The Life of Pyne

By Polly Pyne

Bite Sized Chunks

I have just finished my tax returns! Yippeee!! I have been procrastinating for weeks, but this week I said, "F*ck it! Just do it!" Even at that, it has taken me the best part of five days, as I was doing everything but for the first three. I am now sitting on the sofa celebrating with a very expensive bar of Conscious Chocolate www.consciouschocolate.co.uk. I like my chocolate to be alive. So that it can feel every bit of pain as I bite into it. On the eco-warrior, chewed-by-toothless-Tibetan-monks, recycled paper it says "raw". Mmm... as opposed to what, cooked? And ‘Handmade’. Well, for £2.95 a bar, I’m expecting the hands with it. Girls, this might actually be as good as sex...

I recently discovered that I am intolerant to cocoa. This is like telling a crack addict to give up the drugs. I’m ashamed to admit that upon finding a half-eaten bar in the kitchen bin the other evening – I had flung it days before in a fit of piety – and I pulled it out and gobbled it down.

I AM AN ADDICT, OKAY??!!

Does anyone understand? It is like alcohol, nicotine or heroin. I have tried, God knows I have, but I simply cannot resist the smooth, dark, intense, amazing high I get from pure chocolate. (She says, fingering her love handles...)

Last Thursday night at The Paradise was utterly spectacular. Gayla Johnson www.gaylajohnson.net, true to form, brought the house down with an unprecedented hour-long set. She has so much energy and is such a joy to watch on stage. Johnson is already a star in the US and I reckon we’re going to be hearing a lot more from her in the UK too. Eric Lampaert is a relatively new act but no doubt a star of the future. Like a younger Noel Fielding, he is refreshingly bonkers and totally spontaneous. Definitely one to watch. The wonderfully gregarious Sajeela Kershi was in top form, proclaiming that Muslims were the new Catholics, ie. filthy minded and obsessed with sex. She is Muslim, ok? And I was raised Catholic, so who am I to argue? Sajeela is tipped for big things too and hosts her own award-winning night (www.myspace.com/comicangels).

Joan Rivers has cancelled her UK shows in December and January, because she just got a new TV series in the US. Gutted. Can’t say I blame her, but I was all geared up to interview one of my all time favourite people. It will happen at some point. Granted she’s 75, so I might need to do it soon, but I don’t think that old broad is going anywhere for a while. Still love ya, Joan.

Polly Pyne xxx

Me and My Mate Joan

1 October

Joan Rivers has been one of my biggest inspirations for getting into comedy. I went to see her show last week at The Leicester Square Theatre (www.joanrivers.com). What a woman! I laughed and I cried. At 75, she has been through the most tumultuous times; her career went down the toilet, her husband committed suicide and she almost took her own life, but was saved from doing a Kurt Cobain by her dog. And she still manages to find the comedy in everything. I would love to work with her one day.

With that in mind, feeling part-comedy genius, part-crazed fan, I decided to leave her a little message at the stage door in the form of a beautiful bouquet of pink gerberas, a funny little card with sweet words of how much I admired her and the invitation of a latte or a shot should she have 10 minutes to spare the next day. F*ck it. She’s Jewish. I’m Irish. Where would we be without balls? At the bottom I put: "PS. I swear I’m not a stalker."

Her assistant called back the next day and left me the loveliest message saying, "Thank you so much. Miss Rivers was very touched." (Of course it went on for a whole two minutes, I’m paraphrasing here.) So Joan Rivers knows who I am and when she is back for another run of her show in December and January, I am proposing to interview her about the comedy business. Hell, she’ll probably be free for Christmas, I might even invite her to dinner. What do Jews eat at Christmas?

This Thursday we are back at The Paradise for another storming night that my mate Joan would be proud of. Gayla Johnson – who brought the house down in July, the same night as Stephen Merchant... that’s saying something – is back. You have got to see her. She is the funniest female comic you will see this year, and she’s all the way from LA so you won’t get the chance again. Mention Grove and I’ll even give you a quid off.

