WELL, well, well. Who knew what fantastically accomplished actresses those Sex And The City gals were, eh?
The cosy chats in cafes, the raucous nights in wine bars, the shared sobfests over lost loves . . . all scripted to exude the warm glow of an unbreakable female friendship spanning decades.
But as soon as the cameras switched off, it seems that the icy winds of Siberia blew across the set as the two main protagonists retreated wordlessly to their separate Winnebagos for a spot of barely suppressed seething.
It had always been rumoured that Sarah Jessica Parker (Carrie) and Kim Cattrall (Samantha) didn’t get on, but now it’s been confirmed in the most public way possible on social media, following a post in which SJP offered her condolences to Kim after the death of her brother.
She received this excoriating response: “Your continuous reaching out is a painful reminder of how cruel you really were then and now.
“Let me make this VERY clear (if I haven’t already). You are not my family. You are not my friend. So I’m writing to tell you one last time to stop exploiting our tragedy in order to restore your ‘nice girl’ persona.”
There are two sides to every story, of course, and SJP has yet to respond.
But whatever the truth behind the outburst, I have to admire Kim’s blistering honesty in the usually “mwah mwah, love you” world of celebrity and, in particular, her steely resolve to finally liberate herself from what she clearly feels was a toxic relationship.
True female friendship is one of life’s greatest joys. But when you find yourself locked in to a bad ’un through the commonality of shared school days or the workplace, it can be horribly draining.
Men drift in and out of friendships with ease, but women are blighted with the perception of being “the fairer sex” so, when faced with “an old chum” we struggle to like, we put up appearances and carry on with it for far longer than we would were it a romantic liaison that had gone wrong.
I did it myself.
A friend I had known since childhood became a rather bitter adult who was fond of saying: “It’s all right for you,” even though we had come from virtually identical circumstances.
The truth was that while I had chosen to get off my backside and work hard for a living, she had wilfully chosen a life of daily cannabis use, lie-ins and, consequently, repeated unemployment.
For years I paid for endless lunches and dinners, during which she would complain bitterly about her life while asking me sweet FA about mine.
After one such evening I decided I’d had enough, declared our “friendship” over and walked out of the restaurant feeling infinitely lighter. We haven’t spoken since.
Given that Kim Cattrall could have netted around £5million for the movie Sex And The City 3 if she’d faked it for just a little bit longer, it gives you some idea of just how unbearable the liaison had become for her.
It proves that, as much as Hollywood stars like to sugarcoat everything, when it comes to human frailties they’re exactly the same as the rest of us.
Good luck with that.
Most of us need to have a leg hanging off before we’ll go to the GP ourselves, but when it comes to our kids we take no chances.
Is that temperature the result of a heavy cold? Or is it a sign of something far more serious?
A parental conundrum that’s not helped by the continuing abundance of stories involving young children who died of flu/sepsis/meningitis just hours after their parents were told there was nothing to worry about.
“WHEN I dated Brad Pitt, even my really good friends tried to steal him from me,” says singer Sinitta.
Let’s hope that, for once, she’s not talking about Simon Cowell.
When you hear mention of “senior leadership teams”, “line managers” and “global heads” of whatever, you know the likelihood of your donation reaching its intended target is very slim indeed.
Which is why, many years ago, I took the personal decision to only give money to small charities, where I can see the money being spent in the right way
FANS of Monty Python’s Life of Brian will need no reminding of the achingly funny scene in which an “ex-leper” begs for money.
Turns out Jesus has cured him.
“One minute I’m a leper with a trade, next minute my livelihood’s gone . . . bloody do-gooder,” he moans.
Now life has imitated art after a group of Eastern European flower pickers were supposedly liberated from “modern slavery” by Cornish police but staged a protest over their boss’s arrest because they wanted their jobs back.
The jobs, I might add, that included accommodation in a heated caravan, a games room, wifi access, free use of washing machines and “good money” of up to £240 a day picking daffodils.
Little wonder that some of the “slaves” were returning for their ninth season there.
'Solo sex games'
As you do.
Another clamped Christmas tree lights to his nipples but electrocuted himself.
According to a new study, they and 80 to 100 of their countrymen are killed each year in “solo” sex games.
And they wonder why they’re single . . .
PRINCE WILLIAM has urged teenage girls not to try to copy the “fake” figures of celebrities who photoshop the images they post online.
He says: “Touched-up pictures aren’t real. Don’t think that’s what you’ve got to aim for.”
Far better to emulate the likes of 38-year-old Kelly Brook, seen here in all her unadulterated glory on a Caribbean beach with hunky fiancé Jeremy Parisi.
A modern-day Botticelli’s Venus, she’s wonderfully curvy, wholly natural and, best of all, is clearly in possession of the most age-defying quality of all.
SUPERMODEL Heidi Klum made a beauty faux pas last week when her thigh-slit dress blew open to reveal she had only fake-tanned one leg.
Sorry to spoil the, er, magic, gents, but we lay-dees have all been there.
Once, while wearing killer peep-toe heels, one of them fell off to reveal I had only bothered to varnish my two big toenails on the basis that the others wouldn’t be seen.
A spokesman for the airport said no breaches occurred and he was: “Constantly escorted by a permanent member of staff.”
Far safer and easier, surely, to just employ one of the millions of jobless with no criminal record?
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