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A genuine argument for using models I like to think
that I know a lot about life but I am still occasionally amazed by my
naivety.
I have never been able to get my head around the fact that people are
always trying to work an angle.
George hosts a radio show and gets tickets to some pretty bizarre events.
I don’t usually go along as I am not keen on loud music and people
standing around which is what seems to happen.
I prefer a session with a bit of music and the craic.
You don’t tend to find this sort of thing in the world of showbiz.
So there I was desperately trying to stay awake and not yawn at a post-fashion
show party.
I was only there because I am a comic and because George had come along
to my gig and said that “the beer is free!”
Against my better judgement I decided to go along and within minutes I
was regretting it.
I stood looking at some famous faces from the world of fashion and a few
minor celebrities and could only wonder if, in fact, they had grown up
in a house without a kitchen?
They were like beanpoles.
My four-year-old nephew has fatter friends in his class.
The women looked like waifs from the streets of years ago.
If any of them went along to the local hospital they would no doubt be
given immediate treatment.
Call me old-fashioned but I have always liked a woman to look like a woman.
If asked I will always state a preference for something to hang on to.
And as my grandfather used to say: “The best women are built for
comfort rather than speed.”
Looking around the nightclub in Soho I couldn’t help but think that
these poor girls had all come straight out of a prison camp.
Some of them were so skinny and shapeless that if you couldn’t see
their faces you wouldn’t even know which direction they were facing.
I am sure if one of them had fallen over all you would need to do would
be to blow and she would be standing upright again.
George, Mike and I stood staring at everyone that walked by.
Mike is a hilarious comic and had a funny comment about everyone.
The men were handsome with their chiselled faces and immaculate hair.
“I bet none of them could change a car tyre,” said George.
“I guess when you look like that you wouldn’t need to,”
said a voice behind us.
The voice belonged to a woman holding an olive on the end of a cocktail
stick.
The olive looked the size of a football in her hand.
The stick was nearly as thick as her arm.
George huffed and puffed explaining that it was a joke.
The voice glared as she looked down her nose at him.
He smiled at her but she maintained a stare.
“Are you staring because you haven’t the strength to blink?”
said Mike trying to lighten the mood.
“I find you people very tiring!” she announced.
“Ask for a bacon sandwich and you’ll get a bit of energy!”
Mike replied as she walked off and we continued gossiping and making unfair
comments about the other guests.
George wondered aloud if you needed a brain to be a male model.
“They are only clothes horses,” he announced loud enough for
all to hear.
By this stage the drink was flowing and George and Mike were getting louder.
I decided it would be best to leave as I had a feeling there would be
some trouble. But it was too late.
Mike was being poked by a gorgeous looking fella who towered over him.
“Our job is really hard,” he said.
“And we don’t need twerps like you having a go at us.”
Mike giggled and kept repeating the word twerps over and over.
“All you have to do is be able to stand still and occasionally smile,”
said George.
I could see that the two of them were outnumbered by a dozen stunning
and immaculately-dressed male models.
Everyone was looking at them and a couple of cameras flashed away.
I wanted to help but at the same time it had the makings of a great pub
story.
To see two lads getting knocked about by men in make-up — I was
already writing the story.
So I carried on watching.
I walked over and suggested that they lighten up a little as it was getting
a bit tense. The models seemed to be happy with this suggestion and backed
away a little. Unfortunately George decided to add that they should all
lighten up as “losing a couple of pounds might get you some more
work”.
Now although I thought this was a great line I could see him getting a
smack for his cheek.
How would that look in court?
“It was the one with the red nail varnish that punched him m’lud.
The blond fella kicked him.”
I could just see the whole thing was descending into a riot.
The beautiful blond boy suggested that we should leave unless we were
looking for trouble.
I told the guys it was time to leave.
George smiled. “How well could you model with a broken nose?”
he said.
The beautiful blond boy squared up to him and I felt my heart sink.
Fortunately a doorman had been called and with no undue ceremony grabbed
George by the arm and slung him out.
I apologised and made my exit.
“How cool was that,” said Mike.
I shook my head at his stupidity.
Outside George asked me to wait a minute as we couldn’t go without
Simon. “Simon?” says I getting more confused by the second.
The beautiful blond boy appeared and by the way they greeted each other
I could see that he was mates with Simon.
It had all been a set-up.
“No such thing as bad publicity John,” said George and off
they went arm-in-arm. |
