Diary – 26 November 2005

An actor’s life is either feast or famine. For 90 per cent of us too often it’s famine, as our thespian business is vastly overpopulated and competition is fierce. In the past months I’ve had more than five jobs, including a two-week stint on Footballers’ Wives, which, after almost a year of famine, felt like drinking nectar. Talk about glitzy camp! It was a hoot as the girls (and boys) are fully made up, coiffed, manicured and exquisitely dressed to kill, or kick, in the height of chav fashion. Luckily, I played a magazine mogul with stunning wardrobe so I was able to stay away from Burberry ‘Andy caps’ and sequined jeans. Zoe Lucker, who plays the chief bitch Tanya, has to wear two-and-a-half-inch nails for the whole season. ‘How on earth do you wash your hair?’ I asked her. ‘Very carefully,’ she replied.

When Prince Charles and his new bride descended upon NY, good manners went awol at the Museum of Modern Art drinks party given for them by the British consulate. Major movers and shakers pushed, jostled and elbowed each other out of the way to have a moment to bask in the royal glory. One famous 80-year-old Broadway star thumped Prince Charles on the back and was sternly admonished, ‘Please don’t poke the Prince, Madam.’ Both royals were extremely charming. Prince Charles amused me by his opening remark, ‘My wife tells me she’s stolen your hairdresser,’ since Hugh has now decided that Highgrove is more conducive to coiffure than my flat in Belgravia. Elsewhere, though, I was rather appalled by a window display at Barneys department store. It featured a Prince Charles dummy naked in the bath except for a crown and socks, reading a tabloid; Prince William on the loo, holding a roll of bathroom tissue inscribed ‘The Heir’; Prince Harry holding one inscribed ‘The Spare’; and an extremely unflattering and toothy mannequin of Camilla.