See you there

Polly Pyne xxx

PS. Do you like my pink streaks?

Self-Fulfilling Prophet

September 24

OK, so I am never going to speak about the credit crunch in this blog. I will never talk about ways to save money, how to make a perfectly nutritious meal out of urban fox or how to turn an old pair of carpet slippers into the latest Anya Hindmarch clutch.  But if you are on a budget and still want the real thing, you might want to check her warehouse sale to catch the bargains this weekend only (Thursday 25 to Sunday 28 September). Also, while I'm on the subject, big up to the revamped Oxfam on Westbourne Grove.

But back to not talking about the credit crunch. Are you people still reading the scare-mongering bulls**t that keeps getting printed day after day? If I was to write just one line – like, "Oh my God, did you hear about Barclays?! They're next!" – share prices would plummet guaranteed, and there'd be another panicked feeding frenzy on the streets.

Have we forgotten that in less than four years we will be hosting the Olympic Games? We will be allowed to celebrate and the economy will boom once more (pessimists, you're still okay for a while). So we Londoners only have another three and a bit years of tightening our belts, wallowing in self-pity and living on credit crunchy-nut cornflakes and cup-a-soup before we're rolling in it again, smearing our malnourished bodies in fois gras and snorting gold leaf off a nymph's pert buttocks.

And then what will we complain about? How we've gone off yellow gold, the texture of the fois gras, that we've grown into the sofa from gluttony and laziness... Surely this must be the fault of the sofa company for making the thing so damn comfortable!

Just remember this: you get what you focus on. If you're out driving and you look at the ditch, guess where you're heading? If you stay focused on the path ahead you will soon be out of the woods with the kingdom in sight. Thought for the day: our world is a reflection of what you feel inside.

Now I must dash - got friends coming for lunch. Anyone for croutons in their cup-a-soup?

Polly Pyne xxx

Easy Rider

September 18

I am tiny. I could fit in your pocket.  Five feet nothing.  People say to me all the time, ‘Oh my god, you’re so tiny! Like I don’t already know... It’s because Mum was a smoker and Dad was a leprechaun. But he had a big pot of gold so I didn’t mind so much. It’s also very flattering when I still get ID’d in Marks and Spencer. And I wasn’t even buying alco-pop this time. Being little is very handy when buying school uniforms and fairy costumes too – both of which I have a penchant for. I would wear a fairy costume every day if I thought I could get away with it; in fact, I do wear pink wings as much as possible on my bicycle. It’s lovely watching kids wave at me from car windows while their parents are screaming, ‘Keep away from that nutter!’

Anyway I was out on the bike last week in Paddington – wearing wings and a pink helmet – and I took a turn I thought would lead me to the Harrow Road, and suddenly I’m on the Westway. On a bicycle. No turning back. Probably the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Even more scarey than skydiving, bungee jumping... or stand-up comedy.

So I’m peddling along furiously, thinking there must be a turn-off somewhere: trucks blasting past me, cars honking me, Westbourne Studios passing me – from the top. I had visions of SKY News buzzing past in a helicopter and me ending up as a headline: "World’s worst driver winging it on the Westway, and she’s not even in a car!"

Finally I pass roadworks; I pull up and say to the guys, ‘How do I get off this road?’
‘Just keep going straight.’

‘No, I need to get off this road now! Is there no way you can lower me over the side on a rope?’

Fortunately I managed to make it to Shepherd’s Bush roundabout in one piece but I was never so pleased to see a cycle path again. I think it’s stabilisers for me from now on. Can you get Satnav for a bicycle? Might be an interesting idea for Dragon’s Den...

Polly Pyne xxx

Rain Won’t Stop Play

11 September

The storm hit Bestival the day before we arrived. Determined not to let rain stop play, we headed on down to the Isle of Wight, furnished with wellies, raincoats and wigs.

