Free Lady horoscopes; and Molly Parkin on Elizabeth Taylor

If you're keen to sample my The Lady horoscopic wares for nothing then click here for the period starting March 29. Follow my prescriptions and you can't go far wrong.

The magazine's Elizabeth Taylor cover reminds me that my permanent fiancee Molly Parkin writes vividly about the late screen goddess in her memoirs Welcome To Mollywood. In the chapter 'The Elizabethan Age' Molly explores the fateful lockstep of their two lives based on certain similarities: 'Both beautiful, high-achieving, talented, foul-mouthed, alcoholic, over-eating, artistic, fag-hag, sex sirens,' she writes.

Moll describes herself as the 'Woolworth Edition of Elizabeth Taylor' and brings to vivid life the intimate power of Hollywood iconography: how super-celebrity can impact on the personal. 

The Lady magazine and its (first?) astrologer

This week I make my debut in The Lady as its (first?) astrologer. My weekly horoscope column is terse and prescriptive and will (probably) improve your life. It is accompanied by my feature on why astrology is not rubbish - an idea suggested by editor and Virgo Rachel Johnson.

If there's one thing I've learned in the past few weeks on Twitter about the doubters, sceptics and preachy knockers of astrology (such as Prof Brian Cox, the very touchy Piscean who cannot bear criticism) is that complete ignorance of the subject in no way hinders blinkered ridicule. Science has sired a generation that just 'knows' things without research in the same way priests of old heard voices.

I hope you find my column entertaining and true. For a flavour of the magazine, click here The Lady. The digital edition sets you back £1. The print copy £2.

Madame Arcati and stargazing at The Lady

I am delighted to see that The Lady reports a 4.9% circulation rise year-on-year, one of only two weekly UK magazines still heading north. So what better time to return from my break to amplify the Independent on Sunday's goss news last weekend that I have been appointed The Lady's astrologer - I or the person who thinks he pulls my strings. Little does he know!

Do acquaint yourselves with the magazine's website and a cast of characters that includes a cat called Eric and office dog Coco. Not among the galère are the likes of Katie Price, Kerry Katona or Justin 'homosexuality is a choice' Bieber - relish such a rare and salubrious environment.

And if you have any sense take out a subscription if only to follow my horoscopes from March 22. The future will become one eternal present.

On blogging, this time around I shall be posting irregularly, when it suits me. But hang around. You could do a lot worse.

Madame Arcati's Top 10 Sexiest Posts of 2010!

Kevin Spacey CBE: bio post is No 1

Happy New Year, poppets! 2010 was the year Madame Arcati retired and then resurrected herself. I would love to say that my comeback owed to a public clamour but in fact, as in all things, my own moods played dictator. Blogging in itself serves no useful purpose beyond adding to the online cacophony. The only point to Madame Arcati is I get read.

Now I know you love lists, so here's my top 10 Madame Arcati posts of 2010, with a little commentary.

1. In terms of reader comments, most surprisingly popular post was my piece on the world's first Kevin Spacey (CBE, hon*.) biography, authored by famous Spaceyphile, Robin Tamblyn, click here. If you only read the books pages of our newspapers and literary mags, you'd never know that Hollywood's most secretive actor finally has an unauthorised Boswell. Self-published books always pose a challenge to book editors: who's to tell them if the book's any good? Mostly, these whores of journalism take their cues from their friends in publishing and from publishers' imprints. God knows what they'd make of the Bible were it submitted anonymously for consideration.

2. While bloggers serve no useful purpose in the general sense, they can be useful as trend muscle. So when Madame Arcati joined the online campaign against a plan to appoint Rod Liddle as editor of the Independent, one knew the war was won. Why anyone thought that a right-wing fool could be saviour of a leftish newspaper was beyond comprehension. Did someone forget to eat their spinach? So I was delighted to write the headline: "Rod Liddle won't be editing the Independent". Click here.

3. Sheila Vogel-Coupe - crazy name! This porno star and prostitute, octogenarian granny of an X Factor starlet already almost forgotten, brought tens of thousands of readers to the blog, much to my amazement. I made her my woman of the year. The link should indirectly take you to the site where you can view her engaged in various sex acts, including a copious money-shot. Click here.

4. Saddest exclusive ran on June 17 when I announced the death of Sebastian Horsley. A few journalists thought I'd made it up. A mutual friend tipped me off instead of running to the newspapers. I think Sebastian would have approved. I'm still getting over the photo of him having sex with an amputee - I wonder if I should put it up. Click here.

5. Another surprisingly popular read was my post "Rachel Johnson's A Diary Of The Lady: Masterly at the authorial hand-job". Rachel, editor of the old cunties' weekly The Lady, wrote me a fan letter informing me that Madame Arcati had a page in her book. How expertly she plays the ego. It was only correct that I review the tome, click here. Her book is a Madame Arcati favourite bathroom read along with Albert Speer's memoirs and a bio of Anna Wintour.

