Heidi Gammon is BACK — and school’s in session! Sharpen those pencils, unpack the lunchbox, and brace yourself — because whether you’re heading to high school, moving into halls, or just trying to survive term-time drama, I’ve got the answers you need. From messy roommates to holiday hook-ups, from bullies to big life changes — let’s crack open the advice book and dive right in.
Hello Heidi, Love you and the show! I’m going to uni next month and sharing accommodation with my best friend. Over the summer, I realised that I’m gay and attracted to other women. Apart from telling my mum, no one else knows. I don’t fancy my best friend, so that’s not a problem, but should I tell her before we move in together in case she freaks out? Amber, Southend
Heidi says: Amber, the only “freak out” here would be if your friend suddenly forgot you’re still the same person you were last term. Your sexuality isn’t a warning label you have to stick on before move-in day. If you want to tell her, do it because you trust her, not because you’re scared of her reaction. And if she’s a real friend, she’ll be more interested in who’s nicking her milk from the fridge than who you fancy.
Dear Heidi, This is awful. I’m not gay, but I’m friends with a guy who is what you might call “fluid.” We got very drunk on holiday, and I remember him performing an oral sex act on me. There’s no way it would have happened sober, and now it’s made it difficult to be friends. I tried to talk to him about it, but he just said, “What happens in Ibiza stays in Ibiza.” I have a girlfriend, and I’m terrified she’ll find out. What do I do? Colin, Billericay
Heidi says
Colin, Ibiza clearly needs a new slogan: “What happens in Ibiza… tends to follow you home.” You’ve got a friendship issue and a relationship issue — and both need honesty. Tell your mate the boundaries from now on. As for your girlfriend, decide whether you’re confessing to ease your guilt or because it’s something she genuinely needs to know. Either way, learn your lesson: too much booze and fuzzy boundaries are a recipe for regret.
Hi Heidi, How are you? Last year I shared uni accommodation with a great guy — honestly, we were like brothers — but sadly he’s moved to the States. A new guy is moving in, but I bumped into his old roommate who warned me: he doesn’t mind him personally, but apparently he walks around naked, smokes weed, and puts porn on openly. Plus, he’s messy and leaves everything for others to clean up. That’s my idea of hell! It’s too late to back out — what can I do? Hunter, Basildon
Heidi says: Hunter, sounds like you’ve been dealt the ultimate “uni flatmate bingo” card. On day one, set the house rules in plain English: no nakedness in shared spaces, no weed inside, and mess gets cleaned. If he ignores that, fortress your room — lock, headphones, maybe even a mini-fridge. And remember: it’s one academic year, not a life sentence. What’s up Heidi, I’m still at high school and I hate it. There’s a girl who bullies me so badly that my life is a misery, and I don’t want to go back. What can I do? Stella, Brentwood
Heidi says: Stella, no one should dread school because of one cruel person. Tell a teacher, a school counsellor, or your parents — and keep a record of everything she says or does. If it’s online, screenshot it. Schools are legally obliged to act on bullying. I promise you this: she is not as powerful as she seems. One day you’ll be out in the world living your best life, and she’ll still be stuck in her small one.
Heidi, My girlfriend and I have been together for five years and we want to adopt a child — maybe two. How do we go about it? My mum says it’s a terrible idea and refuses to help. Mandy, Brighton
Heidi says: Mandy, if love, stability, and commitment are in place, you’re already halfway there. Start with your local council or an approved adoption agency — they’ll guide you through assessments, training, and matching with a child. It’s a long process, but worth it. most local authorities and agencies like pact do information evenings for people thinking about adoption these are great and informative and well worth going to
As for your mum, her approval would be lovely, but it’s not a requirement on the application form. Build your family your way.
Celebrating my best pals birthday was just a dream.
My best pals birthday in superb surroundings .
France’s Dordogne is no stranger to charm, but this tiny wine-soaked village might just be its best-kept secret
By Steven Smith
Five days in a southwest French village left me sun-warmed, wine-softened, and wondering how I’d lived this long without knowing Saussignac existed. This is rural France at its most painterly — all rolling vineyards, candlelit dinners, and the slow thrum of a life well-lived.
The Birthday That Changed Everything
When my best friend invited me away for her birthday, I braced for Dubai. Maybe Ibiza. Somewhere loud and expensive, where my idea of a lie-in would be drowned out by basslines and foam cannons.
Instead, she said, “Saussignac.”
The name meant nothing to me — until an artist friend described it as “wines of the gods, food like nectar, and a village so pretty it could be in a Merchant Ivory film.” He added, with a wink, “Some hotels feel like art galleries — all taste, style, and warmth.”
Two weeks later, we were landing at Bergerac Airport, a dinky 1960s gem that could double as a film set. In 10 minutes, we were in the hire car. In 20, we were in another world.
“Darling, you don’t do anything there. You immerse yourself in beauty.”
First Glimpse of a Slower Life
The drive was a moving painting: rolling vineyards, fields of wildflowers, terracotta-tiled farmhouses unchanged for centuries. Every curve of the road offered a new gasp-worthy view.
My Secret Sanctuary
While the rest of the party checked into the lively hub of the village, I chose a private B&B run by Dutch hostess Ingrid Leenders.
Her place is a pocket of peace: rustic gardens, a tiled pool, and rooms with open-plan bathrooms (romantics, take note). No TV, but strong Wi-Fi, a coffee machine, and a small fridge. Each morning at seven sharp, breakfast appeared — fresh bread, cheeses, eggs, and orange juice.
Ingrid herself? A doll. Always ready with tips, and never in the way.
Meanwhile, my friends took over Le 1500, a 12th-century building transformed into a boutique haven by retired businessman-turned-artist 58 year old Michael F. Rumsby and his husband, Lee McNeal.
Every room is a curated mix of antiques and art. A history room and library invite slow afternoons. Outside, the walled garden hides a pool, bar, and dining terrace that in summer becomes an event space — open-air films, long-table dinners, and the infamous Bad Boys Burger Night.
Our first evening was spent at Mélange, a family-run restaurant with stone walls, castle views, and a menu that changes weekly. Owners Melanie and Charlie are culinary magicians — especially for those of us with “difficult” diets. My pescatarian self and vegan friends were both spoiled.
