Kevin Clooney

Nice to see Kate Winslet nominated for an Oscar and eleven Baftas and an Olymypic gold medal and what have you for her latest movie The Readers.

I haven’t seen it but I’ve heard it’s supposed to be okay - it’s about the Nazis or something. She’s always in these kinds of films is our Kate, a bit like Woody Allen who is always in films about Nazis and Jews and that.

I was in a restaurant in Newark a few years ago when Kate came in with her husband at the time, Jim Treacleton or something I think his name was. She seemed pleasant enough, but he had a face like a smacked arse. I reckon they had been arguing or something; you can see why she dumped him for rich movie director Sam Mendes, who I think is not exactly a Jew, but a bit Jew-ish.

Treacleton was drinking his white wine with a straw as I recall and, to me, he looked a bit gay.

I worked for singer Will Young last year and he was doing the same thing backstage after the show: drinking with a straw. (Don’t quote me on this, but I think it was pink Champagne - though it could just as easily have been fizzy Ribena.)

He looked a bit gay, too.

Hope you all enjoyed your hols.

Me an my Donna had a great time in sunny St Barth. We saw Nicole Kidman on the beach with some funny fat bloke just before we left for home. ‘She’s put on some weight, hasn’t she?’ Donna asked me.

‘Who cares?’ I replied. That got me into trouble for an afternoon. I had to make it up to her by buying her a new ring. She does like rings, my Donna - a bit like Michael Barrymore.

I do have to report that Kidman did look a little larger than usual - maybe she’s put the extra pounds on for a film role - but it didn’t stop her looking absolutely gorgeous.

I wandered past her on the way to buy an ice-cream and said ‘hello’ or ‘you’re looking fat’ or something to get her attention. She smiled at me and said something like ‘Eh?’ or something charming and Australian along those lines. Then - she winked at me! Yep, winked. Ah, I’ve still got it.

Ben Affleck was there, too, we saw him alone in a bar getting rat-arsed, but he doesn’t count.

I’m having some time off over Christmas. Me and my Donna are off to St. Barth in the Caribbean for two weeks. St. Barth is where the likes of Beyonce and Johnny Depp spend their Christmases, apparently.

I quite like Beyonce; she’s got a great body - especially in the upstairs department - and isn’t half a bad singer, too . . . for a girl.

I have to be careful what I say here because my Donna has fallen out with me over the things I keep writing about how I fancy some of these sexy pop stars and that. I told her I can’t help it; it’s a biological imperative. (I read that in a magazine.) I don’t think she’s very happy with me. She’s suggested that we have one of those open relationships. That wouldn’t work for me, I told her. I’m treating her to this holiday to try to make amends and patch our relationship up. She’ll be happy with a Caribbean holiday - you know what women are like.

I don’t like Johnny Depp; he’s got a face like a neutered chihuahua licking p*ss off a nettle.

I’m just reading here on Coldplay’s website that miserable singer Chris Martin thinks that Obama winning the US presidential election was ‘a great great great great great day - everything’s alright with the world again, especially now that our tour is going really really really really really well in America.’

You’d think Martin would have been rooting for the republicans, wouldn’t you - what with him being a rich Conservative landowner and everything. He once told me he was going to vote for David Cameron at the next general election in the UK.

And The Strokes bassist Nikolai Fraiture apparently told his wife, Regina Spektor, that ‘It feels like finally being freed after having spent many years in prison.’ Well I reckon her dad, Phil Spektor, will be able to tell them what that feels like soon enough.

My Donna likes his hair. I sometimes think she’s pulling my plonker, I really do.

I’ve never like either of them, Jonathan Ross or Russell Brand. Ross has been suspended and Brand has resigned. I reckon the BBC should have sacked them both days ago; in fact, they should never have been employed in the first place.

Both men are ignorant, crude, offensive and boorish. The fact that they were paid something like a billion pounds per year is obscene. Neither are even slightly funny - although both seem to think that they are. Ridiculous, more like.

If the BBC is fined, I’d hate to think the money will be coming out of the revenue it receives from overcharging people like me and you for the licences we are obliged to buy every year.

