Adam and Epstein shakin' it all about....

Modern British Sculpture at the Royal Academy, definitely worth a look-see, however do not under pain of death or torture or four more years of Nick Clegg read the nonsensical art speak on the exhibition's walls.
Drivel. Some jumped up  art student intern trying to impress...someone else. And failing spectacularly.

Describing Epstein's monumental Adam, of the flaying cock and awe-some girth with the self-consciously silly words "still has the power to embarrass," the only thing embarrassing was the whiny, wheezy text, typical "lest thou be shocked"  worth of an Old Testament morality tale. No, actually even Jehovah did modesty better.

Bask bask in the monolithic glory of Adam as the original man with the power-tool and be moved by the way Epstein captures nature and monumental force out of a hulk of alabaster. It's an encounter with our own essence, not a moment for "shame" or an act of withdrawal. I asked my friend, a nearly fifty year old artist if he felt "embarrassed" by the sculpture and he confirmed he didn't. Its power draws you in, there's something vastly majestic,  earthly embracing and sexual about it, something you want to move towards, anti-repulsive. Unlike Damien Hirst's fly-traps of rotten barbecue and whatever else.  

Very impressive, in spite of the usual tat from Damien Hirst and even with the fateful omission of Kapoor and Gormley. Who cares, the greats ( and some dubious others) are included.

Till April 7 2011.

Tony B-liar's marital bugs, Andy Coulson's nemesis and more by Darling Madame Arcati

Back by popular demand and because she's been let out on day release from her private and exclusive spa on the Dead Sea in Israel, where she undergoes daily Abhyanga treatment to open her third eye and clear her cluttered karma, Darling MA offers up some wisdom and musings on what has been, let's face it, an altogether trying year.In order to extend the pleasure of  being on the company of greatness, the multiple installments of this essay on contemporary Britain will be Wikileaked upon a somnambulist public. Like the Guardian.

Pinocchio

Now that Andy Coulson has been cleared of any wrongdoing and is no longer needed in Scottish Tommygate trial, what do you make of his vindication by the feds? Who's zooming who, is Yates of the Yard gone soft like Tony B-liar's willy?

Darling, I’m afraid Bliar’s willy is not soft at all - I am reliably informed that he gets it up at least twice a week for Cherie (without the help of Viagra), when either of them is not away on separate, lucrative pilgrimages. I have my bugs in the marital bed.

As for Andy Pinocchio, no one but the Prime Minister believes that as editor he did not know about illegal phone hacking at the News of the World. 

I can’t improve on the Tory propagandist and blogger Guido Fawkes words on the matter - ‘Coulson is as guilty as sin of condoning the News of the World culture…’ Nonetheless, Guido is happy to peg his nose to the stink in No 10 and just truffle after soft targets like William Hague and his preference for goooorgeous male hotel room-mates. I fear for Guido’s credibility as the Coalition starts to sink under police water cannon. I really do.

Scotland Yard - which has very close links to the News of the World - did its best for austerity Britain and save on public legal bills by threatening to place witnesses against Coulson under caution during questioning. Ken Clarke must be delighted. A prosecution of Coulson would have cost taxpayers about £2m. Coulson has already cost Murdoch about £4m in settlements and legal costs to shut up phone hacked litigants (£1m to Max Clifford alone!) - think of the money Murdoch is saving the British taxpayer. 

However, I fear that someone from Kajagoogoo, or some other branch of entertainment, will undo Scotland Yard’s sterling fiscal work and go public on tabloid phone hacking one day.

You have leaked news and important stories for years. How did you escape the gallows and the entrance only court room of District Judge Howard Riddle? What do you make of the recent remand of Julian Assange? Do you think the Frontline club was right to allow him to stay there, the proprietor,  Capt Vaughn Smith, an ex-army-man, reformed hack, claims Julian always paid his room bills but then remarked rather remarkably that he never used a credit card. One wonders how poppet carried all those used £1 coins.

Well, one is impressed. Personally, I can’t book into a decent hotel without proof of solvent existence, such as my Boots saver card. I assume Julian did a Gillian McKeith and carried his essentials, such as cash, in pockets in his Y-fronts. This is why I don’t think he raped anyone. Can you imagine? He drops his pants and out pops an avalanche of pound coins clattering against the skirting. That would put off most aspiring rapists, don’t you agree? And intended victims would probably have time to make a getaway as Julian crawled around collecting his coins, with his exposed testicles swaying about below his hairy crack. He may therefore be guilty of indecent exposure; that’s possible.

The Frontline club should be commended for its dedication to free market economics. An example to George Osborne and that funny little urchin, Toby Young.

Separated at birth. But how many chins? 

 A lot of columnistas have made a lot of noise about the misogyny of Assange's *alleged* sexual crimes on women in Sweden, given that one of them write a book on seven ways to legally avenge your lover and that one of these ways was to tell the police he raped you, do you think Julian Assange might be released soon, as there are no charges to answer or do you think the naughty poppet deserves a spell in the pokey? 