If I ever marry, it will be at Château Lestevenie.
Owners Petrie and Jaco, both South Africans trained in the Stellenbosch winelands, host Summer Soirées so perfect they feel scripted: live jazz, vineyard sunsets, and rotating menus of Mexican, Indian, and French cuisine — all paired with their own sparkling Lestevenie Brut.
Just a short stroll from the village, Château Fayolle offers 130 acres of vines and woodland, plus terrace lunches that must be pre-ordered.
Wine here is history: since 1254, Saussignac and Bergerac bottles have graced Europe’s finest tables. Today, owners Frank and Riki Campbell are taking it global.
Some in our group opted for Château des Vigiers — a blend of fairways, fine dining, and château glamour between Bergerac and Saint-Émilion. It’s home to a championship golf course, a Michelin-starred restaurant, and a choice between historic suites or sleek relais rooms.
Saussignac isn’t about ticking off sights. It’s about strolling past shuttered stone houses, tasting wine under vine-laced terraces, and lingering until the sky blushes.
Bring a car — taxis are rare and expensive. Pre-book meals and flag any dietary quirks in advance. And then? Let the place work its quiet magic.
“By the end of the week my body was lighter, my mind calmer, my soul recharged.”
If You Go
Best time to visit: May–September for warm evenings and vineyard events. Getting there: British Airways (London City) and Ryanair (Stansted) fly direct to Bergerac. Car hire essential. Don’t miss: Mélange for dinner, Château Lestevenie’s Summer Soirée, Château Fayolle’s terrace lunch. Pack for: Lazy afternoons, lingering dinners, and the urge to never leave.
Re[Sens] Skincare Arrives at MINX: Kensington’s Most Exclusive Beauty Destination
London, UK – [Date] – The secret to radiant, effortlessly flawless skin has arrived. Re[Sens], the disruptive luxury skincare brand adored by beauty insiders, is now available exclusively at MINX, the elegant beauty sanctuary in the heart of Kensington.
Blending science with indulgence, Re[Sens] was born from a singular vision: to correct the overlooked flaws in traditional skincare. Each formula is powered by a high-performance fusion of anti-inflammatory and anti-ageing actives, meticulously designed to neutralise harmful water—a hidden skin aggressor present in countless beauty routines. The result is skin that feels instantly soothed, deeply hydrated, and illuminated from within.
Already hailed by leading beauty editors, one signature product in the collection has earned the coveted label “better than Botox”—a testament to its transformative power.
For those with Celtic skin, prone to persistent redness and sensitivity, Re[Sens] is nothing short of revolutionary. Its formulas calm, balance, and even out tone in ways that foundation simply cannot, revealing a complexion that is naturally luminous and picture-perfect.
From silky serums for youthful and oily complexions to indulgent, peptide-rich creams for mature skin, every product in the range delivers measurable, visible results. The anti-ageing line in particular has gained a loyal following among high-profile clients. Television presenter and author Wendy Turner Webster credits the range with a remarkable improvement in her skin—so much so that she is often asked if she has had cosmetic treatments.
Wendy Turner Webster a huge fan of Re Sens
“We are delighted to bring Re[Sens] to MINX, a place that embodies sophistication, expertise, and excellence,” says a spokesperson for Re[Sens]. “The team’s dedication to personalised beauty experiences perfectly complements our mission to deliver skincare that doesn’t just promise results—it delivers them.”
At MINX, the experience is as indulgent as the results. Kensington’s most discerning clientele can enjoy bespoke skincare consultations from expert therapists trained in the Re[Sens] philosophy. Every visit is a journey—one where clients leave not only with extraordinary products, but with the knowledge to transform their skincare routine forever.
This exclusive collaboration between Re[Sens] and MINX invites Londoners to indulge in the ultimate skincare luxury: scientifically perfected formulas, beautifully presented, and trusted by those who expect nothing less than exceptional.
Discover the difference at MINX, where beauty is not just enhanced—it is redefined.
For more information or to explore the complete Re[Sens] collection, visit: 🔗 MINX Beauty 🔗 Imagine You
“Blondes have more fun”. But in this current heat wave the sun can strip your colour and take you from a cool blonde to a brassy one in just one outing to the seaside! Rushing to get that toner in the salon can be costly. However, armed with Waterman’s violet shampoo and conditioner, you can remove those unwanted yellow tones without an extra salon visit between your normal appointments. Be careful how long you leave the conditioner on as, depending on how cool you want your hair to look, five minutes should be enough. Watermans also do a great range of hair care for thinning or fine hair.
Vegan friendly, this collagen moisturiser has a sun factor of 25 and tightens the skin.
With ingredients like Argon oil and shea butter it may be a little on the pricey side, but fans of Crème de la Mer might find it a cheaper alternative.
Jeunvie is a favourite range amongst cosmetic doctors. Asal Shirazi created the range with the vision of keeping it as close to nature as possible. For men, I just love the moisturiser to shave with too.
A must have in this heat, it has absolutely no cholesterol – this is in addition to being a low-calorie drink.
Coconut water is identical to blood plasma. In World War II and even today in very rare cases in countries, coconut water has saved lives by being used as an intravenous hydration fluid instead of the standard IV fluid. Despite being naturally sweet, it is extremely low in sugars. It is low in sodium compared to energy drinks, and high in chloride compared to sports drinks. It regulates and controls the body’s temperature and boosts the immune system.
It boosts your metabolism, which is an important step in a person’s weight loss process.
It is a natural isotonic beverage, i.e. is the perfect drink to rehydrate your body and replenish lost electrolytes.
It cleanses and settles the digestive tract by actively killing intestinal worms, which makes for easier digestion and less chance of digestive illness. Coconut water controls vomiting, making it extremely important for those suffering from ailments that cause vomiting like typhoid, malaria, or fevers. If you are summer partying, coconut water is a must for that hangover.
If you, your man or anyone wants to smell that extra bit classy, you cannot go wrong with my secret weapon Perfums-De Marly. I adore Layton Exclusif from the brand designed for the male, but in this day and age anyone can wear it. It might seem a little pricey, but keep it for those special occasions when you want to stand out.
