We're On A Road To Mudgee #2

Day One, Part One: In which tasty things come in lumps.

Just Drive, She Said
Setting off on Saturday morning, Charlotte and I realised that we were suddenly faced with the most. Technological. Road trip. Ever. Cords, chargers, iPods, cameras, phones, hair-straighteners - it was like the digital fairy had accidentally spilled the entire contents of her handbag into the back seat of our hired SVU. It didn't help that, for the first half hour of our drive, our GPS spoke French and we couldn't figure out how to change that. We nicknamed her 'Amelie', as that's the only French girl's name we know. "Arreter!" She would exclaim. "Stupide!", she would cry, which we could only assume means "Left!". Otherwise, our car was neatly kitted out (thank you, Avis), but once we'd figured out how to use the stereo (*scowls affectionately at digital fairy*), we realised that my iPod playlist just wasn't going to cut it. Solution? Stop at a servo and purchase a four-disc CD entitled School Disco Anthems. Why, yes, Vanilla Ice. We will stop, collaborate and listen. Thank you very much.

I'd also like to personally thank the Blue Mountains and nearby areas for being spastically beautiful. Anyone who doesn't think rolling hills, baby goats and silhouetted stark winter trees are worthy of a relaxed sigh or two is off the Christmas list. I mean it.

The Truffle Kerfuffle
Our first stop, which we arrived a little late to thanks to our basic human right to consume breakfast wraps, was in Oberon, just past the Blue Mountains, at the Lowes Mount Truffiere. For those of you who don't speak French like our GPS does, a 'truffiere' is a place you'll find hazelnut trees, adorable dogs, friendly proprietors like Col & Sue Roberts, truffles and omelettes. Literally translated from the French, then, 'truffiere' clearly means 'mind-blowingly awesome'. Happily and despite Amelie's lazy instructions, as we were nearing the truffiere, Blondie began to belt out "One Way Or Another" from the car stereo. Please note: changing the lyrics to "One way or another, I'm gonna find ya, I'm gonna eat ya, eat ya, eat ya, eat ya" is hilarious at this point.
We met labradorian truffle hunter extraordinaire Morris and his honey-coloured apprentice Sully, who both greeted us warmly with a brisk nose to the crotch.

Col & Sue looked at our flimsy, city-girl jackets as we set out on the hunt and expressed mild concern, but the you're-gonna-freeze-your-truffles-off message didn't really hit home until it started snowing. Freakin' snowing, man. It was novel to us, and hence exciting, but did you know that snow is FROZEN WATER?!? It's really cold. You should know that in case you ever see some.

Before long the doggies had literally hit paydirt, and a truffle that other truffles would probably address as "Yes, sir" presented itself in all its grubby glory. Charlotte was inspired by the spirit of truffle-dog, and immediately got her face in the dirt, because she is a glamorous fashionista. I have proof.

They don't half smell good, but.

After dragging the monster truffle back to the warm main building, we set about making you jealous, mostly by eating a freshly-cooked omelette made from a truffle-infused egg with shaved fresh black truffle on top. And some goats cheese drizzled with hazelnuts in truffle honey, followed by hazelnut brownies. I know. I know.

We didn't want to say goodbye to Col, Sue, the goggies and the delicious, delicious truffles, but of course we had to head to Bathurst for lunch. LUNCH. We'd already eaten more than a fat kid whose parents are away for the weekend. Which is why this trip is amazing.

We're On A Road To Mudgee

Exciting news.



In an awesome, yet potentially naïve and explosive move, New South Wales Tourism has approached Charlotte Dawson and yours truly, suggesting that we go on a road trip together this weekend.

Five days.

In a car.

Driving through the NSW countryside.

With a person I once described as an air hostess on an airline that serves chicken, fish and happy endings.


What could possibly go wrong?


I’ll tell you what will go completely and utterly right, though – our itinerary. We’ll be taking a hire car, a video camera, a stills camera, our laptops and a week’s supply of awesome, and visiting Oberon, Bathurst, Mudgee and Lithgow.

When asked if we had any special dietary requirements, my response was YES – WINE AND CHEESE, so we’ll be popping in at wineries, cheeseries, piggeries and also going on a truffle hunt with some doggeries.

