brokenenglish
Deep Red Bells
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From The Independent...
Sophie Heawood: The ballad of Kate and Pete
What is it she sees in him, and we see in them? Just good clean filth
Published: 15 April 2007
There she goes again, this time leaning backwards out of a window like Rapunzel with a death wish, a *** superglued to her lips as her hair cascades down the wall in locks that would put Medusa's snakes to shame. Meanwhile, her lover is heaving into her chest, clearly inspired by Perseus as he tries to decapitate her with his guitar. Yet thanks to being permanently off his own head, he simultaneously looks as boggle-eyed and bemused as Billy Bunter trying to imagine a world without gobstoppers.
Ah yes, there's never a dull minute with Kate Moss and Pete Doherty, this time photographed late on Thursday night at the after-show party for his sold-out solo shows in Hackney. And the next morning a nation of newspaper readers salivates at the sight of yet more nonsense from the perfect antidote to Posh and Becks.
Since we got bored of the Beckhams with their self-denial - Victoria's suffering and shrinking becoming simply too painful to watch - Pete and Kate have proved the perfect opposite. This couple wants more of everything: harder, faster and filthier. And at the shows this week, they played to the crowd: their love was publicly declared as he dedicated a song to her, "my fiancée", before she joined him on stage to accompany him by singing on "La Belle et la Bête". ("Is she more beautiful than me?" goes her one line.)
The Daily Mail printed close-up shots of Doherty's spotty visage and drug-damaged nose, while describing Kate as "the soiled supermodel" - as though that were a bad thing! Soiled, as if her celebrity status was leaking. In an age of Supreme Makeovers and How Clean Is Your House?, of media hygiene neurosis, a good bit of dirt is exactly what we want to see. Now that Kate has finally given in and clinched the celebrity endorsement deals - a fashion range for Topshop and a perfume for Coty (all that product-testing must be what makes her nostrils look so wonky these days), her mystique has well and truly been sullied.
Yet the enduring media myth is the one that goes that we will never really understand Kate 'n' Pete, because La Moss is the mysterious celebrity who has never done interviews. Patently not true. What people forget is that Kate, like Charlotte Church and Britney Spears, started out as a child star, and learned about keeping shtum the hard way.
Discovered at 14 and a famous model by the age of 15, she did her first big interview with i-D magazine soon after, a few sheets to the wind and quite happy to reveal all about teenage habits of shoplifting and spliff smoking. When her agency, Storm, got wind of what she'd done, it is said that she was strongly discouraged from ever talking to the press again.
Except that she did - when living in New York with Johnny Depp - and again when she granted The Big Issue a special Christmas interview and said she didn't know that asylum-seekers who had children could still be deported. ("I should really know about these things," she muttered.)
There were a couple of others and, best of all, the live streaming on fashion website ShowStudio.com, where her fashionista mates got to interrogate her themselves.
In said video link-up, we learned that her favourite cheese was brie, that giving birth was one of the best days of her life. When asked if it was true that her nipples were like fighter pilots' thumbs, she told us that "you could hang two wet duffel coats off them, with two bottles of Irn Bru in the pockets". And this year, the April issue of Vogue contains an interview to promote her Topshop range, in which she reveals that she recently returned home to find 15 policemen outside her door. "And I came in with Lila and thought, 'what have I done now?'". (Nothing at all, it transpired - the police had simply been speaking to her neighbours about issuing possible Asbos against the paparazzi who spend every day blocking up their street.)
As for her beloved Pete, we know even more about him because he doesn't just take the tabloid's calls on his mobile, but rings them up himself to tell them what he and Kate are up to. "I can't buy her diamonds and my dick is too small," he once announced to The Sun, when asked the reason behind that week's break-up. Then, of course, there is their very public lust for each other.
They recently got chucked out of the NME awards for getting jiggy in public, something which surprised nobody in the music industry. I remember standing backstage in the BBC filming area at Glastonbury in 2005, with everybody much amused because Pete and Kate had just been spotted getting it on against a Portakabin, and in the process disturbing several music-loving weirdos who preferred, bizarrely, to watch the band.
So why do we even need to mythologise them, when they are so public, so tacky, so cheap? The fact is that we don't - what we're watching is them falling for their own mythologies, while we happily sit back and enjoy the car crash.
Kate's favourite author is F Scott Fitzgerald; her 30th birthday party was themed around his The Beautiful and Damned; while her favourite book is The Great Gatsby, in which bad things happen to the most beautiful socialites of the age. She even named her daughter Lila after the heroine of the French novel Lila Says, a lonely young girl who goes around asking the rough boys on her estate if they'd like to see her p***y, before plunging to her death from a window. Vertigo is not a fear of heights, but rather the desire to fall. And Kate Moss clearly suffers from a chronic case.
In addition she has always had a fascination for rock'n'roll bad boys. Apart from being best friends with Primal Scream's Bobby Gillespie, she is godmother to the sons of Paul Simonon from The Clash.