It is a rich and woody fragrance and will make an impression. Top notes of bergamot, grapefruit, and apple softly envelop the heart of cinnamon, lavender, agarwood, and geranium. The base is concluded by guaiac wood, sensual vanilla and sweet cypriol. A revival on the traditional, yet refined in its scent.
Yes — Steven’s Viewz is back, and this month’s edition is bursting with variety, insight, and just the right dose of controversy! As always, Steven brings his unique voice and unfiltered perspective to the table, tackling topics that range from the deeply thought-provoking to the wonderfully unexpected.
This issue explores everything from equality in marriage — reminding us how far we’ve come and how far we still have to go — to the growing interest in magic mushrooms and their potential benefits in mental health treatment. It’s bold, it’s current, and it’s never afraid to ask the uncomfortable questions.
Farage and the Marriage Debate
Laure Ferrari with Nigel charming lady .
If you’re wondering whether the Reform Party under Nigel Farage might take a stance against the LGBTQ+ community, you may not have to look very far. A closer glance at Farage’s voting record reveals that he once voted against same-sex marriage—a move that speaks volumes about his social and political outlook.
This position seems somewhat ironic, given Farage’s own colourful marital history. Having been through two failed marriages himself, one might imagine he’d be a little more open-minded—or at the very least, more humble—when it comes to other people’s right to marry. Love, after all, comes in many forms, and marriage is a deeply personal choice that should be available to all consenting adults, regardless of gender or sexual orientation.
I had the chance to meet Farage briefly once, and I’ll say this: his current partner, Laure Ferrari, is a charming and intelligent woman. But perhaps Farage would be better served reflecting on his own relationship history before trying to legislate who can and cannot get married. A man who has struggled to sustain long-term commitments might want to tread lightly before denying others the right to even try.
If Farage is basing his stance on traditional or biblical values—as he often implies—then perhaps he should revisit those same values in the mirror. The Bible, after all, says a great deal about humility, compassion, and loving thy neighbour—principles that seem to get conveniently overlooked in his rhetoric. Selective morality has never made for good leadership, and voters are waking up to that.
Farage often touts his children as a source of pride, and no doubt he is a dedicated father. One of his children is an outspoken supporter of Donald Trump, which tells you a great deal about the household dynamic and political leanings. That said, it’s good to hear that despite having had testicular cancer, he’s clearly not firing blanks.
Isabelle Farage did an internship in Washington DC
While loyalty to family is admirable, it doesn’t excuse positions that marginalise entire communities or strip people of their rights in the name of so-called tradition. It’s worth asking: what kind of future does the Reform Party really envision? A society where love is judged and legislated? Where equality is rationed out depending on who fits into a narrow, outdated mould? The UK has made great strides in LGBTQ+ rights, and going backwards is not what people want—or need.
In the end, Farage’s views on marriage may say more about him than they do about society at large. Rather than acting as the moral gatekeeper, perhaps it’s time he looked inward and asked himself why love between two people—regardless of gender—should ever be up for debate.
Love is love. And no politician, no matter how many headlines they chase, should have the power to decide otherwise.
I think it’s safe to say that no one will be rushing to give Erin Patterson — the so-called “mushroom murderer” — a job in the prison kitchen anytime soon. The tragic case has cast a long shadow over what has always seemed like a fairly harmless food.
Come to think of it, all my wonderful vegan friends who create amazing mushroom-based dishes might find me double-checking what varieties they’re actually using from now on! Mushrooms truly are one of nature’s wonders — packed with nutrients, flavour, and even potential healing properties. In fact, magic mushrooms (when used in microdosing) are showing promising results in mental health treatments, including anxiety, PTSD, and depression.
However, not all mushrooms are safe. Some look similar to edible varieties but are highly toxic, even deadly. It’s always best to source mushrooms from trusted suppliers or foragers who are fully trained in identification.
Death Cap mushrooms .
Here are a few of the most dangerous mushrooms to avoid:
Death Cap (Amanita phalloides)
Destroying Angel (Amanita virosa)
Funeral Bell (Galerina marginata)
Deadly Webcap (Cortinarius rubellus)
Panther Cap (Amanita pantherina)
False Morel (Gyromitra esculenta)
Mushrooms can nourish or kill — respect is key.
Driving me mad
Let’s make one thing clear: this is not a rant about women drivers. That said, there’s one male driver left such an impression that part of my heart still feels stranded in the Cotswolds — I’ve no idea how I survived that journey.
Now, one friend, bless her, assured me she had an advanced driving licence. This was just as we found ourselves parked in the central reservation, waiting for the next juggernaut to thunder past or into us I was gasping for air. “If I take the wrong one, it can be miles before I can turn back,” she said calmly — completely puzzled by my look of terror.
With the number of high-profile motorway deaths recently, I think I’m fully justified in being a back-seat driver. One friend drove with a small dog on her lap, a slurpy drink in one hand, and then decided it was the perfect time to apply lipstick. She seemed genuinely shocked when I wanted to get out of the car.
Taking a call while holding the phone in one hand should absolutely be illegal — and yet, some of my lady friends seem to do it as if it’s second nature. Zero awareness. Zero empathy.
One particularly playful argument — when I declined a Greggs coffee in favour of a Starbucks ” How can you afford that your broke ” — nearly ended in disaster, as the car narrowly missed a truck. When I instinctively threw my hands up onto the dashboard, I got snapped at: “That’s their fault — and if you keep doing that, you can get out!”
Apparently I’m the difficult one. But when we finally reached one friend’s house, her daughter-in-law took one look at me and said, “How did you survive that? It’s a suicide mission waiting to happen.”
Another friend got a ticket (thankfully not while I was in the car).
With drones now being used to catch drivers holding phones, drinks, or simply not holding the wheel — well, I say: bring it on!
Happily Ever After
The gorgeous couple Mel B and Rory McPhee
It’s lovely to finally see some heartwarming news in the papers for a change! Scary Spice herself — the fabulous Mel B — has officially tied the knot with her long-time partner, Rory McPhee. He’s a professional hairdresser, and from the photos, they both looked absolutely gorgeous on their big day. There was an effortless glamour about them, and Mel B radiated happiness.
