By some freakish miracle, I managed to get my hands on London ‘Twilight’ premiere tickets for last night… (thanks Hayley!!!) and so it was a hop skip and pump down to Leicester Square where we walked onto the red carpet and several things happened simultaneously: my eardrums burst from the high pitched screaming of thousands of hormonal Robert Pattinson fans getting moist, I lost my sense of direction because my ears were so befuddled and walked like a zombie toward the pretty oh so pretty lights (turned out to be a cameraman who looked at me like I might have been a gnat) and I walked past Robert Pattinson and his magical hair and thought, nope, don’t see what all the fuss is all about.
We sat in our seats, and I am proud to admit they were ropey, down the front, hello crick neck!, but old Edward and Bella, looking very weary, came into the theatre to say a few words and the girls went ballistic. I joined in the pant wetting and took this pic, which for some reason came out bloody shite, so sorry! They thanked all the right people and skedaddled and we settled in for the film.
In my best Jonathan Ross Film 2008 lisp, it was fun. Yup, succinct, huh. VERY lightweight and definitely made for a younger audience, which is fine cos that’s who the books are for. Think of a very beautifully shot Buffy, it’s that kinda vibe with the wise-cracking teens, a cool school, brooding vampire students. Bella looks like Stuart Townsend, which is incredibly distracting and Edward has more white slap on him than me on a bad face day. He broods like a proper brooding vampire should and he, thank god, can do an American accent without slipping and skidding about his vowels and consonants like an elephant on an ice rink.
Later on in a swish club (more blagging, oh yeah!) I banged right into Robert Pattinson who isn’t as much chin as he is on a 20ft screen, his hair is still magic and he’s rather friendly. We had a chat and he’s proper polite considering I was a few sheets to the wind by this point and shouting my cocktail order at a friend.
In the club was also Peaches Geldof looking as mardy as ever and, or at least as much as I saw, sans husbando. She shot my mate a filthy look for like breathing in her rarerified air, which was slapworthy, but we vanished downstairs and left her to her ego. Why is she here? Hasn’t she worked out that in the US people are trying to like her, but here we’d like to make her into a pinata!! In the loo was Lily Allen who strangely enough flashed her bits and banged on about weight loss. Er, okay. Shit, run.
I must go get a hot meal in my tummy and see if Chloe is still alive as I left her comatose while I came to work. Fucking jammy student girl, all this lie in business. Sick!
BTW – if anyone ever says ‘chillax’ to me, I will knock their teeth in. It’s taking on the ‘waaassssup’ hue for me, which means, well, death.
i was a screaming girl (internally!) ha ha x