It was a mental weekend. With mud up to our knees, it was like walking on the moon, and a couple of festival astronauts confirmed this. But it didn’t dampen the spirits of the hardcore party people. Well, not if you were staying in a hotel. The Travelodge was never so luxurious. Thank God my mate Tracy had the foresight.

I had been reciting my new set in my head the whole way there and arrived at the comedy tent an hour before I was due onstage, only to discover the tent was practically underwater and all of the weekend’s jestivities had been pulled. I was a bit gutted, to be honest. It was a stellar line-up and I was one of only two women on the bill. Nothing for it but to get drunk.
Awoke hungover on Saturday morning to a call to say I had a spot in the Xbox tent at 2.30pm, so we legged it back to site. Standup in between music doesn’t really work and it was not my best gig for sure, but later on I met some people who told me I lifted their spirits with my jokes. And that certainly lifted mine.

The highlight of the weekend was the Sugar Hill Gang at 2am on Saturday night. I would go so far as to say that was my number-one gig of all time. George Clinton on Sunday was a close second. All manner of nutters joined him onstage including a singer on rollerskates and a musician in a giant nappy – all part of the Parliament posse. Missed Grace Jones as it was bucketing down so we opted for the warmth of the Freestylers in the Bollywood tent. Hot Chip, The Human League and Underworld are all worth a mention and Amy Winehouse gets the prize for biggest shambles of the weekend. I don’t think she even knew where she was, running off-stage during songs and forgetting the words.

Whoever has been in charge of Blighty’s weather this summer has to be sacked. It must have something to do with George Bush. Calling all Americans, can you please elect Obama and save the planet. There will be a revolution if this carries on.

Polly Pyne xxx

September already!

September 1

"Oh, there’s no place like home!" a tranny in a blue dress once said. I clicked my heels three times and suddenly I was back in West London, leaving Edinburgh far behind for a while.

Rhod Gilbert was pipped for the If.commedie gong by David O’Doherty. I’ve not seen the show but he has a great name, so he’ll go far. Sarah Millican did win best newcomer, so at least I was half-right.

I have just landed a gig at Bestival which is great, so if any of you West Londoners are on the Isle of Wight this Friday, I should be on the comedy stage sometime between 8pm and 9pm. This will certainly be a better gig than the Camp Bestival one, which we don’t care to mention any more.

But before Bestival we have another jam-packed night of comedy at The Paradise on Thursday 4 September. We're bringing the madness of Bob Slayer’s show You Bastard for one night only. Dustin Hoffman (I kid you not) even dropped in on the show in Edinburgh and was found uncontrollably pissing himself.

Can you believe it’s September already? School starts again this week and I haven’t done my summer project, my uniform is at the bottom of the laundry bin where it’s been since June, Louise O’Meara is wearing a bra and I still haven’t grown any tits! I don’t want to go to school. I hate school...

Wait a minute. I was just having a daymare there. Thought I was still 14. Instead I’m 36 with a mortgage, several much dirtier uniforms and a big pair of knockers I paid for myself. Happy days.

Back in the dating game again. Had a couple of liaisons in Edinburgh but nothing much to report. I’ve decided I’m single 'cos I’m too nice. I’m turning over a new leaf – I’m going to be a complete bitch from now on. The bitches always get the guys in the end. Admit it, guys, you love a good bitch.

See you Thursday!

Polly Pyne xxx

Grove Girl at The Fringe: Part Deux

August 27

Edinburgh has been great, but now I’m counting down the days to coming home. (Little hint of sarcasm there...) Yes, it’s been great giving up my gorgeous flat in West London and then forking out a week’s rent per night to sleep in a doorway. Well, almost a doorway. That might have been a bit more luxurious. I’m staying in student halls.

I’ve seen a few things in my time but I have never seen anything like the sheets they give you in student halls. (Yeah, it’s been a while since I was a student, okay?) It’s basically a full body condom made out of a sheet. I couldn’t quite work out if it’s best to peel it on in bed or step into it from the floor. They were obviously thinking of the student lifestyle when this ingenious invention was conceived. Clearly they expect you to choke on your own vomit in the middle of the night, while already in a bodybag. How convenient!

