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OK, so these are just gratuitous Christina Hendricks pics.

Apparently, it was one of most controversial episodes in Mad Men’s explosive season. Red-headed bombshell Joan Holloway slept with a Jaguar dealer in exchange for a partnership stake in advertising firm Sterling Cooper Draper Price. And now Christina Hendricks, the 37-year-old actress who plays Joan, has admitted she felt “conflicted” about her character’s actions in the series.

“The question is, what would you do to protect your family? Joan is raising her son all on her own. She has no help from anybody,” Hendricks says when asked about her character’s actions in a new interview with The Hollywood Reporter.

In a photo shoot accompanying the interview, which appears in the July issue of THR, Hendrix stays in character with a classically sultry look.

For the magazine cover, the actress shows off her now famous hour-glass figure in a form-fitting black dress. A classical scoop neck reveals Hendricks’s much admired cleavage. She wears her red hair loose, with silver wedding and engagement rings the only jewellery visible.

In another shot, Hendricks is photographed sitting in a 1966 E-Type Jaguar, wearing a black lace top with white lace flowers.

Click to embiggen Nigella Lawson

(Source: Telegraph)

Nigella Lawson has called in lawyers to deny claims that she bought “under the counter” foie gras at Selfridges in London.

The Queen of Gastroporn and Caramel Bukkake vehemently denied a newspaper report published at the weekend suggesting that she bought the controversial French delicacy from Jack O’Shea, a prominent butcher, at his former concession in the department store.

Although production of foie gras – made from the enlarged livers of force-fed geese – is banned in Britain, it can be sold legally and is stocked in a number of London shops.

Selfridges banned it on animal welfare grounds two years ago after a high-profile campaign led by Sir Roger Moore, the former James Bond actor. Mr O’Shea, however, continued to offer it for sale to a select group of customers who requested it using the code name “French fillet” (reminding me of the sinister butcher of Royston Vasey, Hilary Briss, from The League of Gentlemen). He who said he prided himself on his animal welfare standards, and was unrepentant after his dismissal from Selfridges last year. He said at the time: “I couldn’t give a damn, my conscience is clear. Stuffing a goose with grain is like stuffing me with Guinness.”

Before my obsession with Christina Hendricks takes over this blog, I have decided to give her a page to herself.

We love your body. If we’re in love with you, we love your body. Your potbelly, everything. Even if you’re insecure about something, we love your body. You feel like you’re not this or that? We love your body. We embrace everything. Because it’s you.

Speaking of your body, you don’t understand the power of your own smell. Any woman who is currently with a man is with him partly because she loves the way he smells. And if we haven’t smelled you for a day or two and then we suddenly are within inches of you, we swoon. We get light-headed. It’s intoxicating. It’s heady.

We remember forever what you say about the bodies of other women. When you mention in passing that a certain woman is attractive — could be someone in the office, a woman on the street, a celebrity, any woman in the world, really — your comment goes into a steel box and it stays there forever. We will file the comment under “Women He Finds Attractive.” It’s not about whether or not we approve of the comment. It’s about learning what you think is sexy and how we might be able to convey it. It’s about keeping our man by knowing what he likes.

We also remember everything you say about our bodies, be it good or bad. Doesn’t matter if it’s a compliment. Could be just a comment. Those things you say are stored away in the steel box, and we remember these things verbatim. We remember what you were wearing and the street corner you were standing on when you said it.

Never complain about our friends — even if we do. No matter how many times we say a friend of ours is driving us crazy, you are not to pile on. Not because it offends us. But because it adds to the weight that we carry around about her.

Remember what we like. When I first started dating my husband, I had this weird fascination with the circus and clowns and old carnival things and sideshow freaks and all that. About a month after we started dating, he bought me this amazing black-and-white photo book on the circus in the 1930s, and I started sobbing. Which freaked him out. I thought, Oh, my God, I mentioned this three or four weeks ago and talked about it briefly, but he was really listening to me. And he actually went out and researched and found this thing for me. It was amazing.

We want you to order Scotch. It’s the most impressive drink order. It’s classic. It’s sexy. Such a rich color. The glass, the smell. It’s not watered down with fruit juice. It’s Scotch. And you ordered it.

Stand up, open a door, offer a jacket. We talk about it with our friends after you do it. We say, “Can you believe he stood up when I approached the table?” It makes us feel important. And it makes you important because we talk about it.

No shorts that go below the knee. The ones almost like capri pants, the ones that hover somewhere between the kneecap and the calf? Enough with those shorts. They are the most embarrassing pants in the world. They should never be worn. No woman likes those.

Also, no tank tops. In public at least. A tank top is underwear. You’re walking around in your underwear. Too much.

No man should be on Facebook. It’s an invasion of everyone’s privacy. I really cannot stand it.

You don’t know this, but when we come back from a date, we feel awkward about that transition from our cute outfit into sexy lingerie. We don’t know how to do this gracefully. It’s embarrassing. We have to find a way to slip into another room, put on the outfit as if it all happened very easily, and then come out and it’s: Look at me! Look at the sexy thing I’ve done! For you, it’s the blink of an eye. It’s all very embarrassing. Just so you know.

Panties is a wonderful word. When did you stop saying “panties”? It’s sexy. It’s girlie. It’s naughty. Say it more.