After everything Mel has been through in her personal life, it’s refreshing to see her smiling, looking confident, and surrounded by love. The wedding seemed like something straight out of a modern-day fairytale — intimate, stylish, and full of joy. I really hope that, just like in the stories, this marks the beginning of a “happily ever after” for the couple.
It’s easy to forget that celebrities are real people, with real hopes, heartbreaks, and dreams. Mel has always been a bold, outspoken figure, and her resilience over the years is truly inspiring. Seeing her find love again is a reminder that there’s always hope — no matter what life throws at us.
Here’s to new beginnings, lasting happiness, and a bit of Spice Girls sparkle. Congratulations, Mel and Rory — wishing you a lifetime of love and laugher .
Once upon a time, in the heart of a mystical French village called Saussignac, lived a magical little boy named Malachi. He had recently moved into a grand, enchanted house nestled among endless vineyards, and from the moment he arrived, he knew it was no ordinary place.
Malachi loved his new home. It was full of secrets, with winding corridors and hidden rooms yet to be discovered. He spent his days with his loyal friends: Frankie, the bouncy dog; Bob, the wise old retriever; Charlie, the unimpressed three-legged cat; and his cheeky imaginary companion, Popo le Tech, who was always up to mischief.
The garden outside was wild and overgrown, with brambles and weeds as tall as trees. Though far too messy for playing, it was filled with mystery. Beyond it stretched miles of golden vineyards, rustling in the summer breeze.
One sunny afternoon, as Malachi gazed out of his bedroom window, he spotted something peculiar—a boy in their garden! He was digging furiously, as though searching for something hidden deep underground.
“Look! What is that boy doing in our garden?” Malachi cried.
Bob lifted his head, let out an excited little fart, and barked at Frankie, “Let’s go see!” The two dogs bounded downstairs like furry cannonballs.
Charlie, curled on the windowsill, stretched lazily. “Dogs,” he muttered. “So dramatic.”
Malachi dashed downstairs, accidentally knocking into Grandma Nanson, who was mid-yoga pose.
“Take your shoes off before you come back in!” she huffed from her Downward Dog pose.
Popo le Tech bounced over her with a giggle. “Keep your hair on, Gran!” he called, pulling a silly face that made everyone laugh—except Charlie, who just rolled his eyes.
Outside, the boy in ragged clothes continued to dig.
“That’s our garden!” Malachi shouted.
The boy spun around, startled. He was pale and thin, his eyes hollow.
“Please,” he said softly. “Help me.”
Bob gently licked the boy’s hand, then turned to fetch Grandma—but the boy raised his hand. “No,” he whispered. “Only you can see me.”
Malachi’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”
“My name is Paul,” the boy said. “I lived here, many years ago. My family was happy… until the pirates came.”
“Pirates?” Malachi gasped.
“Yes. They came one night—led by the evillest pirate of all, Captain Steven, and his cruel second-in-command, Smithers. They stole everything. Even the birthday cake my mum baked for my gran’s seventy-eighth!”
“They locked up the grown-ups and kidnapped the children, forcing us to work on their dreadful ship.”
Malachi’s mouth dropped open.
“Only Grandma escaped,” Paul added with a grin. “She talked so much they dropped her off ten villages away to get some peace!”
Frankie barked with amusement.
“My best friend, Le Tech, and I snuck into their supply cart and found a chest of gold—more treasure than you can imagine. We buried it right here, in this garden. One day, we hoped to return and throw a feast for the whole village.”
“But… you didn’t come back?” Malachi asked.
“We were caught,” Paul said grimly. “Le Tech was made to walk the plank. I was spared, but I spent years as their prisoner.”
Now Paul looked desperate. “Captain Steven is coming back—with a new crew of horrors, including One-Eyed John, who’s rumoured to eat pets! We must find the gold before they do. But no grown-ups can know. And definitely not the cat.”
Charlie sniffed indignantly. “Charming.”
“If the treasure is returned to the villagers,” Paul continued, “a magical fairy will appear to drive the pirates away—and reunite the families they took.”
Malachi glanced at the kitchen window. Grandma Nanson was now wearing a green face mask and fussing about sand on the floor.
He looked back at Paul—and then at his brave companions. They all nodded.
“Alright,” Malachi said. “We’ll find the gold and save the village.”
Popo le Tech did a backflip and whooped, “Adventure time!”
And so, under the Saussignac sun, a magical boy, two loyal dogs, a reluctant cat, a mischievous imaginary friend, and a boy from the past began their quest…
Part Two: The Pirate Gardeners
The next morning, Malachi awoke to golden sunlight streaming across his bedroom floor. He stretched and yawned. Outside, Popo le Tech was already playing with Bob and Frankie.
“I want you to meet someone,” she said, waving them over.
Standing behind her were two large men in muddy boots and overalls.
“These are the new gardeners,” Grandma explained.
The men turned. One wore a wide-brimmed hat and had eyes like ice.
“I’m Mr Steven,” he said. “Would you like to walk the—uh—plank? I mean, some sweets?”
“No thanks,” Malachi said quickly.
The second man stepped forward. “I’m John,” he grinned, licking his lips as he looked at the pets. “What delicious—I mean, what cuddly animals.”
The dogs growled. Even Charlie hissed.
“No children in the garden,” Mr Steven snapped. “We’re digging it all up.”
“Why?” Malachi asked.
“For your grandma’s birthday surprise,” John said. “Is she turning seventy-six by any chance?”
“I’m thirty-nine!” Grandma snapped. “Honestly!”
Later, when the “gardeners” weren’t looking, Paul pulled Malachi aside.
“It’s them,” he whispered. “The pirates. They’re back.”
“We have to find the treasure before they do,” said Malachi. “And protect the fairy.”
“The gold is under this house,” said Le Tech, appearing beside them. “The pirates must’ve found one of the old maps.”
“But how do we reach it?” Paul asked.
“We’ll need a map of the house,” said Malachi. “And we must find a way underneath.”
The children and pets slipped out the back door unnoticed. The race had begun.
Meanwhile, behind the hedge, Mr Steven scowled.
“That boy knows something.”
“We should tie up the gran and torture her with a curling iron,” John hissed. “Make Malachi walk the plank!”
“And the pets?”
“Eat them!” John cackled.
“Not yet,” Steven growled. “First we get the gold.”
