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Mathew Modine Cometh the Our… | ![]() |
Jeff Koons Koons with a view |
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John Malkovich The Actor’s Cut |
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Sharon Stone Cannes Postcard |
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Nic Roeg Hits and Myths |
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Alice Eve On the Casting Couch |



| Say You Want a Revolution |
| The denim jeans scene |
| Flood Pants hit the Streets |
| Five-a-side footwear - England vs Italy |
| Spencer Hart - Super Sharp Suiter |
| The Baracuta Harrington Jacket |

He smiles first,
Glancing here, there
Avoiding her fierce stare
While at him - on she cursed.
This and that,
And more that than this,
All about some random kiss?
This cricketer without his bat…
Poor sod.
Does he stay or leave,
Run for the hills?
Should he pay the bill?
Now across she grabs his sleeve!
Just then a kind of gent
from England
At the next table beside
Astonished by this Latin bride
Her man filleted like a kipper
Eyes them both with scorn
Some call this demonstration
A form of foreign affection
More like of no breeding born
Action required.
Our hero from Albany
Stands and swats the girl
With his FQR he does swirl
As only taught in Picadilly.
Oh dear, how the French are silly.
– Unknown Sherpa