6. Most cynical post of the year was "Justin Bieber's penis: a post-modernist approach to blogging". I'd read that the tiny virgin megastar was one of the most searched names on Google so I Arcatised him to draw in a new generation seeking celebrity cock. They will have been disappointed but enlightened of irony, blogging, journalism and celebrity obsession. Click here.

7. "Reward Showbiz™: The 10 most pointless celebrity books and TV shows" proved a lure. So many TV shows and books are created simply to reward celebrity, just ask Joanna Lumley or Michael Palin. So this spawned yet another sleb list. Click here. Sorry.

8. Kate Reardon's appointment as Tatler editor introduced me to the concept of a spinning vagina. I offer this piece as an antidote to churnalism - the writing-up of PR announcements in our newspapers. Click here.

9. Duncan Fallowell gifted me a wonderful anecdote about the fashion designer Valentino; something about his elaborate relationship with the wind. Click here.

10. Permanent fiancee Molly Parkin published her Mollywood memoirs this year, and included in them a sweet, true reminiscence about the two of us. I'm sorry her family don't take us seriously: but that's what families are for, to look out for one. Read my review, Dodging the Conventional Cunts: click here. Do follow the labels on Molly: her interview with me on cocks and spirituality could change your life. In February 2011 all of Moll's erotic novels are reissued by Beautiful Books - they're as freshly witty, sexy and funny as the day they were born.

And on that note, have an austerity-free 2011 under the most miserable and wretched of governments. x

*Shouldn't he have got a knighthood, hon.?

Rachel Johnson's A Diary Of The Lady: Masterly at the authorial hand-job

Over the weekend Rachel Johnson was canny enough to send me a fan letter in which she told me I was mentioned in her book A Diary of The Lady: My First Year as Editor.

I had wondered whether Madame Arcati might make an apperance in her pages because I'd earlier this year described The Lady as 'the cunties' weekly' in a short piece about the magazine's readership and masturbation. But I'm adept at delaying gratification myself: I fancied I might happen on my name years hence as I leafed through a dog-eared copy in a secondhand book store (in Arundel perhaps).

This fancy was discarded instantly on receipt of Rachel's email: Madame Arcati is responsive to stroking, and judging by the contents of her book, she is masterly at the authorial hand-job.

If you don't know or care, Rachel is the editor of The Lady magazine, once an incarnation of all things nanny-ish and scone-ish. Then she barged in with her Sunday Times ponciness and pals and imported nasty things such as 'lady gardens' (pubes) and erections (euphemism: 'Everests') - these alone from a Jilly Cooper Jump!extract. The Lady's venerable owner Mrs Budworth regularly channels outraged reader reaction, calling Rachel a 'monster' and 'sex-obsessed'. This is all splendid for Rachel's CV.

Now, I said I'd review her book but in all honestly it's too late for that. A Diary came out in late summer. Instead, I have a few observations to make which touch upon my own preoccupations. What is first so striking about her day-to-day life at her mag, described with staggering frankness, is the evident ghastliness of many of the London writers and editors she encounters and of whom Madame Arcati has already demonstrated an insightful and notorious dislike.

For instance, you may think unwarranted my occasional barbs at AA Gill's prolific and dyspeptic smugness. Yet dip into this book and witness him, with Rod Liddle, mocking Rachel at a party for being dumped by their cash cow, the Sunday Times. The paper's editor John Witherow dumps her after promising he wouldn't - then thoughtlessly rubs her nose in it later by praising her replacement as 'grrrreat!' William Cash - he of the sad heiress-wives fixation - staggers about drunk at a party feeling sorry for himself and volubly moaning that no one of his generation (ie his Oxbridge milieu) has done anything worthwhile, including Rachel's husband Ivo. Even the down market Kelvin MacKenzie pops up in Rachel's office and fills it with his special mix of noxious methane.

Nicholas Coleridge, the world's worst novelist and the MD of Condé Nast, comes across as a gracious and generous house host, even if one who insists on memorialising, in annotated albums, his every social interaction with those deemed sufficiently important. I read elsewhere he also collects animal corpses: all this is beyond anal, doncha think?

In the (Boris) Johnsonian tradition, the slights, betrayals and insults (and there are many more) are borne lightly by our heroine. She'd be perfect in a war. But she too is not averse to gross insensitivity. I'm not sure Roger Lewis will have been entirely happy to be described as the least attractive writer she's ever met, as he name-drops Michael Winner at their first meeting. And I can't imagine what the daughter of Rachel's predecessor, Arline Usden, must have felt to be characterised as a rather hapless and hopeless member of staff. Indeed many contributors will have delighted in Rachel's grouchy view of a lot of the journalism submitted (each piece requiring the effort of eight emails on her part) after fulsome and luvvie-ish encouragement.

As for Lady Antonia Fraser... well, she always looks slightly appalled anyway.

In other words, A Diary of The Lady is entirely riveting. Any student contemplating a life in journalism (high end, facile) should get this book for Christmas - as a warning. Robust souls may relish the rough and tumble, and Rachel makes for a marvellously blithe dame (in the Eton College sense). Oh, and Madame Arcati gets her name-check on pp 261-262: if there were an index, I'd be under M for masturbation.

