Sad Steps Back Into Times We'd Rather Forget

Tara Tara Tara (sounds like a D-grade sixties movie title doesn't it).

Back in 1987, I tried my damnedest to get my blonde cobwebby strands to be as full and as 'big' as this and probably also had a pair of gold dangly earrings with pearls on the ends. But that was 20 years ago and it is NOT YET TIME to re-introduce the look. It is doubtful that the time will ever arrive again.


Vince Vaughan, not unlike Tara x 3 above, first got noticed in a minor movie (American Pie for her, Swingers for him) and both were seen as fresh-faced, perky little creatures who looked as though they'd gone for an enthusiastic half-marathon training session and then inhaled a pot of espresso.

Whilst Tx3 has gradually turned into a droopy-boobed booze hound, VV has just turned into a hound. Where he was once thin and fit, he's now puffy, bloated and with under-eye bags large enough for his ex, Jennifer, to hide her excess luggage and thus avoid paying the fee.....

Shitney Beers is pictured here complete with greasy hair, tatty slut nails and, at night - wearing sunglasses bigger than my own arse cheeks.

Tara's hairstyle is not dissimilar to Brit-Brit's taste in eyewear. We clueless chicks wore our big hair with white-framed sunnies in 1984 as we collectively sighed over C.Thomas Howell and Ralph Macchio in Tiger Beat magazine, sure that they'd go on to win Oscars and earn their own star on the boulevard. Add the obligatory white stilettos, pastel pinks and acid wash jeans and hey presto, we were apeing Corey Hart who proclaimed "I Wear My Sunglasses At Night" for some inexplicable reason. Shitney - these stupid sunglasses should NEVER be worn again.

Perhaps I'll be kind and add a clause: they should never be worn by anyone with an IQ above room temperature, so maybe the Shitster is exempt this time.

Matthew McBongo-Boy is back down here in Oz to film, or fish, or simply look as Australian as he possibly can during the peak of our summer.

That's right folks: Aussie men aren't the most stylish of breeds and remembering to wear thongs (on their feet, not their vertical smiles) is considered very polite. Their idea of foreplay tends to be 'Are ya awake, darl?' Welcome to our wondrous land, Oh Bongo Bollocks!

'School house Outhouse....salt pork and molasses is all that you get in jail.....at Nutbuuuuush, yeah Nutbush.....I'm talking about Nutbush City Limits....' (If you don't know what the above lyrics are about, ask your Mums).

There is a sad theme running through this week's mockery of the moneyed morons - time travel. Unless you're Doctor Who, it this 1979 disco look is not advised. Even Halle Berry can't pull off this too bronzed, too short, too wrinkly number. Why she is standing with her legs crossed is another oddity - has the elastic gone from her knickers and she's afraid of baring a Britney?

Please Angelina - stop your international jet-setting, save-the-worlding and child-collecting for a while and instead feed yourself.

No-one should have veins in their arms that are larger than garden hoses - even Ghandi would be aghast at these. They are working overtime trying to pump the blood into your dinghy lips and now require meat, cheese, chips, chocolate, bacon butties.... NOW!

Sarah Jessica Parker seems nice enough, but calling her perfume 'Lovely' is stretching things a bit.

Whilst there are many fashionistas who are still regretting the demise of Sex and the City, I don't. I just didn't ever understand why SJP wearing stubbie shorts and white stilettos was considered high end fashion; and there was always a fifty percent chance that she'd look like a horse with a wart problem than a so-called glamorous single New Yorker.

This outfit reminds me of the devil's version of the white one from Saturday Night Fever. It may work at Christmas parties, but this just drowns out her bony old frame and reminds me of a up-ended fuschia after an out-of-control garden party.