Part Three: The Fairy Awakens
“Oh no,” said Gran, wearing a green beauty mask to look extra pretty for her birthday. “The garden’s not looking very good.”
She leaned out of the window and called to the gardeners, “I don’t think this is right! Can you come in to discuss it?”
John looked shocked as he stared with his one good eye.
“It’s a hideous sea witch!” he screamed.
“Just act natural,” said Captain Steve, giving a wink. “It’s only that overly chatty Gran.”
As they came inside, Gran—being kind—offered them some water but insisted they take off their shoes.
This was a big mistake.
Not only did their feet stink, but their socks were full of holes—and worms crawled out of their boots onto the clean floor.
Gran screamed. “My lovely floors!”
Then she noticed something even worse. The floorboards near the kitchen sink were starting to lift.
She couldn’t believe it. “What on earth is going on?”
“Get her!” barked Captain Steve. “Tie her to the chair and gag her to shut her up. We’ll send her miles away where no one can hear her complaining. Or feed her to the sharks!”
John was only too happy to oblige. Gran put up a good fight and managed to cover him in green slime, but he tied her to a white chair in the living room, took off his stinky sock, and shoved it in Gran’s mouth.
Part Four: The Midnight Dig
That night, all was still.
Suddenly, sparkles of light danced across Malachi’s bedroom. Bob farted with surprise and nudged Frankie awake.
Malachi opened his eyes. “Look!”
A beautiful fairy floated before them. “I am Mirabella,” she said. “You’ve done well, brave Malachi. The treasure lies under the kitchen wall. Dig, and my spirit will be released—and the villagers will be free.”
“I’m too small to dig,” Malachi whispered.
“We’ll help,” said Charlie with a sigh. “No one ever lets a cat rest!”
Mirabella sprinkled fairy dust over them all. They hurried to the garden, guided by her light.
Part Five: Victory
Captain Steven was furious. “We’ll make Malachi scrub the decks forever! Let’s find that gold!”
Suddenly, the floorboards burst open with a blast of golden light.
Out came Malachi, Bob, Frankie, Charlie—and the glowing treasure chest.
“It’s okay, Gran,” Malachi said, untying her. “We’ve found the gold. And those aren’t gardeners—they’re pirates!”
The pirates screamed and began evaporating into thin air.
“I’ll be back!” Captain Steven howled.
The garden filled with glowing spirits—the villagers the pirates had once taken. They smiled at Malachi.
“Thank you,” said Paul and Le Tech. “We can rest now.”
Mirabella hovered above them. “Call my name three times if ever you need me.”
And with that, she vanished into the stars.
Epilogue
Later that day, Malachi’s mums returned.
“Terrible gardeners,” one muttered. “They’ve wrecked the garden.”
“Mum, we met pirates! And a fairy! And I found gold!”
“What an imagination,” they laughed.
That night, as Malachi drifted off to sleep, he looked under his pillow.
‘Fag hag’ or beard is a gay slang phrase referring to women who associate generally or exclusively with gay or bisexual men. But you knew that already, didn’t you?
Now, I hate labels of any kind, but when a woman tells me, “I love the gays,” my toes curl. Even my nephew, at thirteen, was smart enough not to fall for that one. “They’re just like everyone else—good and bad,” he shrewdly pointed out. It’s funny in Ab Fab when Edina blurts out, “All my friends are gay.” Oh, the irony.
However, women who proudly label themselves as fag hags often raise serious red flags. I’ve heard it too many times: “Other women just don’t get me, but you and the gay guys do.” This is usually followed by something about liking bad boys in bed. That’s nice for them. Me? I want to be liked for who I am—not for my sexuality or a label.
On my first visit to a gay club—New York’s Limelight—I noticed lots of model-type women dancing. My friend said, “They feel safe here. They can dance and not get hit on.” It wasn’t long before straight men caught onto this and started frequenting the more glamorous gay venues. One night, I was with a group of guys when a stunning girl approached and said, “So sad you’re all gay. I’d f*** the lot of you!”
A little voice piped up, “I’m straight.” It was my pal who, though he leads the way in gay fashion, is 100% straight. Many men have tried their luck with him—the lady and him were in a taxi home minutes later.
Elizabeth Taylor. Wowza.
She loved the company of gay men—from Rock Hudson to Tab Hunter and Montgomery Clift—calling them her confidants. Tallulah Bankhead, when she wasn’t famously trying to sleep with gay men, preferred their company too. Even Mary Queen of Scots liked to quote the pretty men.
As for me—I just like people. It just so happens many of my closest friends are women: glamorous, powerful, and fabulous. But none of them would call themselves fag hags. With them, I’m still the old-fashioned gent: opening doors, walking roadside on the pavement, even pulling out chairs. Though some of these women try to lead while dancing—and pull out my chair instead.
Despite having my picture taken for a dating site, I’m no further along in love. One of my rocks, Liz Branson, is on the phone from her New York office. She splits her time between there, Dubai, and London.
“Have you done it?” she asks. Trying to change the subject, I ask when she’s next in London. There’s a pause.
“You haven’t,” she snaps, irritated. Then she barks: “Jo Allen’s. Tuesday. 9:30.” She doesn’t wait to see if I’m free—and hangs up. Ten minutes later, she texts: “If you are free, can you book it?”
Liz is great fun—always right, obsessively so at times. That’s part of what makes her successful, alluring, and fascinating. She’s also always late, often with some story. The truth? It takes her half an hour to oil her body so it glistens. That’s just part of her prep to go out. Despite her brass balls in business and her ability to crush high-powered men, she still likes to be every inch the high-maintenance woman.
She’s my Grace—as in Will & Grace. But it’s a myth that all women “get” gay men just because they hang out with us. Even women who say, “I’m a gay man trapped in a woman’s body,” can be shockingly naive.
The brilliant Will and Grace
A long-time friend recently remarked, after a theatre visit, that I’d loved the show because it had five scantily dressed young men. As pretty as they were, they left me sexually cold. She must’ve missed the memo—none of my boyfriends have been under 40.
