Magazine article The Spectator

Diary: Elizabeth Hurley

Magazine article The Spectator

Diary: Elizabeth Hurley

Article excerpt

All hail social media. In January, I lost my beautiful pussycat Mr Mew, and I have spent six long months worrying about him. But last week he came back. His return is entirely thanks to nice people on Facebook and Twitter posting pictures and then alerting me when a sad, similar looking stray was found living rough a few miles away. Mr Mew is a bit starved and missing a few teeth, but I'm hoping that with love, food and shelter he will soon be restored to his former slinky self. And I'll never be rude about social media again.

I will, however, allow myself to be rude about the hoards of post Brexit whingers who claim to love democracy but object violently to anyone who disagrees with them. Bring it on you ranting luvvies, fat cat bankers and multinational corporations. Continue to alienate the humble voice of Middle England. Knock yourselves out calling us ill educated Neanderthals and spit a bit more venom and vitriol our way. You are showing yourselves in all your mean spirited, round headed, elitist glory, and what an unappealing lot you are. Note: you attract flies with honey, not vinegar; small wonder the majority of the country flew in the opposite direction.

Talking of honey, which I adore, I'm looking forward to the first jars from my revolutionary new beehive, or rather 'Flow Hive'. Invented by a couple of Aussies, this ingenious creation has a partially formed honeycomb matrix within a transparent frame. The bees complete the comb and fill the cells with honey. We, the beekeepers, twist the frames and split the cells, and the honey flows into a tube at the bottom. Voila! Honey on tap. Apparently, the extraction is so gentle that the bees hardly notice it and so it is less stressful to them than traditional methods. And no beekeeper costumes are necessary. I'm a bit sad about not getting to wear a veil and blast smoke around but am nevertheless purring with pleasure at the thought of lining up my jars of home produced honey next to my jars of homemade jam. My only anxiety is that someone might actually want to eat any of it. The jars look so pretty with their handwritten tags, arranged with painstaking Sleeping With the Enemy precision, that I quite like just smugly looking at and counting them.

In fact, I quite like looking at all sorts of lovely things in a reverential fashion. I love being given bath oils but sometimes I can't bring myself to use them and they just sit on the bath edge for years. …

Search by... Author
Show... All Results Primary Sources Peer-reviewed

Oops!

An unknown error has occurred. Please click the button below to reload the page. If the problem persists, please try again in a little while.