Yes, we’ll be sending back updates and reports including video and photographs.
Yes, we’ll be blogging, Tweeting, and facebooking the trip.
Yes, we’ll be riding bikes at some no doubt hilarious point.
Yes, we’ll be fighting over which particular bad 80s song becomes our road trip anthem.


Do stay tuned. Do let us keep you posted. And of course, if I use the special code phrase ‘OH MY GOD SHE’S TRYING TO KILL ME’, do send help.

See you on the road!

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Six #5

Britney Spears shaving her head and using an umbrella as a weapon. Mel Gibson talking about anything. Latoya Jackson just being alive. Nothing in this world excites me and gets me to sit up and take notice more effectively than freeze-dried, bat-shit crazy in its pure, unadulterated form.



So let’s not pretend that this episode was about go-sees, Melbourne or body spray. This episode was about crazy that can be seen from space.


Put your feet up and loosen your straightjacket – it’s the ‘I Found My Thrill On Alannah Hill’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Now with no sharp edges.


Skin-Tight Budget

There’s a special, sneaky way for producers to mitigate the crippling costs of television production. It’s a subtle, barely noticeable thing called product placement. See, “sponsors” pay a lot of money to have their products appear in a show completely coincidentally and accidentally, which helps pay for gaffers and clappers and other things that sound like venereal disease but actually do stuff. Now, I’m not completely convinced that there was actually any product placement in this week’s episode, but if I do notice any, I’ll give you a hoi and let you know.


Me Talky Proper And That

• Kimberly’s turn of phrase is as lilting and whimsical as a bikini wax. After being in the final two last week, she shows her gelatinous resolve by saying “My plan is to keep doing what I’m doing and take on board what the judges are saying, and not give two flying fruitcakes what the other girls think”. Flying fruitcakes, people. Two of them. This makes me happy.


• When the girls enter their luxury hotel room in Melbourne, Amanda describes the experience: “Your eyes are just assaulted by all this... like, glass, and like posh things sort of”. This is akin to Jeff Koons saying “Y’know, I might make this next installation a little bit about pop culture”, or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like saying that people who work at Boost Juice are “mildly irritating”. Still, I’d like to see that on the Langham Hotel’s website. Stay at the Langham. It’s all kinds of glass and posh crap. Plus the buffet is fucking awesome.


Learnment

• For this week’s lesson, Josh turns up at the Module Mansion in a t-shirt, suit jacket and white shoes, looking for all the world like a wee gay little Don Johnson. Wait – I’ve just had a name idea for a character in a cop-and-crime-themed porn flick. DONG JOHNSON! No, because they’re both euphemisms for penises, see, and there’d be jokes about “cocking your pistol”, see, and yes, I’ll get on with it because you clearly have no imagination. God.


• Josh tells the girls that they have twenty minutes to do their hair and make-up, and to choose outfits that make them “look like models” for an important impending guest. In the resulting flurry, Kelsey comments that “there were clothes flying everywhere”, which along with the flying fruitcakes makes the airspace above the Module Mansion very crowded indeed.


• The guest turns out to be Priscilla Leighton-Clark, head of Priscilla’s Model Management and nominee for Best Slow Evil Chair Turn Around And Greeting In A Non-James Bond Production. She surveys the girls’ outfits one by one and OH GOD SOPHIE YOU JUST KILLED MY RETINAS. Okay, we’re going to pause for a multiple choice question.


Question: When is it okay to wear a dress with chains on it?

Is it:
a) When you’re trying to get signed by a modelling agency;
b) When you want to look like the daughter of a metal merchant who has turned to prostitution;
c) I’m sorry I didn’t hear the question because there’s eight centimetres of foundation between me and the world; or
d) Never. That’s it. Just never. Like Neverland, except without the llamas and allegations. Burn it, burn it now. Also please throw Kelsey’s hat into the fire.

• Priscilla, showing super-human restraint, says that she’s “quite disappointed” with how the girls have kitted themselves out. Except for Amanda, because she’s all perfect and crap, and she and I can be besties and make brunch pancakes and talk on the phone about boys and shit. You know. Stuff like that. The scrags head upstairs to change, and Josh suggests to Sophie that she remove her excessive make up with this moist PRODUCT PLACEMENT DING DING DING!! Everyone tromps downstairs again dressed a little differently, which I know may sound interesting, yet I’m momentarily distracted by two flying fruitcakes. Not the cameraman, though. He’s pretty much solely distracted by crotch.

