Oh! There goes a lung

So, I'm ill again. The most probable culprit is Milo, now aged 16 months. He was a bit sick for a day or two last week, then made a quick recovery. Since then, both his parents, three of his grandparents, his great uncle, his aunt (me) and his grandparents' lovely neighbours have all come down with it. Cue much vomiting in and around London (although I escaped the actual chundering this time and just felt like it was about to happen all day). The boy brought down at least nine adults.

Milo has a special skill for this. My sister described him today as a "crawling biological weapon". You spend an hour or two with him speeding around your ankles on a mission, occasionally looking up to adorably try one of his new words ("brush" is my personal favourite) and to point at something meaningfully before abruptly losing interest. The following day you're doing what my dad referred to as a "yodel royale", retching up some of your internal organs into the nearest bin. It's sweet really. In a way. Bless him.

And no wonder!

My lovely friend and sometimes-colleague Cat (she hasn't updated her blog since February. I think if you click on that link and read it you will agree that this is a crying shame. Do leave her some comments to persuade her) has lent me her copy of Valley Of The Dolls by Jacqueline Susann. It is her favourite-avourite book. She loves it so much that her copy has been reinforced with sellotape, and frankly I'm in a constant state of anxiety in case I accidentally leave it on the tube/drop it in the bath/leave my one-year-old nephew alone with it and return to find paragraphs all over the floor.

I wanted to share with you the not-at-all-melodramatic blurb written on the inside cover of the book. Ha-hem.

From Broadway to Hollywood, this is one of the fastest-selling, most whispered-about novels ever. And no wonder! It reveals more about the secret, drug-filled, love-starved, sex-satiated, nightmare world of show business than any book ever published.

It is about the world where sex is a success weapon, where love is the smiling mask of hate, where slipping youth and fading beauty are ever-present spectres. It is a world where the magic tickets to peace or oblivion are "dolls" - the insider's word for pills - pep pills, sleeping pills, red pills, blue pills . . . and pills to chase the truth away.

VALLEY OF THE DOLLS is the story of three of the most exciting women you'll ever meet; women who were too tough or too talented not to reach the top . . . and unable to enjoy it once they were there!

ANNE WELLES: the icy New England beauty who melted for the wrong Mr Right . . . an Adonis famous for his infidelity.

NEELY O'HARA: the lovable kid from vaudeville who became a star and a monster.

JENNIFER NORTH: the blonde goddess who survived every betrayal committed against her magnificent body except the last.

Each of them was bred in the Babylons of Broadway and Hollywood. Each of them learned about making love, making money, and making believe. Each of them rode the crest of the wave. And each of them came finally to the Valley of the Dolls.

This novel - big, brilliant, savage and sensational - tells its inside story . . . the shockingly true story behind those headlines . . . knowingly, compellingly and intimately.

Don't miss it. And don't lend it to a friend. You'll never get it back.

Clearly Cat hasn't read the inside cover carefully enough.

I'm about 30 pages in and so far I've only met Anne and Neely - but I'm very intrigued as to what betrayals are due to be committed against Jennifer North's magnificent body. I am going to try to imagine myself a star of the book. Perhaps something like:

HATTIE CRISELL: the naive northerner who found her feet in the Big City - only to be brought to her knees by the cruel world of romance.

Or:

HATTIE CRISELL: the sensitive writer who made it big in digital media - but lost her soul along the way.

Or:

HATTIE CRISELL: the promising talent who got dragged into a world of after-work boozing in seedy London dives.

It's a work in progress.

By the way, gang - I'm in the process of planning a website for myself. Nothing exciting, just somewhere that will link to my blog etc, for work purposes. I have a very talented designer who is going to help me out but I think I'm going to go for something very simple. Having said that, it would be great to hear anyone's thoughts on what should go up there - whether I should go completely minimalistic or try something a little bit cleverer. Any ideas, stick 'em in the comments section. Thank you.

Jeff Goldblum: "He was not only a friend and a mentor, but he was also me."