My Donna told me that the reason Brand has all that hair is to hide his head which is quite pointed. So much so, in fact, that he has to have it blessed every three days by an Anglican bishop. A***hole.

Fingers crossed, next to go: Gordon Ramsey and Anne Robinson.

I had a night off and went to see Ghost Town last night, UK comedian Ricky Gervais’s new Hollywood movie.

It was okay - quite funny, actually. I think Gervais took something of a risk in taking the leading role in a romantic comedy but he pulled it off nicely, I reckon. Cynical idiots here in Britain were wanting to see him fall flat on his face but he has given them the finger and done a good job.

Tea Leoni is good in it, too. I quite like her. Sex weirdo David Duchovny made a good investment there, if you ask me.

I’ve bumped into Ricky a few times on the circuit and thought he was a decent enough bloke. And my Donna got on well with his wife Julie, swapping recipes with her and that. He’s well past his prime physically, but a good laugh, which is quite important if you’re a comedian, I reckon.

There’s a problem with his actual laugh, though: it’s crap. He laughs like a girl. You wouldn’t get away with a laugh like that in my line of business - you have to laugh like a man; it’s part of the Roadie Code.

My Donna has just shown me an article in one of her girly magazines about Madonna taking time out and resting in New York with her best friend Gwyneth Paltrow; apparently, the stress of the past month is taking its toll on the queen of pop what with her hectic touring schedule and her divorce from Guy Ritchie and everything.

I’ve met Gwyneth Paltrow a few times when I’ve been working for miserable guitar band Coldplay. The band’s frontman and Paltrow’s paramour Chris Martin is a nice enough chap but his American wife always seemed a bit ignorant and rude to me. Could be because I’m just a lowly roadie and not a glamorous singer in an internationally successful rock band - who knows?

Once, my Donna was chatting to Paltrow backstage, showing her the new nails she’d just had done and Gwyneth didn’t show even the slightest interest; my Donna was really offended. ‘She only wanted to talk about Madonna,’ she told me afterwards, ‘She just wasn’t bothered about my nails - just kept going on and on about her famous friend.’

I took my Donna out for a slap-up curry in my favourite Indian restaurant in Stepney after the show. That cheered her up no end.

It didn’t take Madge long after booting tubby husband Guy Richie out until she found a new man, did it.

Famous US baseball star Alex Rodriguez has apparently dumped his wife Cynthia - who’s busy crying on pal Lennie Kravits’s shoulder - to be with Madonna. They share the same interest in weird mystical Jewish faith Kabbalah, my Donna told me.

Americans are just strange. My Donna and me are secular humanists, English ones at that - it says so on our passports.

If I see Guy in the pub, I’ll challenge him to a game of darts and buy him a pint of Guinness, help him drown his sorrows. I reckon us English blokes ought to stick together, show you American girls what real men are like.

So Madonna and Guy Richie are divorcing. About bloody time!

It’s obvious a classy bird like that would never be happy with some southern poncy wide-boy like Richie. He’s crap. Girls like her prefer a bit of northern rough like yours truly.

I’ve been around Maddy’s crew at various gigs a few times and there have always been rumours that she was going to dump him. I tell you, if I didn’t have my Donna, I’d be round Madonna’s gaff like a rabbit up a drainpipe. Classy bird. Pure class.

She’s funny, too - I like a funny bird, me. Apparently, on one night of her world tour recently, she played some screeching notes on her guitar - I don’t think women should play guitars, mind you; it just doesn’t look right. Madonna’s ok with an axe, I suppose, so I’ll let that one go - and said to the audience: ‘This is the sound of Sarah Palin thinking.’ Pure class.

One of my showbiz sources (Donna) tells me that Paris Hilton is in the UK at the moment to promote her new TV show. Apparently, ITV2 has signed Hilton up to appear in a new UK-produced show in which she will attempt to find a British best friend.

I’d be her friend, no worries. Donna reckons she has read somewhere that Paris loves cats - well she could bring her pussy to come and play with mine; I’ve got a lovely blue Persian at home called Ozzy and he really misses me when I’m away working.

I’m sure my Ozzy would love to play with Paris’s little pussy.

Actually, I’d quite fancy Paris Hilton if she wasn’t so, well . . . stupid.