Oi. My boobs are up here, buddy.

• Before she leaves, Priscilla tells the modules they’ll be heading to Melbourne to meet some designers, which causes Jessica to remark “When we found out we were going to Melbourne, I was just jumping out of my tiny little shorts”. Mind you don’t bump your head on the flying fruitcakes and clothes, Jess. Joanna suspects that they’ll be doing some castings or go-sees while they’re in Brown Town. A little boy trapped down a well in an outer suburb of Vladivostok stops crying, looks up for a second and says “You think?”. Except he says it in Russian, obviously.


Challenged

• The scrags are greeted at the airport (Good morning, and welcome to PRODUCT PLACEMENT airlines), and we see shots of planes taking off, obviously only after the control tower has cleared the sky of flying fruitcakes, clothes, and Jumping Jessica. Four minutes later they’re in Melbourne. At least I gather it’s Melbourne – there’s an awful lot of people with good shoes and asymmetrical haircuts, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only city in Australia that has an origami dog tur... er, Federation Square. A man who has clearly dipped into Alex Perry’s personal stash of buffing wax and Claudia Navone’s bag of spare vowels welcomes the girls to the PRODUCT PLACMENT hotel, in particular the Press-a-dentol Sweat. It’s luxurious, apparently.


• A video Sarah Mail from Saint Sarah herself arrives, informing the modules that they’ll be going on go-sees to three designers tomorrow morning. Brittney isn’t quite sure who Sarah Murdoch is, but thinks she might have been in that movie with the people and the kettle and the man wearing pants and stuff.


• Josh (sharp-shouldered bolero jacket, grey pants, white shoes, because I know you were about to ask) tells the girls they’ll be visiting Life With Bird (edgy, street), J’aton (high glamour couture) and Alannah Hill (milk and two lumps of crazy thanks) for castings. Kathryn vows to be confident, “even though I don’t have a reason to be confident”. You seem to have a reason to still be wearing that tam o’ shanter though, huh.


• In Life With Bird, the girls walk, Jessica, Amanda and Joanna are asked to wear items from the Spring/Summer collection, Amanda is awesome, everybody has a fine time.


• In J’aton, the girls walk, Joanna, Kathryn and Sophie are asked to wear gowns including a gold lace one that makes me convulse with lust, a very fancy bin liner and a hot doily, Sophie nearly makes one of the designers die just by sitting down, everybody has a fine time.


• In Alannah Hill, the girls crawl, the girls meow, the girls impersonate things, and crazy rains from the sky in fat, crazy drops. Firstly, Alannah Hill looks like she’s been rolling around in one of those bins of discounted nailpolish you see near the registers at the chemist. Secondly, she makes the girls act like cats. Thirdly, the instructions and advice that flood frenziedly from her mouth are little nuggets of fucked up gold. I can only list them here, with my own confused, bewildered comments. Try to keep up.


o I’m looking for a girl who’s a little bit like a sexy kitten (The term is ‘sex kitten’. People who think kittens are sexy end up in jail).


o (Holding up a cupcake) Sort of like this, but you open up the cupcake and inside it’s all sort of… sexy and pink (You’re saying the cupcake is a vagina, aren’t you. You’re holding up a vagina. Thanks, Alannah. I will never have cupcakes or sex again).


o Pretend you’re a little kitten. Like a pussycat. Look at me and go ‘meow’. Maybe get down on all fours. (Correction: I will never have cupcakes, sex, or pets again).


o You can’t be giggling, dear.Cats meow. (You know they’re people, right?)


o Good god, I’ve got a Persian! I’ve got a Persian! (If that’s the opposite of a Brazilian, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit).


o Have you got a pussy? (Oh god. Oh god. Oh god).


o I sort of want to ride you. (Okay, that’s it).

• Brittney, Jessica, Kathryn and Amanda are singled out to wear Alannah Hill outfits, and given the instructions “You’re gonna walk for me like a lovely snow bunny that’s gone wrong. And you’ve got very bad thoughts going on in your head the whole time. Sort of sex thoughts. Give me that sex bunny look”, and “Lady luck with a sense of naughtiness. Like a bad naughty air hostess”. Right. It’s not enough that you ruin cats and cupcakes, now you’re throwing in air travel and bunny wabbits. Damn you, Alannah Hill. Damn you, you awesome, awesome woman.