Last Thursday, as you all know, Michael Jackson died. I heard about it on Twitter just after TMZ broke the news, and I sat in front of my computer and the TV for two hours, looking for more information. Twitter comes into its own in these situations - if there's a latest development, you can be sure that someone you're following will tweet it. It's a bit like having 100 people to gossip with - which maybe doesn't sound that appealing to some of you, but considering my line of work, I'm in my element.

Anyway. During all the Michael Jackson Twitter flurry, some hilarious joker set up a fake news page announcing that the actor Jeff Goldblum had also died that night, which turned out to be utter bollocks. And this morning I saw this clip from The Colbert Report, which really tickled me.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Jeff Goldblum Will Be Missed
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Jeff Goldblum

I love Jeff Goldblum. Apparently he's dating this very lucky 21-year-old actress. Humph.

In other news, Claire and Hywel's wonderful wedding (did I mention Claire got married?) has been featured on the very well-known (if you're into that kind of thing) wedding blog, Style Me Pretty - here, here, here and here (look out for me looking a bit awkward in the bridesmaid picture). They've described it as a "sweet, sophisticated British wedding" with "chic style" (they add, "Doesn’t it just kill you that even the guests are chic!" - a-thank-you-very-much). The photos are gorgeous, and are by the talented photographer Marianne Taylor. If you're getting married (well, you might be) I know Claire can't recommend her highly enough.

I'm still alive.

Hi, long-gone readers! It's your friendly-but-incompetent blogger here. It's been 20 days since I last blogged. Twenty. I feel thoroughly ashamed of myself.

I'm blogging in my underwear at present. Not in a saucy way, but in more of a holy-cats-it's-hot-today-and-I-refuse-to-sweat-through-another-T-shirt-especially-when-the-washing-machine-is-broken sort of way. It's only 32º (that's 90º, to those of you who work in Fahrenheit). I know that's not very hot if you're from Egypt, or India, or Oklahoma (hi, friends from Oklahoma). But it's enough to turn me into an irritable, sweaty, lethargic bore with a clammy tomato face.

Now that you have that attractive image in mind, let me proceed with the blog post.

So, I haven't done much blogging this June. This is what I have done:

• worked very hard. OK, quite hard. I'm not a miner or anything. However I have returned to work on Big Brother, which involves sitting in a grubby portacabin for nine hours a day with no natural light. So not completely dissimilar to mining.
  
• gone to three gigs: Britney Spears (free ticket, much fun), Kings Of Leon (we got told off by the woman behind us for standing up, to which Jenni replied "Do you think we're at the ballet?") and Bruce Springsteen (brilliant brilliant brilliant).
• been to the dentist for the first time in a few years. Terrifying.
  
• been to the theatre twice: Hamlet (starring Mr Jude Law. He wasn't bad... he was just a bit too... Jude Law) and Jewels, which is a Balanchine ballet and reminded me of a magical sparkly Christmas.
• been a bridesmaid for the third time. You know what they say: 'Three times a bridesmaid... obviously a loser'. It was Claire and Hywel's wedding, so let's blame them if I end up a miserable spinster. Although actually I see myself more as a jolly spinster.
  

So, to the matter at hand. I read a couple of articles the other day about what is apparently a downward trend in blogging. It seems people are abandoning their blogs left, right and centre. I don't want to be one of those undedicated bastards, but I fear I'm heading that way.

According to this article, 95% of blogs have been abandoned. One of the reasons it cites is that bloggers have moved on to Twitter, where they can express a thought quickly and get an instant response. I think that's the issue with me. I love Twitter. I use it to ask people's advice, make stupid jokes, get information, share music, see what the funny people are saying and occasionally vent my rage. It's made me lazy with the blog, which takes much more effort and provides me with much less feedback and interaction.

But I don't want to give up on hattiehattie. I feel it's part of who I am now and I'm determined not to let another month pass with only three entries. Please shout at me if I don't stick to my word. Shout gently, though.