Attention parents, bubbas and zaidas everywhere. If the thought of another blanket grey weekend spent in soft-play hell with the kids is more than you can stand, fear not. Gru, his adopted orphans and those dinky yellow minions, have returned to chase away the bouncy castle blues and, like a good family board game, delight everyone from six to 96.
Known to most of us only by his ring name — The Rock — Dwayne Johnson is considered one of the all-time stars of wrestling. Yes, that’s right, wrestler not actor, but that didn’t prevent him being paid a record-breaking $5.5 million for his debut role in The Scorpion King, which I’ve still to see.
It could be an age thing or stress, but I recently developed a bald patch bang in the centre of my hair. Confidently hirsute and hot on mane maintenance, I was shocked (horrified actually) when I spotted the depilated gap which had appeared without warning. Though half the size of a 50 pence piece, when the wind blew or I flicked the wrong way, it flashed like a winking beacon in the dark.
ands up if you go to the hairdresser’s once a week? Once a month? Every six weeks? If any of the above apply to you, then you probably spend more than £2,000 a year on your hair. Almost a quarter of British women do the same, so there’s really no need to feel embarrassed.
After the Queen and wonder horse Frankel, one name is synonymous with Royal Ascot — Audrey Hepburn. Though her association with the Berkshire track is entirely filmic, her appearance there as reformed flower girl Eliza Doolittle has never been surpassed and every woman dressing for Ladies’ Day hopes to capture something of the My Fair Lady “Hep factor” in their choice of headwear.
The rumble in the fashion world started months ago. A new version of The Great Gatsby was on its way to a cinema near you and every manufacturer, boutique, hair salon and bar was prepared to embrace Art Deco design and jump on Baz Luhrmann’s dazzling bandwagon.
Brent Cross has never seen anything like it. Men who would ordinarily be shuffling through the centre in the wake of their born-to-shop spouses were suddenly parading like peacocks across the marble floor.
Do you think your man needs a makeover? Does your Dad need to dapper up his game? This is your chance to make that happen as Jeff Banks has kindly offered £250 spending money to a fella who needs a bit more fashion in his life. Whether it’s something casual for the weekend or a spanky suit for a big night out, the lucky winner can peruse the rails in the new Brent Cross store.
As a rule, film directors are rarely seen on the Graham Norton Show. The toocheses that grace his scarlet sofa are strictly A-list, front-of-camera types with Quentin Tarantino being one of the few auteurs to ever make the guest-list. Until last week.
I've always rather fancied the idea of living in a hotel. While others obsess about properties with multiple rooms, the notion of residing in just one has much more appeal. Room service, fresh towels, a Do Not Disturb sign on the door and a stream of new neighbours has to be the perfect domicile arrangement — particularly if that room is in Claridges.
The bottom of the garden is not a place one usually goes to for fashion inspiration. Unless of course you happen to be a fairy — or want to dress like one — which is exactly what I did last week for my daughter’s sixth birthday.
Forgive the short notice, but it’s Mother’s Day on Sunday. With its Lent/Easter associations the date understandably doesn’t feature on the Jewish calendar, so that gets me off the hook. With everyone — except my mother.
Hands up if you’ve bought a Prada blossom skirt yet? An iridescent Alberta Feretti dress to be worn with neon- trimmed trainers? Maybe a crop? No, me neither. It’s not that I’m not interested in the 2013 fashion trends, as nothing pleases me more than the thought of spring and fewer layers.
I couldn’t be more excited. Today the film version of the musical I love more than any other opens at cinemas nationwide. After 28 years on the stage, Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg’s Les Misérables has been turned into a motion picture starring Hugh Jackman as Victor Hugo’s protagonist Jean Valjean, and I’ve bought my tickets. For every night next week.
When I worked in an office every day I was deeply envious of the women who didn’t. Not because their free time allowed them extended lunches and spontaneous shopping trips, but because they arrived at parties looking immaculate, while I turned up at the same soirees looking smudged and bedraggled.
I would like to apologise to my step-son Michael. About two years ago he walked into the kitchen wearing a bright green zip-up baby-gro. At least that is what it looked like and we all fell about laughing.