And then there’s the rain. The good ole Scottish Rain. It’s been wet, wet, wet. But friendly wet, if you can get that in a rain. I come from a place where the rain is altogether more aggressive... in an almost sexually predatory way. In Ireland we’ve got rain that goes sideways, upside down, in windows and up skirts – which can sometimes be very pleasurable indeed.

The If.Comedie Awards (the Oscars of the comedy world) are tonight and my money is on Welsh comic Rhod Gilbert for the top gong and Northern lass Sarah Millican for best newcomer. By the time you read this they’ll probably have won. I saw both shows last week and if you get the chance when they do London, I would highly recommend them. But for me, the highlights have been Andrew Maxwell – who became the first comic to do gigs in the Catholic and Protestant areas of Belfast on the same night earlier this year – and Office Party, a totally interactive office party with tequila slammers and more cocks than I’ve seen in the last five years. I’ll leave you with that thought...

Missing you West, London! Your girl is back home Tuesday.

Polly Pyne xxx

Grove Girl At The Fringe: Part 1

August 18

Our last night at the Paradise rocked yet again. Earl Okin –musical genius and sex symbol – lived up to at least one of his names and my new character, former playboy model Gina Ormostitz, quite literally was a storm in a D cup... well, probably more like a Z-cup! My new knockers would have had Dolly Parton and Jordan green with envy. Gina made it up to Edinburgh with me and has been out a few times at night. She has already had three marriage proposals, and I’m starting to feel more like her than I do like me. I am quite getting used to the look actually: huge boobs make everything else look miniscule.

So I’ve been up in Edinburgh for almost a week. It’s been pretty cold and wet and feels a bit more like October here than August. Still 10 days of shows to go and I’ve already got Fringe fever. I’ve had good gigs and bad gigs. Performing in front of an audience of three at 2.30 in the afternoon with material that is a little risqué can be a bit cringey. But I've had some storming gigs at The Standing Order pub, with my friend Bob Slayer. Bob is a total star and has the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. In his show, the aptly named "You B*****d", Gina went down a bomb and I’m thinking for our next night at the Paradise on September 4, I may do an Edinburgh reunion with Bob Slayer and friends.

On Sunday we start our comedy play which is a very dark story of murder, sex and rehab. My character, the Eastern European sex worker has to strip off to her underwear and (pretend to) perform a sex act. At 2.30 in the afternoon! The things we do for art...

Love from the Fringe,

Polly Pyne xxx

Things are hotting up...

4 August

God this heat is killing me. Or maybe it’s the Bikram yoga and cycling all over London in this heat. I keep needing to go for a nap in the afternoon... oh to be a baby again, just sleeping, eating and filling your nappy. That’s the life.

So I got back on the gig-horse again last Monday. Just before I went on I met a guy upstairs and he said, ‘Oh, are you a comic? I’ve not met many female comics who can make me laugh!’ Gulp. No pressure then. But when I went on, he started laughing and couldn’t stop himself – to the point where he was apologising. I actually did say, ‘Thank you, sir. It’s ok. Carry on laughing. It’s a comedy cluhttp://www.matchesfashion.com/.’

Getting ready to go up to Edinburgh next Sat (9 August) so it’s going to be ‘Grove Girl at The Fringe’ for a couple of weeks. As well the standup, I am in a black comedy play where I am playing an Eastern European sex worker, although I don’t actually get to have sex... shame. Then back in West London just in time for Carnival.

Thursday (7 August) comedy night is back at The Paradise and Portobello's own Earl Okin is headlining, and a new character I've recently invented gets her first outing. She is a ex-Playboy model called Gina Ormostitz. See what I did there...

By the way, Ossie Clarke’s new collection has just arrived in Matches and it’s just gorgeous. Obviously he didn’t design it. Well he couldn’t now, could he? But whoever did made a fine job of it. Poor Ossie, I remember him calling Bella Freud’s studio in St Charles Square back in 1994 when I used to work there. I was so thrilled to be answering the phone to such a legend. I was only 22... I was very impressionable.

