The Irish Mail on Sunday - TV Week - - PUZZLE TIME -

Awoke to the sen­sa­tional news that I have been short­listed in Heat mag­a­zine’s an­nual ‘Weird Crush’ com­pe­ti­tion. Bizarrely, I am very rarely con­sid­ered when it comes to awards of an aes­thetic cat­e­gory. Though Woman’s Own read­ers, to their credit, did once vote me ‘Hottest Hunk of 2009’.

The word ‘ weird’, as de­fined in the dic­tio­nary, is some­thing ‘eerie, un­nat­u­ral, oth­er­worldly, mys­te­ri­ous, ab­nor­mal, strange’.

But I was en­cour­aged by Heat’s state­ment that their list was fo­cused on the ‘un­con­ven­tion­ally at­trac­tive, be­cause raw an­i­mal mag­netism comes in all shapes and sizes’.

Some of my com­peti­tors are quite cool, no­tably Ed Sheeran and Jay-Z.

Oth­ers are clearly sev­eral rungs down the cool lad­der, like David Cameron, Hugh Bon­neville and Harry Hill. And two names on the list are frankly a grotesque in­sult to the rest of us – Keith Cheg­win and Lord Sugar.

This af­ter­noon, an­other of my so­called ri­vals, TV pre­sen­ter Richard Os­man – nerdy host of the ap­pro­pri­ately named show Point­less – reared his in­dis­putably plainer head on Twit­ter, urg­ing his fol­low­ers to vote for him and ‘prove I’m hot­ter than Piers Mor­gan’. To my hor­ror, Gary Lineker’s wife Danielle promptly re­sponded by say­ing: ‘Tough choice.’

Tough choice? TOUGH bloody choice? Be­tween me and a bloke who looks like Jaws from the Bond movies? Hours later, she posted a pic­ture to me of her snuggling up to Os­man, with the cap­tion: ‘Sorry.’

‘Do you have a weak­ness for ugly men?’ I asked. ‘Cheg­gers would be a step up for you at the mo­ment.’

At which point, my regular Twit­ter foe Lineker pounced with all the speed and skill he showed as an Eng­land striker. ‘I didn’t re­alise she was in your com­pany,’ he scoffed. ‘You never do,’ I replied. Game. Over. pop stars get their kit off for posh mag­a­zines like Vogue or Elle, it’s called ‘art’. When San­dra from Bore­ham­wood does it in a tabloid, fu­ri­ous fem­i­nists brand it ‘of­fen­sive ob­jec­ti­fi­ca­tion of a woman’s body’.

Right on cue, Jen­nifer Lawrence ap­peared in Van­ity Fair to­day, com­pletely naked with a gi­ant boa con­stric­tor sprawled all over her flesh.

This is the same Ms Lawrence who re­sponded to re­cent hacked pic­tures of her in var­i­ous states of un­dress by stat­ing in­dig­nantly: ‘Any­body who looks at those pic­tures, you’re per­pet­u­at­ing a sex­ual of­fence.’

But look­ing at a gi­gan­tic snake wrig­gling around her same bare torso is ab­so­lutely fine, ap­par­ently. What I find so laugh­able is the idea that there’s any dif­fer­ence be­tween Jen­nifer Lawrence – who, for the record, I love on and off screen – do­ing it, and Page Three mod­els. They’re all mak­ing a buck out of nu­dity. She’s just mak­ing more.

‘I asked Will Smith if he had con­sid­ered hair surgery like Shane Warne,’

said Fred­die Flintoff. ‘It ended rather awk­wardly’

Din­ner at Madeo restau­rant in Bev­erly Hills, favoured old haunt of the Rat Pack, with the mod­ern Bri­tish equiv­a­lent: James Cor­den, Fred­die Flintoff and One Di­rec­tion movie pro­ducer Ben Win­ston.

Fred­die is in LA for just 48 hours, sent by an Aus­tralian TV com­pany to in­ter­view Will Smith and Mar­got Rob­bie about their new movie, Fo­cus. ‘It was one of the most ab­surd ex­pe­ri­ences of my life,’ he ad­mit­ted.

‘They had no idea who I was, could barely un­der­stand a word I was say­ing, with my ac­cent, and I had pre-

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