And as for Pete, oh, Pete reads Dostoyevsky. He got 11 grade A GCSEs, five of them starred! His father is a brutal army major who doesn't understand his sensitive literary lad. Pete doesn't live in this humdrum world but in Arcadia; he called his Babyshambles album Down in Albion. And he doesn't just take h***** like any run-of-the-mill junkie - why, he smokes o****, like good old Sherlock Holmes!
Let's face it, if he was a black man, with a child he can't look after, a history of c**** addiction, violence and a string of arrests, we wouldn't see him for dust - yet Pete is all of these things and ends up being interviewed by Kirsty Wark on Newsnight, talking about how that nice British Council once sent him on an educational trip to Russia. One judge admitted to being a fan of his music, before failing to bang him up yet again. With his "My William Blake hell", his belief in the fantasy that is Englishness, he has made himself prison-proof.
And it's that fantasy life of his that makes Kate want him all the more. She loves him because she's a sexually and economically powerful woman and yet the one thing her looks and money can't buy are his sanity and with it a secure pathway to his heart. "Sonny and Cher were in love!" she pouts, on a home video of the pair recently leaked to The Sun's website. (He claims he gave it to them with Kate's consent.) She is nagging him for the fantasy of a rock'n'roll love affair that lasts.
On film she kicks him while he remains lost in his guitar, not listening to a word she says. This is, after all, the man who once typed all the text messages from his phone on to his Babyshambles messageboard, including one from his former partner Lisa Moorish, saying how sad she was that Pete was missing the best years of seeing their toddler son, Astile, grow up. (You didn't get the impression he had bothered typing her a reply.) What do you give the woman who has everything? The answer, as Pete knows all too well, is nothing.
Yet members of Pete's band Babyshambles are said to have issued him an ultimatum of "her or us", as if she was the problem - like Yoko Ono being blamed for taking Lennon from the Beatles. Theirs is the myth of the woman as evil enchantress, and yet he's such a bad boy that we can't decide which of them is leading the other astray and why we remain captivated by this duo: because try as we might we can't work out which one is singing the siren song, and which one will end up on the rocks.
I cleaned it up a bit...
hope it's okay to post.
From The Independent...
Sophie Heawood: The ballad of Kate and Pete
What is it she sees in him, and we see in them? Just good clean filth
Published: 15 April 2007
There she goes again, this time leaning backwards out of a window like Rapunzel with a death wish, a *** superglued to her lips as her hair cascades down the wall in locks that would put Medusa's snakes to shame. Meanwhile, her lover is heaving into her chest, clearly inspired by Perseus as he tries to decapitate her with his guitar. Yet thanks to being permanently off his own head, he simultaneously looks as boggle-eyed and bemused as Billy Bunter trying to imagine a world without gobstoppers.
Ah yes, there's never a dull minute with Kate Moss and Pete Doherty, this time photographed late on Thursday night at the after-show party for his sold-out solo shows in Hackney. And the next morning a nation of newspaper readers salivates at the sight of yet more nonsense from the perfect antidote to Posh and Becks.
Since we got bored of the Beckhams with their self-denial - Victoria's suffering and shrinking becoming simply too painful to watch - Pete and Kate have proved the perfect opposite. This couple wants more of everything: harder, faster and filthier. And at the shows this week, they played to the crowd: their love was publicly declared as he dedicated a song to her, "my fiancée", before she joined him on stage to accompany him by singing on "La Belle et la Bête". ("Is she more beautiful than me?" goes her one line.)
The Daily Mail printed close-up shots of Doherty's spotty visage and drug-damaged nose, while describing Kate as "the soiled supermodel" - as though that were a bad thing! Soiled, as if her celebrity status was leaking. In an age of Supreme Makeovers and How Clean Is Your House?, of media hygiene neurosis, a good bit of dirt is exactly what we want to see. Now that Kate has finally given in and clinched the celebrity endorsement deals - a fashion range for Topshop and a perfume for Coty (all that product-testing must be what makes her nostrils look so wonky these days), her mystique has well and truly been sullied.
Yet the enduring media myth is the one that goes that we will never really understand Kate 'n' Pete, because La Moss is the mysterious celebrity who has never done interviews. Patently not true. What people forget is that Kate, like Charlotte Church and Britney Spears, started out as a child star, and learned about keeping shtum the hard way.
Discovered at 14 and a famous model by the age of 15, she did her first big interview with i-D magazine soon after, a few sheets to the wind and quite happy to reveal all about teenage habits of shoplifting and spliff smoking. When her agency, Storm, got wind of what she'd done, it is said that she was strongly discouraged from ever talking to the press again.
Except that she did - when living in New York with Johnny Depp - and again when she granted The Big Issue a special Christmas interview and said she didn't know that asylum-seekers who had children could still be deported. ("I should really know about these things," she muttered.)
