I Was Offered Some Kate Moss and a Sniff of Peter Sellers but Didn't Want to End Up All Pope John Paul II
Clary, Julian, New Statesman (1996)
The nerve! Having recommended my Botox doctor to some of my friends of a certain age, I hear that, apparently, she now asks if they want "the full Julian Clary". I am most indignant to discover that my name is publicly synonymous with such a private procedure. I feel violated. Am I more expensive than the full Imelda Marcos or, God forbid, cheaper? I've a good mind to go round there and give her a piece of my Joan Bakewell.
Apart from that, it's been a bit of a Claire Sweeney week. I went to the Golden Joystick Awards but it turned out to be about computer games. How Rupert Everett is that? I had too many Charles Kennedys and found myself in a Naomi Campbell situation with a right Dale Winton. He wants to go to Malawi and do a Madonna but doesn't want to be accused of the Jonathan Kings. Went to a Jamie Oliver-style restaurant and ate like Michelle McManus. Suspect that my career has a touch of the Michael Barrymores. Feel like doing a John Stonehouse. To stop myself sliding into the full Gazza, I popped a couple of Judy Garlands and soon felt pretty Fern Britton. Was offered some Kate Moss and a sniff of Peter Sellers but didn't want to end up all Pope John Paul II. Woke up naked in a very Trinny and Susannah flat. Suspect I've been Paris Hiltoned by a right John Leslie. Borrowed some Phillip Schofield clothes and got a taxi driven by a Ronnie Corbett. The price was very Trisha Goddard. Was locked out of my flat and nearly did a Geri Halliwell in the street, but the Stephen Dorff upstairs invited me in and we did a Preston and Chantelle on the hearthrug. Once I caught a glimpse of his Linford Christie, I came over all Linda Lovelace and pretty soon it was Gillian Taylforth time. By the time I got home I was thoroughly Tony Blaired.
Walking down a country lane in rain-drenched Kent, I saw a rabbit ahead and watched to see when it would run off. …