• Amanda wins the challenge because she is awesome the end.




Besties
• None of the girls want to share a room with Kimberly at the Melbourne hotel, because she’s “too intense”, “talks quite a bit” and “has a lot to say”. These girls are clearly pussies. I could listen to this girl wax boganisms all day long. I want a Kimberly doll that talks every time you pull a string in her back (most likely a ring-pull from pre-mixed Bundy and a tampon string). Her bedtime word-vomit-of-awesome is several of the best things I’ve ever heard. In fact, I want a week’s worth of t-shirts with the following slogans printed on them. There are only six, though, because I go topless on Thursdays:


“Touch me in my sleep, and you’re going to get a backhand”


“I’m freezing my gonads off”.


“Did you just call me a lesbian?”


“We’re gonna be covered in fluff”.


“Favourite ice cream of all time? Golden Gaytime”.


“Icy Poles – are they the ones with sticks in them?”


• You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve finally figured out what it takes to be a module. Sure, as established previously, meticulous attention to one’s crotch and saying “gonads” count for a lot. But clearly the most important elements are the wearing of roadkill on your head, and leaving your mouth hanging open for hours, sometimes days, at a time.

See? That's why Kimberly is in the bottom two this week.

Phoy-toys
For this week’s photo shoot, Josh enlists the help of Warren, representing PRODUCT PLACEMENT body sprays, and photographer Simon Upton, representing my pants. Each module will need to call on their acting skills to represent one of eight different fragrances whilst wandering around the streets of Melbourne. Modelling is so hard, you guys!


• Joanna is ‘New York Sass’, which is translated visually as 'Shorts and a Flannie', which is awesome, because it means that next time I can’t be bothered getting changed to go down the servo to get milk and bread, I won’t be a crumpled mess. I’ll be NEW YORK SASS.


• Kelsey is Paris Chic, which Kimberly thinks is appropriate due to the fact that Kelsey is already an “uppity, arrogant person”. Her shoot is cut unexpectedly short by rain. Kelsey is cut unexpectedly short by genetics.


• Amanda is ‘Goddess’, and has to walk away from the camera and look back, wearing a floaty, ribbony dress. Brain. Explodes.


• Kathryn is ‘Romantic Spark’ and can apparently control the sun, which appears just in time to back-light her into the realm of amazing. See what not wearing a tam o’ shanter can do?


• Simon Upton calls Brittney, who is ‘Into Glamour’ a young Jerry Hall. Which, you know, rhymes with ‘very tall’. Yes. I am the queen of rhyming. Here is my crown.


• Jessica comes over all hippie chic as ‘Incense’, although Simon does have to give her a fair bit of direction. “More!”, he shouts. “Throw your chin right up!”. It makes sense that she should throw her chin up, since she appears to have swallowed it at some point previously.


• Sssophie, as ‘Tease’, poses well in front of a shop sign that says “Little Cupcakes”. Thanks to Alannah Hill, we know that this shop sells vaginas.


• Kimberly has to try and summon ‘True Love’, even though she doesn’t believe that such a thing exists. My personal jury is still out on that one, but I’m certain it doesn’t exist wearing a fascinator and a hoodie next to some bins that smell like “urine and bin juice”. That’s more of a drunken midnight hook-up kind of a thing.



Eliminationosity
Suddenly we’re back in Sydney at the Eliminarium, where Saint Sarah, fresh from a strategy meeting at the offices of the Society For The Preservation Of The Innocence Of Cupcakes, Kittens And Snow Bunnies, awaits the girls with her customary patient posture. She introduces the judges – guest Alannah Hill, who licks her lips and winks at the camera, instantly reminding my genitals to die; Charlotte Dawson, who has come dressed today in Barbara Cartland’s wallpaper; Shiny Alex Perry, who is as round and smooth as a macadamia nut in a flying fruitcake; and Chest Smith, who is back in my good books again in cashmere with a v-neck cut almost to the scrotum. Sigh.


Prizes are listed, which I think this year include a glass of water and a bag of sequins, and I take this opportunity to remind Sssophie that headbands are not her friend. I’d also like to note that Joanna has stolen the roadkill from Jessica’s head and fashioned it into a natty waistcoat. See her vest, see her vest?