About ogling: The men who look, they really look. It doesn’t insult us. It doesn’t faze us, really. It’s just — well, it’s a little infantile. Which is ironic, isn’t it? The men who constantly stare at our breasts are never the men we’re attracted to.

There are better words than beautiful. Radiant, for instance. It’s an underused word. It’s a very special word. “You are radiant.” Also, enchanting, smoldering, intoxicating, charming, fetching.

Marriage changes very little. The only things that will get a married man laid that won’t get a single man laid are adultery and whores. Intelligence and humor (and your smell) are what get you laid. That’s what got you laid when you were single. That’s what gets you laid when you’re married. Everything still works in marriage: especially intelligence and humor. Because the sexiest thing is to know you.

This is Christina Hendricks

(Source: Sun)

Christina Hendricks is at the centre of a picture scandal after saucy snaps were stolen from her phone.

The Mad Men star is snapped in a variety of sexy poses which have been posted on the internet, with one appearing to be of her topless. Christina is insisting that the X-rated photo of a woman pulling her top down is in fact a fake. The image of the chest in question appears without a head or body on it, so could be anyone’s. But there is no denying that the other barely-dressed pics of Hendricks gazing into the camera are actually her own.

What looking at Christina Hendricks says about you

In the open market nude photographs can fetch up to $1 million if they retain the cache of novelty and are properly distributed. Each time we view one of these leaked or hacked photographs we are contributing to the decline in value of a potential future asset. The individual leaking the photos is exploiting a possible future revenue stream for the celebrity without their permission. Because a market exists for nudity, the leak is akin to someone stealing and releasing an early copy of a musician’s single.

(Jo Piazza, Wall Street Journal)

Here are the breasts which Hendricks says are not hers. My question is, whose are they then?

This isn't Christina Hendricks

They’re hers.

I’d sure hate to see the genre disappear.

(Clint Eastwood, Cannes 1985)

Kevin Costner tried to bring the Western back but he failed. I don’t know if it’s him, his inability to hire a good editor for his movies or if we’ve all grown out of Westerns, but it seems the genre is pretty much dead now.

I recently watched Wyatt Earp, since I had seen it when it came out and it bored the crap out of me … I enjoy it more now. Anyway, I think that Open Range should be his best Western, but I have a soft spot for the icky Dances with Wolves … the ickiest moment is seeing Kevin Costner wagging his bare arse at the camera … he directed it too … just to make sure it wasn’t called Two Dogs Fucking

My point is, Kevin Costner just isn’t convincing in Westerns. That’s the problem. Give me Unforgiven for a straightforward western, or The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford for a stylized one.

If a film has Kevin Costner in it, chances are its going to be bad. That’s a given.

Speaking of modern Westerns, I was positively surprised by Unforgiven. I was expecting something completely lame, but it was actually pretty good, and Clint Eastwood’s acting is still as intense as ever, which is amazing, considering he looks like he’s about to crumble into dust at any moment.

Plus, in contrast to Costner, any film with Gene Hackman and Richard Harris in it is going to be good.

Please take great care when you type something in a search engine … or you might end up here … as ever, I sincerely hope the people who typed in these search terms found what they were after …

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Dolly Parton arrives at the premiere of her latest film, Joyful Noise, at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in Los Angeles.

I recently spent a drunken evening and night with a linguistics professor who informed me that “pure zero-grade English” is spoken not in England, but over in Ohio and specifically in the posh suburbs of Cleveland (e.g. Shaker Heights), Columbus (e.g. Upper Arlington), Dayton (e.g. Oakwood and Kettering), Toledo (e.g. Sylvania and Ottawa Hills) and northern Cincinnati (e.g. West Chester).

I do not recommend spending an evening or night with a linguistics professor.

The actor John Thaw had quite an interesting accent. In the Inspector Morse TV detective series based on Colin Dexter’s novels he adopted a sort of posh accent with something of a drawl and long vowels. I assume this was so the character could seemingly deal with Oxford dons and luminaries as supposed equals. However, an underlying Northern accent kept creeping in. I always thought this was inadvertent and that he simply was unable to sustain the accent he was adopting.

John Thaw is (or was) from the north of England.

Click to embiggen

Dear Reader, be honest, wouldn’t you prefer to look at her across the breakfast table every morning, rather than, say, Gwyneth Paltrow? She certainly wouldn’t whine as much.

She could be the next Mrs Stainforth, but I’m not prepared to reveal her name … yet.

Thanks to Tess Kincaid for that word “embiggen”, which just seemed appropriate to the image.

Gwyneth Paltrow admits marriage to Coldplay’s Chris Martin ‘is hard’

Black Dogs Defined

This is the best of me; for the rest, I ate, and drank, and slept, loved and hated, like another: my life was as the vapour and is not; but this I saw and knew; this, if anything of mine, is worth your memory.

(John Ruskin, Sesame and Lilies)

Whatever people say I am, that’s what I’m not.

(Alan Sillitoe, Saturday Night and Sunday Morning)

This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me.

(Emily Dickinson, This is my letter to the world)

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

(Edna St. Vincent Millay, Second Fig)

R.A.D. Stainforth

I was born before The Beatles’ first LP and brought up in the reeking slums of Jericho. I am in love with a woman called Hazel and in love with her daughter, also called Hazel, both of whom I met at Alcoholics Anonymous.

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