Monday, 9 February 2009

BAFTA, MY NIGHT ON THE RED CARPET


I arrived in the pissing rain, with everybody screaming and trying to get photographs of anyone who walked up the red carpet.  The Opera House is seriously glamorous and makes the Oscars look down market.  It's a good bit of Architecture and makes the occasion bristle with drama. This year was the year to go, with Sharon Stone looking stunning in a red dress, definitely taking Benjamin's potion, and Mick Jagger, whose snaky hips look as good as Ivor Braka's, and whose wit was razor sharp - saying he had swapped smashing up hotel rooms for presenting prizes - making the whole event go swiftly.

I love the BAFTAs, even though they got it wrong. (The biggest star was my son Charles.) Slumdog - which deserves high praise in every area - had to win politically.  but I'm sad Benjamin didn't do better. I wish I was getting younger every day. What a fabulous way to go, being breast fed. (Come on Jean-Louis Sebagh, find a way for all of us to get younger.)
As for Revolutionary Road and The Reader, both disappointed me, partly because I hate fights
 with lover, and anything to do with Nazi Germany, having exhausted all angles as a child.

I wore a stunning dress By Victoria Beckham, It looked great but took three people to get me in, as I  am hardly the same shape as her and have no intention of dieting.  It was comfortable for one and half hours and then suddenly I had a desire to rip it off, letting all my fat breathe. So in between The Opera House and Grosvenor House I had to run home, have a bath and re-dress in a little Chantal Thomas number. I am so much happier in Burlesque gear....

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