My best gay mate knows that the cast of Peaky Blinders or Colin Farrell gets my pulse racing. Teen boys? They’re like watching Dita Von Teese dance—entertaining, but that’s all. This same friend once asked, “Why would you want to give head rather than take?” Well…
Peaky Blinders Top Men
Liz, for the record, didn’t really know any gay men before me—aside from one man who lived with her as straight and came out later. I think she assumed we all came from the same mould. She even rushed into another relationship with a gay man who promptly took her to gay bars and more.
Personally, I think friendships should be mutual. I’m fine in straight bars, and when I do visit gay bars, it’s usually for dinner or an event. Once, Liz called whispering: “I’m on Clapham Common.” Thinking there was a concert, I asked what was on. “No,” she replied, “I’m cruising with— Have you done this?” I nearly screamed. That was a step too far. That relationship ended when the guy tried to seduce Liz’s then-husband.
It wasn’t the first time I heard of women going cruising with gay men. My former boss was in a Freedom cab once when the driver said he was dropping condoms off at Hampstead Heath. She piped up, “Oh, I’ve been there!” Her gay friends had taken her. This phenomenon passed me by. I don’t cruise—it’s scary. And as broad-minded as I am, why would you take a woman?
Colin Farrell a dream .
Anyway—Liz is late again. She’s texted multiple times, blaming an Uber driver, a lion escaping from Regent’s Park Zoo, and a fire at a local orphanage. But when she finally arrives, she looks spectacular, and the whole restaurant turns to stare. Liz waves, hair glossy, eyes sparkling.
She’s now vegan—though she was already a nightmare in restaurants. After sending an omelette back four times once, I took a photo of the “perfect” omelette and handed it to the waiter the next day. She wasn’t amused—but it was funny.
Back to the evening. Only one waiter and one chef resigned since she placed her order—kidding. I suggest popping to Tesco for the soya sauce she insists on. That goes down like a lead balloon, as usual. She has everyone fussing over her.
There’s the usual gossip: a gorgeous executive she went skinny dipping with in Dubai (amazing in bed—15 years younger—is that too much?). Then, yet again, she brings up Darryl, the best sex of her life, who turned out to be a complete asshole. I’ve heard about him 90 times.
The good thing about Liz—she’s no energy vampire. She wants to know about you. Unfortunately, she’s fixated on my love life. She thinks my best pal and I should be together. “Why aren’t you with someone?” she asks.
People often miss this: gay men can have purely platonic friendships with other gay men. Of course, I love my best mate—but I have no plans to marry him. I joke, “Fine. I’ll propose next week.” Liz screams and wants champagne—until I admit I’m joking. Her face falls (as much as it can, post-Botox).
We laugh, drink, and just when I think we’re winding down, Liz insists we head to Old Compton Street. “Why?” I ask. She loves G-A-Y, apparently. But my gut tells me she’s obsessing about finding me a fella. I suggest Radio Bar instead. Blank look.
There’s no queue at G-A-Y. Inside, Liz grabs a drink and immediately turns into Cilla Black, introducing me to random men. “Who do you like?” she shouts. I feel like a rabbit in the headlights. “I’ll be discreet,” she yells. “I’m all good, thanks,” I say, hugging her.
She dances with drag queens and shouts, “I’m a gay icon!” Naturally, they all agree. She’s no Madonna or Judy, but for one night—she was. It was actually quite sweet.
Flushed with her success, we head to Rupert Street to meet a friend. Her one-woman show goes down well there too. I brief her beforehand not to mention dating him. She thinks he’s too young, so I’m safe.
Then Liz starts chatting to the handsome doorman—who’s straight and married. He calls me over: “Why don’t you take your girlfriend somewhere she can meet a man?” I grin. “She wanted to come here—not me.”
Who says she couldn’t meet a man there? My sister had a holiday romance with a gay club manager in Key West. Another female friend married a bartender from a gay bar.
So, Liz and I are still happily single—but watch this space for more
I hear many of you saying that in these bizarre and often crazy times. You could be forgiven for wondering if the great God (if you believe in such an entity) might reach down and reply, “Sure! Will you be paying for that in crypto, Bitcoin, or the old-fashioned pound?” He may even offer you one of His NFT-signed art posters, promising that once you re-join Earth, it will have quadrupled in value—guaranteeing your return comes with a bang and, most certainly, millionaire status… well, in crypto land, at least. Just as Alice drops through a hole in search of it all.
Let’s give some extra love for Tracey Emin’s Digital Editions.
Well, I found myself asking what an NFT is last year. I keep hearing it mentioned at events and parties. A friend visiting LA called and said, “Darling, you’re no one here if you’re not into NFTs or crypto.” Cue the sinking feeling—like when someone tries to sell me a multi-level marketing scheme. “People felt the same about stamps when they started,” she added.
Fair point. Our great-grans kept money under the mattress after losing trust in banks during the Great Depression of 1929. And let’s not even get started on Lehman Brothers filing for bankruptcy in 2008, leaving people penniless and robbed of their life savings.
NFT (Non-Fungible Token) is a record on a blockchain associated with a particular digital or physical asset. Ownership is recorded and transferable via the blockchain, making NFTs something that can be sold or traded.
So what is an NFT in relation to art? An NFT is a digital asset that exists purely in the digital world—you can’t touch it, but you can own it. It can take the form of any digital file: an artwork, an article, music, or even a meme. For instance, Disaster Girl, the original photo, sold for $500K earlier this year.
Disaster Girl original photo sold as an NFT for $500k
But is it the emperor’s new clothes? For every artist who champions NFT art, there are others who won’t touch this new way of trading. Boy George has opened his own digital platform: www.cryptoqueenznft.com. Though he hasn’t sold through auction houses like Sotheby’s or Christie’s, his work has fetched significant sums at charity events—and he certainly has talent. Tracey Emin has also joined the NFT art scene alongside several well-known artists. But many remain firmly against it.
In Business of Business, a piece titled Artists Against NFT quoted Zilch, an Atlanta-based artist: “Personally, I’m against NFTs. However, we have to acknowledge that the system exists. It still requires regulation—it’s not a free-for-all, unmoderated space where all hell breaks loose. Systems get made, systems get abused, then they get regulated.”
London saw its first NFT gallery, Quantus Gallery, open earlier this year. The star-studded launch featured Ant Middleton, makeup model Jodie Kidd, and the dashing Callum Best, mingling with socialites, City boys, and what looked like would-be Kray brothers. It was a glamorous and eclectic crowd—and the buzz was undeniable.