Forgot to mention I got a snog at the wedding last week and then had a hot date the following Tuesday. Date number two on Saturday. Watch this space. I did tell him my parents would probably show up at some point. I mean, they’ve waited this long... they’re not going to let me run away with just anyone. Can’t decide what to wear... Do you think a veil with the white dress would be too much?

Polly Pyne xxx

Aaah! I Just Died On My A*** Tonight

July 24

What a week it’s been. Logan Murray, a comedian friend of mine and the man who got me into this comedy lark, got married in Cambridge last Friday and all three of We Are Klang were the best men. The trio were nominated for the if.comeddie award in Edinburgh a couple of years ago, so you can imagine the hilarity of the speeches, followed by loads of showing off on the dance floor afterwards. The bride and groom were almost upstaged. Although nothing could have topped the groom attempting a shoulder spin during the first dance!
Jackie and I stayed in a grotty little hotel with a leak in the roof that watered our clothes in the middle of the night. Saturday began early as we had to get back to London to pick up a hire car to drive to Camp Bestival, where I had a gig.

Two blondes + car = trouble. First, we couldn’t get the car into reverse to get it out of the driveway. I kept saying, "Let’s turn on the lights and see if it works." Thinking something must be wrong with the car, we had to call down Jackie’s (male) neighbour to help us. "What are we doing wrong?" asked Jackie. "Driving!" he replied. Turns out you have to lift the gearstick to get it into reverse. We did want to buy a roadmap but we couldn't parallel park on a high street so we made it to Lulworth Castle near Bournemouth in just under 12 hours.
We spent the night spooning on a blow-up mattress in a tent. We do so much sleeping together, Jackie is turning into my girlfriend and admitted to enjoying the warmth of my body and the dead arm I gave her in the night.

I couldn’t do the slot they had originally given me because of the wedding on Friday, so I had to go on during the spoken word on the Sunday afternoon – directly after some guy giving a lecture about cloud formation to the sound of his own voice. Big mistake. The audience was in a coma when I came on and carried on sleeping all through my set. I ran off stage singing that old Cutting Crew song, "Aaah! I just died on my a*se tonight..."

That will go down in history as my worst gig ever. But hey ho. Gotta get straight back on the horse. Another gig tomorrow night...

Polly Pyne xxx

Grove girl in Ibiza

July 16

The rockstar’s party was a civilised affair. The same birthday party 30 years ago was, I’m sure, a riot of cocaine snorted off bosoms and other body parts. These days, rockstars have barbecues and jamming sessions in the garden – sometimes the latter might even be the butter and toast variety. Last Saturday the weather was like November and so, in Daisy Duke shorts, I froze my nipples off. But they did fall into a nice glass of Pimm’s and delight an old lady who thought they were cherries.

I had a nice little card to go with the birthday present – an original 1950s mouth organ – and thinking I’d be a bit rock 'n' roll (cos, like, I so am...), I wrote ‘Happy Birthday. You f**cking rock!’ Except I wrote it in a service station on the M25 and when the host opened it, I had actually said, ‘Happy Birthday. You f**cking cock!’ That’s probably the last time his wife will invite me back.

I arrived in Ibiza late Sunday evening, jumped in a cab and went straight to the club where I had some catching up to do. The West London party people had been on it since Friday, and had lost their marbles, their inhibitions and quite a few of their clothes along the way. Jade Jagger was there and even she was wearing more than one of my girlies. After two cocktails, a glass of champagne and a couple of sambuca shots, I was well on the way. It was bright by the time I staggered home, arm-in-arm with my best mate, planning a US road trip for next summer and vowing to do standup gigs en route.

