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

Is The Spectator a racist magazine?

I only ask because according to The Spectator, blogging is just a "conversational medium". So do please converse. The magazine mounted this defence of its blogger Rod Liddle to the Press Complaints Commission after he wrote that the "overwhelming majority" of violent crime in London was carried out by young African-Caribbean men. The Spectator lost, diddums. The magazine was unable to back Liddle's claim factually. NB: They did not retract the claim.

One assumes Liddle's comment was nodded through by editors sympathetic to the viewpoint. One assumes there are no young African-Caribbean men on the editorial staff to rein in the Empire-nostalgic Tory young Turks dreaming of an Etonian Westminster.

This is a particularly embarrassing outcome for the publication's immature editor, Andrew Neil's mini-me bitch, Fraser Nelson, who also whores his right-wing slob views for the News of the World. Only last year he ran a Spectator coverline which suggested racism in Britain is sooooo not very prevalent any more (Sample from body copy: "The less racist Britain is, the more popular this racist party [BNP] becomes.") Oops. Less racist?

Meanwhile, the new owner of the Independent, Alexander Lebedev owes me, Suzanne Moore and others for dissuading him from making Liddle the paper's editor. We're all heart.

Greg Dyke to be next editor of The Independent

I hear on good authority that the BBC's former D-G Greg Dyke is about to be signed up as the next editor of the Independent. I wholly approve of this appointment if true. He has newspaper savvy and he is not pig ignorant.

New proprietor Alexander Lebedev has gone up in my estimation even if he toyed with Rod Liddle.

The Independent editorship: 'Jeremy Paxman meets the Lebedevs'

On January 23, Madame Arcati broke the story that Jeremy Paxman had been offered the Independent editorship - many thought I was joking. Now the Guardian confirms that Paxman has met likely new owners the Lebedevs to talk about his possible appointment. He's not the only name on Alexander Lebedev's wishlist - Greg Dyke's there too, more in need of a big job than Paxman I should have thought. Apparently Lebedev seeks a star to edit the ailing paper - like Napoleon, he has this fantasy he can hitch a lift off another's X factor. Would you buy a paper just because it was edited by Dyke or Paxman - or Simon Cowell for that matter? Such a ludicrous idea.

Rod Liddle to Suzanne Moore: 'Sorry I called you a "fucking hypocrite"... '

Rod and Suzanne make up ...

One would have to have a heart of stone not feel some sympathy for Rod Liddle, what with the vitriolic Facebook campaign against him over the Independent, Madame Arcati's exclusive on his unseemly Facebook row with the darling Suzanne Moore, Roy Greenslade's Guardian vendetta, and, oh, lots of things. How did all this pressure affect Rod - did it get to him?

I've just hacked into Suzanne's email account and among some priceless exchanges between her and Rod is this line from him apropos their Facebook face-off: "But I'm sorry I called you a 'fucking hypocrite'. It's been a rough week. Hypocrite would have done."

Let's send him healing prayers ....

'Rod Liddle won't be editing the Independent' - thanks to Madame Arcati

Alexander Lebedev - a man of incomparable wisdom. He is Madame Arcati's Man of the Year. And it's only February

Rod Liddle will not be the next editor of the Independent, the Guardian reports. The paper claims that Alexander Lebedev had a change of heart.

I have little doubt this was due to Madame Arcati: Mr Lebedev is a follower of Arcati on Twitter and visits this site regularly for about 0.3 seconds per ingress. For a man of his intelligence and scope this would be sufficient time to scan the educated hostility to fag-ash Liddle whose politics, demeanour, temperament and flakiness (and hairstyle) are the subject of much concern.

And it was Madame Arcati that exclusively ran the Facebook row between Liddle and Suzanne Moore: while she was the model of civility, preparing to cook lunch for her little poppets, he ranted and raved like, er, someone who thought he was a national newspaper editor already.

Anyone who writes a column for the hideous and bullying Sunday Times is, as a matter of course, unsuitable for the Independent. Incidentally, does anyone know where the ST's editor now lives?

Rod and Suzanne

Mr Lebedev goes up in my estimation. He is clearly a man of tremendous insight, of wisdom, of worldliness. My God, Geordie Greig was right about Lebby! The Guardian better be fucking right. Meantime, Alexander should consider Suzanne Moore for the Indy editorship - unusually, she combines a left-wing sensibility with haute personal style and grooming: she is well-shod proof that you can make a good living from the politics of selflessness.

And please, Alexander, abandon the idea of Jeremy Paxman. He wouldn't survive five minutes. Plus, he's molto sensitive.

'Jeremy Paxman offered Independent editorship'

Well, that was the rumour at Groucho's last night. No idea if true or whether Paxman is even interested. But it's said Alexander Lebedev is impressed by the crashing snob.

Rod Liddle and Suzanne Moore slug it out on Facebook

Sorry to go on about the Independent but... well, this is too delicious. I have just come across a Facebook row today between Rod Liddle (rumoured to be the next Indy editor) and Suzanne Moore, the Mail on Sunday columnist and my preferred candidate for the Indy job.