The problem is that the moment Julian lands in Sweden, Obama’s loyal drones will apply for his extradition to face a 500-year spell in a Texan penitentiary for upsetting Hillary Clinton over her illegal UN spying directives. So I think we should follow daytime TV Jeremy Kyle’s example and subject Julian to a lie detector test on these rape allegations - perhaps on the show itself, surrounded by hair-gelled oafs and their screaming chav tarts with their hoop earrings.  

If he passes, Sweden can fuck off and Jeremy can shake Julian’s hand. Sorted.

Rape is of course a very serious matter and should never be used to further the interests of Hillary Clinton. 

Not a good hair day

Madame Arcati Uncut

Just to warm the cockles of your frozen heart this chilly Sunday night, here's a previously unpublished i/v with media blogger and celebrity scourge Madame Arcati, she currently channels through Victor Olliver, film critic and newspaper journalist. Just last week, Darling MA exposed an X Factor contestant's raunchy granny's porn / escort past in true tabloidese, and the blog which was established in 2006,  peaked at over 40 000 hits in a week. Be warned, you are no longer in Kansas, Dorothy. 

For For over six years Darling MA has brought us exclusive scoops and news that hacks and haquettes drool over and couldn't find with a 500 watt bulb, a farm tractor and an Associated Newspapers  expense account. Think of her as the media's answer to  The Equalizer and WikiLeaks. 

What made you start writing up the trivia and torpedoes of the media / showbiz world's gossip? Was there a shortage of good gossipistes? Did you fill the *ahem* gap? Who is your favorite gossipiste du jour ( I know this is subject to change hourly, double Gemini just take a tabloid and stick a drawing pin on a page. Ouch)

My dear, Madame does not gossip. Gossiping is what you do when you don’t know anything: I’m sure Peter McHackey of the Daily Mail will concur. A more accomplished bottom feeder of others’ droppings I have yet to encounter. Madame shares what she knows with her discerning public (and a few loafers indentured on newspapers seeking a free lunch) and in turn a few of them tell me what they know. 

This exchange is less complicated than sex and no one ends up stalked.

The best supplier of actual information is probably Nicky Haslam - he has the stamina and memory for all the parties. The best gossip (in the sense of not knowing anything) is the above mentioned Peter McKay (aka McHackey)  who daily fills his Mail  Ephraim Hardcastle ‘column’ with the bruised peel of yesterday’s fruit nibblings. 

What was your biggest scoop?

Where do I start, poppet? Certainly my best recent scoop was breaking the news of Sebastian Horsley’s untimely death - his body was still warm when the news went up, and for half the day a great many arts hacks thought I’d made it up. People say I’m tasteless but a least I didn’t put up the photo of Seb fucking that quadruple amputee woman.

The scoop I’m most proud of was my revelations about a London newspaper editor who left his wife and family for the London mayor’s comely PR person - a potentially tricky matter given that the mayor had a say in where the editor’s paper could be sold on London Transport property. Happily there was no conflict of interest; but it’s best to know of these things than not know. The newspapers ignored the story, natch. Editors like to cover each other’s back. 

What was your biggest disappointment?  

So many, my sweet.  So many. I am by nature a trusting person. The writer Precious Williams deeply wounded me. She assured me over and over again (in emails I still possess) that she did indeed have a relationship with the Channel 4 news anchor Jon Snow - which he denied. He even denied knowing her. Precious promised me proof. I am still waiting. My thumbs have been twiddled to limpness. My finger nails have been drummed into the bone. I find it astonishing that Mr Snow then married Precious - another Precious, that is. Such a common name.

Jon Snow and the real Precious

What do you wear while you blawg? Do you blawg naked? Do you have an aperitif to get you in the mood?

It depends on the time of day and who’s in the room. Mornings I have been known to face the blog in my lace and poly silk negligee designed by Jane Woolrich while a stranger’s hands search my person fervently for signs of (re-)arousal. Writing about the likes of Kevin Spacey in such a situation adds a frisson to one’s online breakfast. Of an evening I have been known to sip a certain anise-flavoured beverage as I deliberate on the fate of some unfortunate TV host favourite - a few words and it’s all over for them. Power must be exercised responsibly. Top up!

Kevin Spacey's Third Eye.

What's the view from your desk? Keep it clean dearie.

Well, I’m most concerned about the Union Jack that used to flap about in my peripheral vision in a neighbour’s garden. It has disappeared. I think a storm the other night brought down the pole, most distressing for the Dame Vera Lynn fans who erected it. You just can’t get the wood nowadays. Otherwise a copy of Lady Colin Campbell’s novel Empress Bianca sits on my desk as a paperweight. Any attempt to read it would lead to much documentary chaos.

Tell me your most perverse fetish. Don't keep it clean.

Cling film aside, I curiously delight in Royal Doulton’s Bunnykins collectables based in the mythical village of Little Twitching. I have only to run a finger along the cool English Translucent China of Reggie Bunnykins’ floppy-stiffy ears and my thigh muscles relax somewhat. God help you if you're in the same room as I should I be caressing a Reggie figurine and his floppy-stiffies. My cleaner gives me a wide berth at such times.