I should be calling in sick this week. I am in Ibiza for God’s sake! But when you work for yourself, you never switch off and so I'm writing in between chilling, and spent the first two days of the holiday trying to find wifi so I could be in touch with the world. Next year I'm going away for a month and I might not even bring my mobile. If only. What did we ever do without mobile phones? Back in the days when people were always on time and stuck to the arrangements they made. But can you imagine a world where you weren't able to flirt by text? Speaking of, that gorgeous 25 year old hasn't replied... (Last younger man, promise!)

P xxx

Man Drought

Birthday girl

20 June 

I’ve got to admit I was really confused by the cultural differences between the Irish and the English when I first moved here. In England you say really politely, ‘would you like a drink? And what you mean is tea or coffee. In Ireland, ‘would you like a drink?’ only means one thing. It doesn’t matter that it’s only 11 o’clock in the morning. Six gin and tonics is probably a bad start for most job interviews but anyway I got the job with London Transport. Didn’t take it though. They wouldn’t let me drive a train in six-inch heels.

Sitting here now with a big stonking champagne hangover! Well, it was my birthday yesterday so I’m allowed. 36, single and having a f**king ball! I think I was still pissed when I woke up this morning. Had to meet an estate agent so pegged it back to the flat with a smell of booze that would have knocked out a horse – or an estate agent. She didn’t come too close – poor woman. In fact she valued the flat from across the street.

About 12 of us went to the Paradise for dinner last night. I was vegetarian for 14 years but now that I’ve come back to the dark and wanton side I’d eat anything. The more rare the better. Last night I had veal, which was sensational. I horsed it into me. I’d love to try panda or giraffe.

They gave me two bottles of champagne on the house as a thank you for the comedy nights I do upstairs once a month. I’m here with the hairy dog, a Bloody Mary. It’s 11.30. I’m not an alcoholic, I swear, but it was the only way I could get through the day. It doesn’t count when you’re Irish, honestly.

Bronagh and I started my birthday with a champagne lunch in The Cow, then she treated me to a Brazilian. What did Bro get me for my birthday? A new pussy! It’s all soft and cute and I can’t stop stroking it.

I discovered the secret of eternal youth this week. A huge revelation, I know! Doesn’t happen often but strayed a wee bit from the Grove and went to see Stiff Little Fingers at The Royal Festival Hall. Brilliant gig, but the highlight was the announcement in RP English during the interval: ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats in the auditorium where the Stiff Little Fingers concert will commence in five minutes’. (Yes indeed, punk is middle aged, respectable and reads the Guardian.) At 36 me and Bro were the two youngest things there and got chatted up left, right and centre by men with beer guts who still thought they were teenagers. We did too. It was bloody great! F**k crème de la mer, girls. Go see and aging punk band.

It’s birthday weekend, so tonight I’m having dinner at Tiroler Hut on Westbourne Grove, which I cannot wait for as I know it’s going to be bonkers. Tomorrow night I’m off to see Irish singer songwriter Damian Dempsey at Riverside Studios in Hammersmith, and then onto a big mad party at his producer’s house in Queen's Park, who is celebrating his 50^th birthday this weekend. Sunday, back to The Cow for lunch. My liver will be in a sling by Monday morning.

Got to go. Dry mouth. Need water....

Polly xxx

West London ladies

16 June

Notting Hill girls are always ready. The first glimmer of sunlight and they’re out on Westbourne Grove, perfectly manicured, pedicured and coiffed. And that’s at 9am on a Sunday. I am always ready for few things... Dessert? Yes; Champagne? Most definitely; A marriage proposal from a millionaire? Abso-f**king-lutely. But at 9am on a Sunday, the only thing I’m ready for is two extra hours in bed.

But summer is perving season in W11, so I make a special effort to get up early for a spot of bird watching. Last Sunday, I went out to get the papers, and all the way down Westbourne Grove I caught myself skirtchasing every time another one walked past.

I settled down outside Rico’s with my sporting attire - a large newspaper, giant sunglasses, and a fake beard - for a proper view. How do these girls do it? Perfect make-up. Thailand tan. This season’s frock. Are they single? Surely not. Where are they going this early on a Sunday? It must be church, to thank the Lord for making them a perfect 10.