There were a couple of others and, best of all, the live streaming on fashion website ShowStudio.com, where her fashionista mates got to interrogate her themselves.
In said video link-up, we learned that her favourite cheese was brie, that giving birth was one of the best days of her life. When asked if it was true that her nipples were like fighter pilots' thumbs, she told us that "you could hang two wet duffel coats off them, with two bottles of Irn Bru in the pockets". And this year, the April issue of Vogue contains an interview to promote her Topshop range, in which she reveals that she recently returned home to find 15 policemen outside her door. "And I came in with Lila and thought, 'what have I done now?'". (Nothing at all, it transpired - the police had simply been speaking to her neighbours about issuing possible Asbos against the paparazzi who spend every day blocking up their street.)
As for her beloved Pete, we know even more about him because he doesn't just take the tabloid's calls on his mobile, but rings them up himself to tell them what he and Kate are up to. "I can't buy her diamonds and my dick is too small," he once announced to The Sun, when asked the reason behind that week's break-up. Then, of course, there is their very public lust for each other.
They recently got chucked out of the NME awards for getting jiggy in public, something which surprised nobody in the music industry. I remember standing backstage in the BBC filming area at Glastonbury in 2005, with everybody much amused because Pete and Kate had just been spotted getting it on against a Portakabin, and in the process disturbing several music-loving weirdos who preferred, bizarrely, to watch the band.
So why do we even need to mythologise them, when they are so public, so tacky, so cheap? The fact is that we don't - what we're watching is them falling for their own mythologies, while we happily sit back and enjoy the car crash.
Kate's favourite author is F Scott Fitzgerald; her 30th birthday party was themed around his The Beautiful and Damned; while her favourite book is The Great Gatsby, in which bad things happen to the most beautiful socialites of the age. She even named her daughter Lila after the heroine of the French novel Lila Says, a lonely young girl who goes around asking the rough boys on her estate if they'd like to see her p***y, before plunging to her death from a window. Vertigo is not a fear of heights, but rather the desire to fall. And Kate Moss clearly suffers from a chronic case.
In addition she has always had a fascination for rock'n'roll bad boys. Apart from being best friends with Primal Scream's Bobby Gillespie, she is godmother to the sons of Paul Simonon from The Clash.
And as for Pete, oh, Pete reads Dostoyevsky. He got 11 grade A GCSEs, five of them starred! His father is a brutal army major who doesn't understand his sensitive literary lad. Pete doesn't live in this humdrum world but in Arcadia; he called his Babyshambles album Down in Albion. And he doesn't just take h***** like any run-of-the-mill junkie - why, he smokes o****, like good old Sherlock Holmes!
Let's face it, if he was a black man, with a child he can't look after, a history of c**** addiction, violence and a string of arrests, we wouldn't see him for dust - yet Pete is all of these things and ends up being interviewed by Kirsty Wark on Newsnight, talking about how that nice British Council once sent him on an educational trip to Russia. One judge admitted to being a fan of his music, before failing to bang him up yet again. With his "My William Blake hell", his belief in the fantasy that is Englishness, he has made himself prison-proof.
And it's that fantasy life of his that makes Kate want him all the more. She loves him because she's a sexually and economically powerful woman and yet the one thing her looks and money can't buy are his sanity and with it a secure pathway to his heart. "Sonny and Cher were in love!" she pouts, on a home video of the pair recently leaked to The Sun's website. (He claims he gave it to them with Kate's consent.) She is nagging him for the fantasy of a rock'n'roll love affair that lasts.
On film she kicks him while he remains lost in his guitar, not listening to a word she says. This is, after all, the man who once typed all the text messages from his phone on to his Babyshambles messageboard, including one from his former partner Lisa Moorish, saying how sad she was that Pete was missing the best years of seeing their toddler son, Astile, grow up. (You didn't get the impression he had bothered typing her a reply.) What do you give the woman who has everything? The answer, as Pete knows all too well, is nothing.
Yet members of Pete's band Babyshambles are said to have issued him an ultimatum of "her or us", as if she was the problem - like Yoko Ono being blamed for taking Lennon from the Beatles. Theirs is the myth of the woman as evil enchantress, and yet he's such a bad boy that we can't decide which of them is leading the other astray and why we remain captivated by this duo: because try as we might we can't work out which one is singing the siren song, and which one will end up on the rocks.
I cleaned it up a bit...
hope it's okay to post.
Last edited by a moderator:
But I can understand what you're trying to say. It must be frustrating for Kate seeing her beloved boyfriend destroying himself so much.
Yes, those are really gross too. The first thing I thought of was, what about foreplay? Does he really use those fingers on Kate ~ eewww 
. But hey she doesn't seem to be very clean these days either so I would guess she doesn't mind.
Oh my God that was funny. As if we don't have our fair share of open sores and dirty fingernails in the States!!! 