One last thing. How can Rachel Johnson have lived as widely and well as she has and not know who Duncan Fallowell is? She should search him out on Madame Arcati: I think even Mrs Budworth might approve of him.

Rachel Johnson film on The Lady, knitting and chutney - click here.
Rachel's website

Rachel Johnson and Ann Widdecombe's sloping bosom

Ann Widdecombe and Rachel Johnson

Madame Arcati finds herself in a most singular position: two books recently published, both authored by very considerable matriarchs (possibly modelled on myself), include passages on me, yes, Madame Arcati. The other thing they have in common is that as I write I have read neither. Something must be done.

So, next week I shall be reviewing the editor of The Lady Rachel Johnson's  A Diary of The Lady: My First Year as Editor and Molly Parkin's Welcome to Mollywood. I do hope I am not given cause to be offended or otherwise to consult m'learned friends. Though I disdain anger management courses and the like, I really have tried to rein in my natural tendency to volcanic eruption.

That aside, did you see Ann Widdecombe (a Libran) tonight on Strictly Come Dancing? It's not every generation which gets to see a Privy Councillor turned into a TV pasodoble mop, with Bruce Forsyth looking on. I commend her as a living cleaning product to Cillit Bang.

Anyway, my attention is drawn to this snap above, last seen on The Lady website. I am not sure what to make of the diagonal nature of Ann's bosom, though its maker should avoid B&Q.

Do readers of The Lady masturbate?

Astrologer Eric Francis foretold on Madame Arcati that masturbation holds the liberating key to better relationships in the future. A sign that he must be on the right lines comes from Rachel Johnson in the Guardian today, invited for the umpteenth time to talk about her once genteel magazine The Lady: "I can't speculate as to whether Lady readers have masturbated," she says, "but my wild guess is they might have done."

I wonder if the magazine's stately owner Mrs Budworth has given the matter any thought.

Vote for Roger Lewis to be Oxford's next Professor of Poetry!

Esteemed Arcatiste, legendary memoirist and wit, Roger Lewis, has been nominated for the Oxford Chair of Poetry. Oxford grads such as Duncan Fallowell (can a knighthood be that far away?) Lynn Barber (a damehood?), Rachel "The Lady" Johnson (the sack?), and many Bright Young Things (pah!) in publishing / the media/ journalism, have rallied to his cause, God bless them.

Oxonians need to (a) register to vote by June 4th and (b) actually vote. Polls open on May 21st and close on June 16th. This can all be done online - click here. This is a new departure for Roger; I just hope he is not robbed of his comic ingenuity in the process. I shall be most displeased. Very.

In the past people had to turn up in person in Oxford, so the dons always had it all sewn up, the tarts. Madame Arcati won't be thwarted.

The Lady & The Revamp: Rachel Johnson will be seeking new employment shortly

Best laugh of the night was The Lady & The Revamp, a TV fly-on-the-wall of Rachel Johnson's nascent editorship of the old cunties' weekly, The Lady.

Appointed just because of brother Boris' fame - editing her uni mag being her only other qualification - she stormed through the old banger with some startlingly original ideas. Such as sacking the fiction editor because he had a loud voice. Such as putting upcoming septuagenarian stars Julie Andrews and Joan Collins on the cover.

Phantom of the night was her embittered predecessor Arline Usden who ruled for 18 years and saw circulation dwindle from about 40,000 to 26,000. Rachel frothed at Arline's presence on the masthead as editor-at-large and as opera/travel/whatever contributor, even likening her to a norovirus lingering on the premises. Arline in turn sprayed venom on Rachel's magazine, advising her not to frighten the horses.

I haven't seen Arline in years. Last time we met, at the home of a former Good Housekeeping editor, she was recovering from an eye tuck: with her bruised sockets she looked like a fussy (but then slim) panda bear.

The old matriarch owner of The Lady described Arline's mag as "bland" while Rachel raged heretically that no one could give a toss about the publication and that its proprietors were living in a fantasy bubble: she was their link to the real world. What provoked her ire was their failure to enthuse about a 5000-word Sunday Times Magazine profile of Rachel by the mediocre Lesley White who'd likened The Lady to a corpse. In truth, the ST only bothered because of the Boris link.

And what of Rachel? Like her bro, she's direct, engaging, with a conventional brightness. Typical of her generation she is oblivious of legislation protecting the rights of employees - in the show she refused to understand why those of long tenure couldn't just be dumped with the trash. She did the usual bullying things of relocating unwanted staff to Siberian office outlands while the proprietors repaid staff loyalty with treacherous indifference - concerned only about appearances and legal niceties. Rachel has worked for the Sunday Times so perhaps she picked up these bad habits from them. Nonetheless part of me warmed to her: she's making the most of a lost cause.

At no point did I hear anyone explain what The Lady is for. Oh, and would someone repair its website. It never opens when I knock.

For certain Rachel will be looking for a new job very soon - she's wise to be keeping a diary.