I’m not a lesbian, but God, I love a good looking woman. I perve at women whenever I can... If I was a guy, I would probably have been punched several times for getting a hard-on at the most inappropriate of moments.

Other women check each other out all the time. Sorry guys, we don’t dress for you, we dress for each other. And in summer, well, we un-dress for each other.

When I caught sight of my curly hobbit’s toes I realised I was massively lagging behind and letting down the sisterhood. Then I thought, ‘Nah, be a leader, not a follower. Inhabit who you are’. So now I’m growing the hair on my feet. Reckon it’ll catch on?

‘Oh darling, have you seen the latest in West London? Everyone’s at it. Sienna’s even got braids in hers.’

Polly Pyne xxx

Grove's got talent

6 June

Polly gets a move on

2 June

I’m renting out my flat just off Westbourne Grove. It is the most beautiful place I have ever lived, on the quietest street in London, but I am moving in with another mad Irish girl, actress and singer Bronagh Gallagher.

She has just finished a film with Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson called Last Chance Harvey, out later this year. We are writing a sitcom together so we thought we’d move in and get the creative juices flowing – wine can be a very inspiring juice, you know. We will be living just up the road from The Paradise, our favourite hangout these days, and right next to Queen's Park for a bit of summer perving at hot young guys.

So I have had all kinds of eager estate agents through my door this week, one catching me in my dressing gown with a facepack on at 9am, and I’m sure there was a pair of undies on the floor when another dropped in while I was out. Definitely not the best look for your potential landlady...

I cannot wait for my next comedy night at the Paradise. It’s next Thursday, 5 June and it is going to be an absolute stormer!

We have comedy from the hilarious Dougie Dunlop and rising star Imran Yusuf (pictured). Afterwards a fantastic new band called Playground Legend will play us into the wee hours. They are all very tasty and have been tipped by Radio 1 as ‘one to watch in 2008’. I’ll be watching all five of them... very closely.

All this for a fiver on a Thursday in West London. Come down girls, you might get a snog! Ok, I will for a drink.

Paradise (by way of Kensal Green), 19 Kilburn Lane, W10 4AE; 020 8969 0098

Good vibrations

28 May

I woke up this week realising I had only six weeks to a long weekend in Ibiza for Rubber Ron’s 50^th. The summer is nearly here and too many long weekends spent at spring weddings, parties and pubs have meant that I am now the wrong, Rubenesque side of slim.

I have always had a strange love-hate relationship with food and exercise. I see exercise as a necessary evil, a bit like public transport, and I love food in all its guises – oh, about as much as sex. But having been raised Catholic, I’m preconditioned to punish myself for enjoying the pleasures of life. The result is usually gorging myself till I can’t get enough, then embarking on a gruelling regime to balance things out. But enough about my sex life.

Even if you are Paris Hilton skinny, it’s very hard to look good in a bikini so I thought I’d better pull my finger out and shift the wobbly bits, pronto.

A busy girl is always looking for a quick fix and Body Works West at Lambton Place might just have the answer with their new Power Plate classes. Oh my God, girls! Have you not tried it yet?! This is the thing that’ll have you in the gym every day.

It’s basically a giant vibrator and it’s sooo going to tone up those saggy bits for summer. Dear Lord, I know I haven’t prayed in a while, but this time you’ve answered my prayers!

It’s no coincidence that the machine looks like a big erect penis with a nice rounded plate at its base for trying out your moves. You just get on, press ‘go’ and it vibrates really fast for a minute. You do feel a bit self-conscious at first, and I did notice the rest of the class staring at me. Especially after my fourth orgasm.

Samantha Jones, the Rampant Rabbit is history. These things are likely to put Ann Summers out of business.

Madonna allegedly has one in her bedroom... I wonder why?

BodyWorksWest at Lambton Place
11 Lambton Place, Notting Hill, W11 2SH
020 7229 2291

Polly Pyne