Photos are flicked through and the judges deliberate, with a bunch of glorious petty spats breaking out like pimples on darling Kathryn’s face, including:

• About Brittney – Alannah “I love her”. Dawson: “I don’t”.

• About Kimberly – Chest Smith: “I’ve been a big supporter of Kimberly”. Alannah: “Well you’re stupid”.

• About Jessica – Saint Sarah “You still don’t get it?”. Shiny Alex “I get it, I just don’t like it”.


Charlotte calls Brittney a lump, the girls are dragged back in, and names are called out one by one until only Brittney and Kimberly remain.


Saint Sarah tells Brittney that she had a good photo, and that Alannah Hill loved her, but that clearly Alannah is ape-shit bonkers, so no dice. Kimberly is told that she’s too fragile for the cut-throat world of modelling, like, for example, the gruelling schedule of standing up, sitting down, walking around, and mentioning one’s gonads.


Five years pass, and Kimberly is pushed off the cliff. Kersplash!


Kimberly takes the news well, thanks the judges, buys them flowers, and gives each of her co-modules three delicate kisses on the face, like at the end of Amelie.


Except of course for that bit where she fucks off without thanking or hugging anybody, says she’s done with modelling, and causes the judges to admit that she wasted everybody’s time. Except for that bit.


Bye, Kimberly! Mind you don’t offend everyone or wear a bikini on your way out! Oh, and Kimbo? THIS IS A CRYING PROBLEM.


Next week, some reptiles are introduced to a shoot, the scrags think they can dance, and clothes drop to the floor. Snaky. Shaky. Nakey.

Every Day For A Year #6

(You seem pretty smart. You've probably figured out what all this is about, so you don't need to click here to catch up. You're welcome). 

Hey, did you know that on some planets, they don't even speak English?
I know!
I'd probably die on those planets, and not just because of the thin atmosphere and the sulphur rain and stuff - it's just that I really, really like words, and so far I've only mastered one language.

Frosty, on the other hand, would be able to order beers and get his electricity connected and all kinds of other cool stuff, because he speaks pictures. He's so fluent that you can see what he's been doing for the last three weeks without him saying a word.

And yet I seem to be crapping on and on.
Sorry.
Enjoy.

Australia's Next Top Model Series Six #4

Try this as an experiment: get a four-centimetre swatch of brightly-coloured, stretchy fabric and hold it in front of you. Stare at it. Maybe even take it outside so it moves in the breeze.



Anything happen? No?


Now, take that same piece of fabric, add a gusset, drape it over a scrawny girl’s jutting collarbones and see what happens. Tears, tantrums, bitchiness, arched backs and sand in the last place you’d ever want sand. And, of course, thinly-veiled, nylon-flavoured hilarity.


Yes. It’s the ‘Itchy Bitchy Teeny Screamy Hello I’m A Scrag Bikini’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Pffffft. ‘Gusset’.


Skin-Tight Budget

Unfortunately, the production budget this week could not stretch to include enough fabric to cover Cheyenne Tozzi’s nugs. Mind you, it’s hard to imagine that any fabric could. Jesus Parton Christ.


Me Talky Proper And That

• At one point during her umpteenth haircut, Sssophie claims that she has an “epiphany”. Later, during her elimination scolding, Kimbo says that she is “aware of the ramifications of her actions”. Ladies, I’m afraid you’ve exceeded the maximum number of allowable syllables allocated to words in a model’s vocabulary, and your Dumb Bitch membership cards have been revoked.


• When Sssophie opens her strange flesh-coloured mouth, we’re starting to hear tiny little bits of regional drawl fall out. When she and Kathryn have to sit out of a challenge, Sssophie says “Oh my god, we’re models and we’re taping shoes. What the how”. Sophie mauling the English language? It’ll be a cold day in How before that happens.


Learnment

This week’s lesson involves Michael Klim, a swimming pool, wetsuits, lunges, and some freezing cold, pert nipples. OMG, you guys – IT’S JUST LIKE AT MY HOUSE. Except I don’t have a pool.