Art is subjective, and let’s not forget where the term con artist comes from. A brilliant salesman can sell snow to an Eskimo. It’s the same with paintings. Remember ART, the award-winning play? Serge, indulging his taste for modern art, buys an expensive, completely white painting. Marc is horrified. Their friendship unravels over what constitutes “art,” while Yvan tries to play peacemaker. Art, ultimately, is what you decide it is.
Every wise boy seems to be dipping into crypto. I’m absolutely convinced that, like in multi-level marketing, some will make a mint—and others will get burnt. At one point, my inbox was flooded with “get rich with crypto or Bitcoin” invitations. I nearly joined one, as many top business names were involved. But during the meeting, it became clear they were investing in… well, something that wasn’t quite there. “We’re hoping to get Adele and Tom Cruise involved,” they said. Apparently, people will pay thousands to sit at a computer in NFT sunglasses. I guess people have spent fortunes on dressing up avatars in virtual games for years. It certainly helped the Kardashians build their portfolio.
But when I asked what Adele’s or Tom Cruise’s agents thought of all this, the answers were vague. It was clearly a wish list. I followed my instinct and said: “No, thank you.” A year later, despite the impressive credentials of its founders, the venture has gone nowhere.
There’s definitely a strong element of the hard sell from NFT enthusiasts. Personally, I’d still take the advice of my financial advisors and avoid anything with a gambling edge—especially if you have an addictive personality or can’t afford to lose. Most serious investors in high-end art use qualified advisors and buy through reputable auction houses or galleries that mentor their artists. They often request first refusal if the work is resold.
NFT art is certainly something to watch. If you have disposable income, then by all means—fill your boots. But in a volatile market, with crypto prices constantly swinging, it’s not something that helps me sleep at night.
I asked a woman who’s doing an incredible job promoting NFTs how she was paid. As she knocked back a glass of champagne, she replied: “God, money, darling!” That said it all to me.
Added Note: Buying Art as an Investment
Added Note: Buying Art as an Investment
When buying art as an investment, choose wisely. While some artists are natural-born salespeople—able to “sell snow to Eskimos,” as the saying goes—it’s important to remember that enthusiasm and charm are not guarantees of long-term value.
Be cautious when you hear the phrase “It sold at auction.” This often refers to a charity auction or fundraising dinner—not a prestigious sale at Christie’s or Sotheby’s. There is a significant difference between these venues in terms of how the sale reflects on an artwork’s market value and provenance.
Reputable artists are usually represented by established and well-known galleries for a reason. These galleries not only help manage the artist’s career but also serve to protect the integrity and long-term value of their work. Many of them will request first refusal if you ever decide to resell the artwork, helping maintain consistency and trust in the secondary market.
Serious collectors often work with art consultants or experts to guide their purchases—again, to protect the investment’s value. There are always exceptions in the art world, of course, but if you’re not properly informed or protected, and an artist has persuaded you their work is worth £50,000, don’t be surprised or disappointed if, when it comes time to resell, it turns out not to be worth the canvas it’s painted on.
Art should be enjoyed and loved, but if you’re buying with investment in mind, do your homework—and seek trusted advice.
it is not always the food that makes a perfect dinner party
Steven’s Viewz How to Give a Bad Dinner Party
In the ’70s and ’80s, dinner parties were a regular thing. With shows like Come Dine with Me and the rising costs of eating out, dinner parties are making a huge comeback. Though some still entertain at venues such as restaurants, there’s nothing more intimate and fun than having a group of friends—or interesting people—over to your home for a private dinner party. But as much as a good host can make it a terrific night to remember, the wrong recipe for an evening can lead to a dinner party your guests will talk about for weeks—for all the wrong reasons.
When you’re hosting for wine connoisseurs or food gourmets, the conversation may revolve around cuisine and drink. But believe it or not, the best dinner parties don’t always centre on either. Of course, putting on a good show that doesn’t have you locked away in the kitchen all night is still a good idea.
In fact, one of the most amusing dinner parties I attended began with a call from a hostess who, not being known for her culinary skills and usually opting to dine out, invited me over to see her new kitchen. The day after the invite, she phoned: “Darling, would you do your marvellous chicken fajitas on Friday?” Asking was she planning a potluck (when everyone brings a course), Fajitas , don’t travel well. There was a pause before she added, “Oh, I thought you could cook?” I replied, “No, it’s your turn,” and hung up!
Not my chicken fajitas , Mine look better .
I arrived at her stunning Hampstead home on the Friday. The table was beautifully set, and the new oven was lit—I was suitably impressed. The hostess had that pleased-with-herself look written all over her face; in fairness, this wasn’t her forte. Wine flowed, and nibbles were served, but an hour and a half later, no food had appeared. Looking at the oven, the chicken was still as raw as it had been on the Waitrose shelf. “My love, is the oven actually working?” I gently enquired.
An hour later, we were still no further along. The hostess declared the new oven faulty and called for Chinese. We laughed and put the world to rights until two-thirty in the morning—it was just an amazing night.
It was topped off by a call on Tuesday: the repairman said the oven wasn’t broken—she’d simply forgotten to turn it on. I couldn’t help but ask when she was auditioning for Come Dine with Me. how she was going to cook ? She replied, “Darling, you’re coming over and doing it for me!”
However, for your standard dinner party—especially if you’re not ordering in—don’t cook something that keeps you in the kitchen half the night or that hasn’t been tried and tested. Your guests have come to see you, not watch you stress. Pre-cooking as much as possible is always wise.
Also, always check what your guests eat. At one dinner I attended, they served an enormous piece of goat’s cheese as a starter. Honestly, I’d rather suck someone’s feet than eat that. I used the trick of eating without chewing, washing it down with water. Every time I looked at the plate, it seemed no smaller. Eventually, the host noticed, and I had to admit defeat. They looked less than impressed.
It’s smart to have eggs or a vegan option on standby—just in case a guest hasn’t disclosed their dietary needs.
