In which Lady Z’s weekend reading list is swiftly reprioritized.

The results of Wednesday’s poll suggest that many of you are engaged in an evil conspiracy to get me in shape through the torture known as “exercise.” At least now I know.

It’s Friday and I’m not sure how I feel about Minus the Bear.

But I do know how I feel about the new biography of Joan Collins, reviewed by Jan Moir in the Telegraph. I feel, very deeply, that I must read it. I believe my fascination with Ms. Collins is fairly well documented among these pages, so this should come as no surprise. But even if I weren’t already mildly obsessed with the green-eyed force of nature, the Telegraph’s review would have sold me. Did you know, for example, that

During her first assault on Hollywood, Collins slept with so many men that she was known as the British Open. In later years, she would grandly claim that she was a proto-feminist exploring her sexuality and using her power to bewitch as leverage to get ahead in a man’s world.

Others saw it differently. ‘Joan’s had more hands up her than the Muppets’, was how one actress deftly put it.

And that

During the late 1950s and early 1960s, when she was living in Los Angeles and trying to make it in films, she was at her sexual peak, thirsting for young men like a vampire thirsts for blood.

Driving a pink Thunderbird – no, that’s not a euphemism – she roared around Hollywood in chinchilla stoles and emerald bracelets and was rarely without a lover. ‘It doesn’t count on location’, she remarked, of various saucy infidelities.

And that

Collins cheated on [cheating lover George Englund, apparently the great love of her life] with the son of a Dominican Republic dictator, who bought her a diamond necklace.

Her lover was furious, but Joan placated him by secretly buying a cheap copy of the necklace and flinging it into the Pacific on a romantic beach stroll to prove to George how much she loved him.

And that, according to Barry Cryer,

he was once commissioned to write a monologue for her one woman show, but claiming that she had been too nervous to remember half of his jokes, Collins only paid him half of his fee.

This stuff is simply too awesome. If I ever had any thought of doing something respectable with my weekend (which, let’s be honest, is unlikely), such thoughts have been roundly spanked into submission by the prospect of spending the weekend with Joan.

2 thoughts on “In which Lady Z’s weekend reading list is swiftly reprioritized.

  1. Well, Z – you COULD take the book with you and prop it up while you use the eliptical machine, or the treadmill, or the life cycle.

    But hey, why ruin what is going to be a dishy read with such terrible things? It sound like it calls for bonbons and ice cream.

    Enjoy.

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