Helen Mirren - ding dong.
I watched the film RED on Saturday and thought she stole the show as an uber stylish assasin. In case you haven’t seen it, it’s very good, with Bruce Willis as a retired CIA bad ass trying to find out why his old employers are trying to shoot him as dead as a mackerel.
Morgan Freeman and John Malkovich join in with the adventure and all told it is a top piece of action.
But back to Dame Helen. I’ve seen her in a couple of things but never truly appreciated how cool she is until I saw her snipering bad guys while wearing a natty camouflage ensemble with matching hat and snow boots. The credits rolled and I was lost in my own head with plans on how to recreate a bit of the Mirren magic for myself.
Sadly, I suspect, it is not something that can be bought or cultivated. No amount of stern yet intelligent flirting or red lipstick is going to do the trick. Which is a shame, because it just doesn’t seem fair that someone who could be my grandmother is running around being all sexy and tripping over male admirers while I, aged 29, look like a potato.
My self-esteem is at a particular low this week because in a fit of mentalness I came up with the idea to give up wearing make up and using hair straighteners for a week in the name of journalism. Which has crushed my soul, since I need both, very much. Some girls are natural beauties, I prefer lots of assistance. Also, I’m slightly worried my boss will think I’ve become a slob and fire me for having an offensively bald face.
I also feel a bit deflated by my new nickname. Lounging about on the sofa at the weekend I put my feet in my boyfriend’s lap which gave him a visual reminder that I have a bunion, which he finds hilarious.
By the way, if you don’t know, this is where the bone in your foot goes nuts and starts growing out more than it should. Victoria Beckham has one, if you’re interested.
As a result of my unfortunate trotter, he has taken to calling me ‘My Little Bunion’ at every opportunity, accompanied with peels of laughter.
I bet no-one’s ever called Helen Mirren ‘My Little Bunion’. Humph.
We dusted the bikes off on Saturday and went for a little jaunt down to the Quayside. It was lovely to be back out in the fresh air and peddling away after the winter, which I keep stubbornly insisting is over, despite all the sideways rain. Then we promptly undid our first tentative steps towards fitness by tucking into chicken curry pies from the supermarket. Life can’t be all stick, dontcha know, there needs to be a bit of carrot too.