What really makes a dinner party memorable is the company. Years ago, a socialite who was an expert at entertaining shared some tips with me. Never bring the same type of people together. Lady X would be far more intrigued sitting next to an up-and-coming artist than another socialite. Invite those who can sing for their supper—interesting, amusing guests who can tell a good story or keep up with the latest in books, style, or theatre.
Dinner or lunch party’s can be great but think it out first .
Bring five actors together (unless they’re in the same production) and you risk them trying to outdo each other.
Being a good host is more than just checking glasses and topping up wine. It’s about ensuring your guests are enjoying themselves and actually get to speak. We’ve all been to that dinner where the narcissist dominates the conversation—and even when they pause, they jump back in to reclaim the spotlight. As host, it’s your role to steer the conversation so quieter guests also get a chance. Ask about books, films, theatre—whatever might draw them out.
And please, don’t try to be controversial. Sure, a lively debate can be great—if you know your guests well—but don’t go looking for drama. It could end your night on a sour note.
Avoid topics like age, weight, salaries, and politics. One evening, a guest at a dinner I hosted turned to another and said, “You know, when we get to our age it all needs a little lift—but I love my forties.” The guest was livid: “I’m 32!” she cried, getting up and leaving the table.
Let the conversation flow. Unless you’re lucky enough to have a Stephen Fry at your table, make sure everyone has a voice. And never, ever be the Machiavellian host who opens the night with, “So, who voted for Brexit?!”
Do not be that machiavellian host and try and spark controversy .
One of the worst dinner parties I’ve attended had all the wrong ingredients. We were eating out, so the food was decent—for some. There were quite a few of us, and things started badly: someone I love had reprimanded another guest for being late, which was rich coming from them. Pot, kettle, black, I thought. They’ve never been on time in their life. When I pointed that out, offence was taken—and they were still seething as we arrived.
Our host, Mark—though lovely and amusing—wanted to talk about one topic: a certain lady we’ll call Alice. He and Alice were once close, but no longer, which made her a target. Now, I love gossip as much as the next person, but I prefer it light, witty, and name-free. I’m known for knowing the gossip—but those who know me also know I rarely name names. I’m educated enough to entertain without tearing someone down.
But this monologue about Alice’s every fault dragged on and on. It felt like the only thing missing was Alice’s corpse—she was being verbally hacked to pieces. One hour later, Mark was still talking about Alice, with brief interruptions for “Let’s get another round in,” and one guest returning their starter three times. Some guests had begun looking at their phones. One even mouthed “Come sit with me!”
I suggested that, since we’d established Alice was a c—, perhaps we could move on. That was met with, “Mark is talking—sssh!”
I would have left, but I was staying with one of the guests. Just when I thought the evening couldn’t get worse, a very late guest arrived—the cuckoo, who had seemingly replaced Alice in Mark’s affections. She briefly talked about another of my least favourite subjects—dieting—before the topic swerved straight back to Alice, in which the cuckoo revelled.
The toxic energy was palpable. Our host, smart as he was, was no Oscar Wilde, and only seemed aware of his own voice. Thank God I smoke—those breaks saved me. I even got a text from another guest: “Help!” They were bored stiff.
The cherry on top? Mark wasn’t even hosting. We were all going Dutch. After over two hours of his monologue, one of the guests even drove home drunk.
Here’s my final tip: If you’re hosting drinkers, be responsible. Make sure they have somewhere to stay, book a cab, or use a company that will drive their car home for them. As you pour that last tequila shot, you do not want to hear that someone was in an accident on the way home.
Having trouble sleeping—or just want the best natural help to drift off without taking a pill? Here are my fab four to stop you from counting sheep as you float away to la-la land.
1) Sour Cherry Juice
Tart cherries, among many other benefits, contain melatonin. Increasing your melatonin levels can help you fall asleep quicker and stay asleep longer, offering a natural way to drift through the night. Cherry juice can also help fight inflammation, reduce muscle soreness, and boost your immune system.
Try drinking a glass of juice an hour before bedtime. This gives it time to enter your system—and gives you time to use the bathroom, so your bladder won’t wake you up in the night! If you don’t like the taste of cherry juice, try it in capsule form. Another great tip is to have a warm lavender bath before bed.
Your bedding plays a big part in how well you sleep. My secret weapon is the Fresh Face Pillow—a memory foam pillow wrapped in a silk pillow slip. I’ve always been a devotee of silk and memory foam pillows, but this is different: this pillow literally gives you a cuddle. It’s sheer heaven as you lie back and prepare to dream. It’s also an incredible anti-ageing tool—the silk allows your face to breathe and glide, while the pillow’s unique shape encourages back sleeping, helping prevent those dreaded sleep lines.
If you’re like me and used to sleeping on your side, the Fresh Face Pillow may take some getting used to. In fact, it felt a little claustrophobic the first time I tried it! But the idea of waking up without looking like a giant gorilla had assaulted me in the night made me persevere.
During the first few weeks, I’d use it for short lie-downs with a face mask—it felt like I was at the beautician’s! By the second week, I started using it for full nights. At first, I still woke on my side, but soon it became a must at bedtime. I cannot recommend it enough. Just remember to hand-wash your silk pillowcase or use a delicate setting.
3) This Works Best-Selling Deep Sleep Pillow Spray
This Works Deep Sleep Pillow Spray not only claims to help you fall asleep faster—it also makes your pillows and bedroom smell gorgeous. With a calming blend of lavender, vetivert, and wild camomile, it eases anxiety and helps improve sleep quality. When we sleep, our skin cells repair damage and remove toxins, making deep sleep one of the best beauty secrets.
A few sprays on your pillow before bed is all it takes. And if you have time, a warm lavender bath beforehand works wonders too.
One of the best aids for sleep and beauty is an eye mask. Blocking out light can be a game-changer—especially on long-haul flights. But not just any mask will do. The delicate skin around your eyes deserves something gentle. I always recommend a silk eye mask, and the Mirari Life Grace Silk Velvet Eye Mask is pure perfection.
Made from a luxurious silk-velvet blend, this mask is thick enough to give a complete blackout effect—ideal for even the most light-sensitive sleepers. It also helps reduce sleep creases and preserve your skincare. Yes, it’s a bit pricier than standard eye masks, but it’s a wonderful investment in your beauty regime. Plus, it’s perfect for travel.
2Shades Magazine 