Which Jean Genet character are / were you in your last / next life?

It would have to be the straw in Un Chant d'Amour through which smoke is exhaled in what must be the smallest prison glory hole in 20th Century movie history.

Reptilian

What do you have to say to those calumnist columnists who steal your copy and lift your exclusives like peeling skin when the SPF 50 has rubbed off?

Fucking heterosexuals. They’re all the same.

Who are your favorite subjects? Who are the most devoted Arcatistes and why do you think they return for more love / ego-stroking / abuse, for another ride on the carousel of desire in your tunnel of love?

Madame Arcati is the only website conductor in the world who drew in Kevin Spacey’s entire family (almost) and then artfully set them against each other for years. On my blog you will find a textbook-sized amount of info on the clan - it was the blogosphere’s very first reality soap. People come to me to spectate, to observe living slebby drama, to conduct feuds and serve up the Revenge dish. Madame Arcati is indeed a tunnel of love, and one dripping with authentic lubricant.

Steph Mastini

Cock pic by Steph Mastini

How do you bring your alleged psychic powers into your work?

Alleged? How dare you. Madame Arcati casts her horoscopes and sees beyond the rational spin and din. But I am responsible. People must go through certain experiences for karmic reasons, such as public and humiliating exposure on Madame Arcati. It’s not my business to editorialise fate’s design.

Can you tell me (privately of course) who some of your sources are?

I find that death makes people garrulous.

What's your 'scope and how does it effect the vapours and whims of your blogging?

By ’scope you mean horoscope? It’s a little like illegal phone hacking. The trick is to find a trail that disguises the illicit means of discovery. The PM’s spin master Andy Coulson will know what I mean.

Quentin Crisp

What happened to the most requested author of HMP Holloway, Susan Hill and you?

I don’t know about Susan. One minute she was confiding the most extraordinary things in me (my lips are… coated in a Tom Ford Private Blend). And in the next she had swanned off to the Spectator and now writes a very tiresome right-wing blog there about hedgerows and Wellington boots. I don’t know why I thought she was a socialist. But anyway, I have a soft spot for Sue who I think should be made a Dame for her services to ghosts.

What do you think about celebrity bloggers? Tell-all biographies? Boxers or Y Fronts and on the   Brighton sea front is it a one piece cozzie or a tankini?

Like gossips (or gossers as I prefer), sleb bloggers know nothing about slebs, except what they’ve read in the weeklies. Perez Hilton now thinks he’s a sleb when in fact he writes his PR sheet from his mum’s house and has to wank a lot cos he can’t find enough living spunk buckets. At this time of year Brighton sea front is scrotally challenging.

What's your philosophy in life? if you could be the gusset in someone's drawers whose would you choose? Just for a day of course. Health and Safety and all that.

Do unto others before they do unto you. I would be most interested to be the scented paper in Kevin Spacey’s chest of drawers. Perhaps I’d find my neighbour’s Union Jack.

Chanel or Adolfo?

I have no time for Hitler.

You're often heavily criticized for your unflailing support of some of your protegees and your long, actually unending engagement to bad girl Molly Parkin is leg-end-ary. Will you ever tie the knot or will you just continue to tempt and tease your many paramours by putting them always in second place.

Madame Arcati is loyal, poppet. Pure and simple. The joy of an engagement is the delayed gratification itself - so why end it? Why spoil it by gratification? I’d make a splendid agony aunt.

That bicycle. Comment please. Do you have the panier for packages and testubes of animal sperm and parcels or did you dump it for aerodynamics and the power of speed?

Animal sperm? Enough about Perez, please. I cycle very fast and as close to pedestrian elbows as possible.

If you could be anyone in history who would it be? And no, you can't be the Child Catcher. That is already taken.

Eva Braun. The mountain views from the Berghof were enchanting, and think of the things that usefully could be dropped from a very great height.

Sometimes the comments on some of the articles look like the mess after a sixth form common room (co-ed) party. How do you decide when to censor and when not to?

I rarely censor - the very idea! People feel relaxed in my drawing room blog, they let go, along with the syntax etc. But accusations of prime ministerial bestiality cannot be encouraged.

Is it true about Duncan Fallowell's cock? Evidence please.

The picture of his cock is on Madame Arcati. I rest my case.

Do you think people are generally good or generally evil?

I think people are generally.

Do you believe in god? Don't give me the Nick Cohen atheist lisp please.

There is no God but we were invented by something recurringly sentient. Even George W Bush was invented by something recurringly sentient.

When you dance naked around the ouija board what is the music piping from your iPod?

Oh Justin Bieber! Isn't he adorable? I wonder if he’s had his first wet dream yet? Plus I love Cliff Richard dance remixes on YouTube.

Blackberry / iPhone?

NEiTHER.

Jordan / Katie Price?

Jordan is a safer place to holiday.

Christmas / Hanukkah / Eid?

Winterval darling with touches of Dickensian reinvention.

and anything else you wanna add......or leave out of course.

Thank you for your wonderful questions, Farah. 
And to think we’ve unleashed Piers Morgan on a blameless America. 
Love, MA xxx