The exchange takes place in a thread started by someone called Claire Khaw who appears to defend Liddle against the racism charge in today's Mail on Sunday. Suzanne mocks her (and others') hopes that by supporting Liddle they will land jobs under his editorship. She also appears annoyed that he's called her middleclass ...

Rod responds [unedited] to Suzanne: "what your thrid division reporter wrote in the MoS today was a perfect example of fascism, a tirade of lies. He attempted to attribute racism to me by quoting a)things which I had not said at ... See Moreall and b) quoting me using a direct quote in SUPPORT of a black footballer who had been allegedly subject to racist abuse. Your paper is morally and politically despicable, Suz, and better still - you know it. But what will you do about it? Just pocket the cheque, pocket the cheque."

Suzanne: "Rod you can message me direct. I never go into the office. So I cant comment. Pocket the cheque for my column? Yes I will just as you pocket the cheque from Murdoch. If the MOS story is a tirade of lies i guess you can sue? As for Claire's question i dunno I have never got a job by sleeping with anyone. Quite the reverse."

Rod: "A journalist sue a journalist? You really have no morals, do you? And it's pointless waving Murdoch at me - I didn't put myself on a high horse . I didn't say I wouldn't work for you because you were a reactionary. I am well aware of who I work for and wouldn't be hypocritical about it."

Suzanne: "Yes please Rod do give me a lecture on morals. I am all ears."

Rod: "You should be, Suzanne. I know principle and truthfulness when I see it. You don't."

Suzanne: "Rod you sound like Tony Blair or something! Obviously I disagree. I dont think you know much about me at all. I Am gonna make my amoral children some amoral dinner if thats OK....

Later Suzanne writes: "Meerkats are the liberal choice surely Rod? I promise if you promise to stop challenging us with your base racist and sexist assumptions which hardly make us see the world anew.... Rod Liddle CANNOT become editor of The Indy. No no no."

Oh and it goes on and on. Doncha love the chattering classes? And Liddle has much to learn about seemly behaviour becoming a newspaper editor.

Suzanne Moore for editor: She's Independent, are you?

Make this woman the new editor of the Independent and stop pissing about.

She's a liberal-leftist icon and she makes lots of money from Lord Rothermere by offending him every week in one of his own newspapers. She's proof you don't have to become a rightwing 'mare to coin it in journalism.

And she's no Labour lapdog. When last year the New Statesman made Alastair Campbell guest-editor she resigned from the magazine on highly publicised principle. How could a publication which opposed the Iraq invasion get cuddlesome with one of the war's chief mongers? She's of the left but no apparatchik. Just what we need as virtually every British newspaper right now takes dictation from Andy Coulson.

She's indie down to her legendary fuck-me shoes. She is Madame Arcati's most interesting choice.

Her name is Suzanne Moore. Google her.

(Meanwhile, Rod Liddle's skin colour problem)

Founder of the Rod Liddle/Indy Facebook protest replies ....

Dear Madame,

Came across your blog post while Googling around and wondered, as the founder of the Facebook group, 'If Rod Liddle Becomes Editor of the Independent, I Will not buy it Again' if I could briefly respond to the points you made?

"I don't recall a Facebook campaign against the Indy's present editor Roger Alton..."

A couple of things to say to that. If I'd thought of the idea back then and thought that a Facebook group might actually be able to block an editorial appointment (as it may do in this case...), I probably would have tried to prevent the job going to Alton for exactly the reasons you mention.

Protests don't just happen by themselves - they require someone to actually do it and work themselves ragged in the process - even with all these easy-to-use online tools. And they require sufficient people to feel aggrieved enough to take part in it (which sometimes requires repeated insults). So it doesn't really make much sense to argue against a protest on the grounds that the protestors should have protested something else as well. Maybe they should have?

"What standards in the British press?"

Well, quite. That's the point of making a stand for them! Liddle isn't just about to be given another column in which to be loathesome but actual control over the content of a major national newspaper.

Support us!

Best wishes,
Alex Higgins

Dear Alex

Thank you for your letter. You are to be admired for your derring-do (ie, for going to the bother) but I take the view that newspapers by and large have outlived their usefulness, are generally bullying and vulgar, and do more harm than good in their present form.

Liddle perfectly fits the spec of a national newspaper editor: a red-faced boor whose insular perspectives are unrelieved by the slightest sign of big-heartedness or reflection. Like the many excitable clowns whose fat arses occupy the leather-bound swivel chairs of newspaper editors' offices, he has created a personality caricature of himself which to complacent reader-gigglers and -hoppers is (in his case at least) digestibly entertaining. Provided he plays up to their humdrum prejudices, that is.

If Liddle's rumoured appointment has the effect of speeding up the Indy's closure then let it be. Neither it nor he serves any useful purpose.

But my best wishes to you and your idealistic Facebook protesters.

Madame Arcati