successfully managed to convince them that the whitey was purely down to hunger. So the first-aider went rooting around to find something that might help boost their blood sugar – when they came upon a packet of Bakewell tarts from Erykah Badu’s rider.

Decreeing it a medical emergency, the first-aider ignored the instruction “ERYKAH ONLY: KEEP OUT” and gave our reader a Bakewell to eat, before sending them back out to watch the show with the rest of the pack.

FYI: Erykah, if you would like to claim a replacement box of Bakewells, we are authorised to make it up to you. Get in touch: hello@popbitch.com

We’ll say one thing for Fleet Street journos. They’re nothing if not canny.

One tabloid hack has devised an inventive new way to stop himself from getting into quite so much trouble with his company’s HR department. Instead of sexually harassing his colleagues like he used to, he’s taken to sexually harassing his counterparts on rival newspapers instead.

That way the ‘incidents’ don’t fall under either papers’ jurisdiction.

If you were disheartened by last week’s item about how much Brexit advertising you’re going to be seeing between now and October 31st, we’re sorry to tell you that tiresome Brexit chat looks set to continue long into 2020.

Officially there are still two cities in the picture to host next year’s Eurovision Song Contest, but rumours that Maastricht (home of the famous EU treaty) has it in the bag are gathering steam this week after the reigning Eurovision champ, Duncan Laurence, was recently spotted wandering around the city with a full camera crew in tow.

Ah, well. No doubt the UK coverage will be extremely level-headed about it…

Addictive browser game, kind of a cross-stitch Subbuteo
[Play ‘A Small World Cup’]

Every musical genre, all in one place
[See Everynoise]

George Michael’s old gaffe in Santa Barbara is up for sale
[See the listing]

Make sure your wine rack is well stocked for the summer Bank Holiday weekend. Popbitch readers get £75 off their first order with Naked Wines by using this link…
[Place your order here]

A comprehensive collection of animated arses
[See Buttsss]

Interesting musical theory argument about why the Katy Perry/Joyful Noise ruling is bullshit
[Listen on YouTube]

Imagined New Yorker profiles of self-styled Brexit hardman, Steve Baker
[Read on Twitter]

Local News Of The Week: Supermarket Pigeon Liveblog
[Read on Plymouth Herald]

Trouble afoot at G/O Media?
[Read on Deadspin]

We’re taking a brief break from the Popbitch Popquiz for the rest of August, but we’ll be back in September with some brand new rounds and challenges. So gather up your team-mates and book yourselves in. Bar tabs, theatre tickets and lucky prize dips all on offer…
[Tuesday 3rd September]
[Tuesday 17th September]

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