• An unexpected splashing sound in the pool at 6am causes the modules to realistically exclaim “Hey, guys! I heard a splash outside in the pool! Whatever could it be? Let us investigate with the speed and grace of Pegasus and some surprised expressions!”. And the Oscar goes to..... no-one.


• Michael Klim, who can barely get over his own massive relevance to the fashion industry, turns up and tells the scrags that they’ll be exercising this morning to facilitate the “fit, tight bodies” necessary for swimwear modelling. Kimberly enthuses “I actually watch the Olympics, I know who this person is! He’s like a breaststroker or something!”. I’m pretty sure she just recognises the words “breast” and “stroker”.


• Klim takes the girls through some exercises in and out of the pool in glamorous couture wetsuits. Now, I know that watching a gaggle of girls in neoprene walk first one way and then the other may sound interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by spinifex.


• Part two of the lesson has the modules taken through the rigors of swimwear posing, led by bikini model Cheyenne Tozzi, who is in turn led by her boobs. Now, I’m no expert, but from what I gather, successful bikini modelling depends on three main factors – arching your back, lying on the floor, and flicking your hair around like Liam Howlett mid-seizure. I have also learnt that camouflage-printed cozzies are vile, that Southern Cross tattoos always turn up in exactly the places I expect to see them, and that Chantal’s cozzie looks a bit like a face.

A face that says 'amazeballs'.

• The final part of today’s lesson is titled Meter Maids Get Upset About The Darnedest Things. You see, Kimbo gets upset because she doesn’t like being in a bikini. This is like Wassily Kandinsky getting upset because he doesn’t like squiggly lines, or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like Megan Fox getting the pouts about being an idiot. As Amanda puts it, “She’s a Meter Maid. She lives in a gold bikini”. Tears fall, a bag is packed, a grotesque footy jumper is worn, and Kimbo paraphrases Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With The Wind when she says with salty conviction “I was a meter maid for three and a half years, and I vowed to never. Wear bad togs. Ever. Again”. Way to rock a life goal, babe.


• Cheyenne becomes, surprisingly, my instant hero with her advice to Kimbo, miraculously delivered without an eye-roll or a face-slap. “This is not a crying problem” she says. World starvation? Crying problem. Human rights injustices? Crying problem. Justin Bieber being hit in the face with a water bottle? Laughing problem. Breaking your vow to never wear a bikini again? NOT A CRYING PROBLEM. Aaaand I have my t-shirt slogan for the week. Thanks, Che-Toz.


Challenged

The Fashion Fiestas drop the girls at the Ivy for this week’s challenge, where they’re met by Shiny Alex Perry, who appears to have just smelt a fart.

It smells expensive. And a little bit like hay.

 Shiny Alex in turn introduces Megan Gale, who will today be launching her own swimwear line called “Isola”, which translated from Italian means ‘Please don’t mention Wonder Woman’. There’ll be a catwalk thang, but only seven of the nine girls will be walking, which means a “mini-casting”, which translated from Italian means ‘Let’s shatter some dreams, yeah!’.


• All the scrags walk for Shiny Alex and Megan and pose for a polaroid, causing glorious barbs like “she’s got a slug walk”, and “a little bit suburban mall fashion show” to drip from Perry’s lips like sweat from Jez Smith’s pectorals. In my dreams. The ones where he sweats and likes girls.


• Sophie and Kathryn miss out on a spot in the show – Sophie despite her protestations that “I think I look good in a bikini, not sounding up myself, but I do”, and despite the rest of the entire world nodding in reluctant but enthusiastic agreement. Kathryn is desperately upset that she didn’t get a guernsey, as it’s the second time she’s had to sit out of a catwalk challenge. Dry your eyes, honey. It’s not because you lack confidence, and it’s not because of your body shape. It’s because you turned up to a casting in a tam o’ shanter.

I can't believe I forgot my kilt.

• Just before the girls go on, Megan Gale helps them out with some handy tips scrawled on a large piece of cardboard, including the advice ‘BE A WOMAN’, presumably because there’s no  room for scrotums in bikini parades. Still, she should probably make the instructions simpler.

• The music starts, the modules are flung down the catwalk in their frilly smalls, and the judges eye them critically, some squinting more than others. Brittney, Amanda, Kelsey and Joanna – you may take your insane bodies and go away, so I can stop sobbing. Phenomenal. Jessica looks surprisingly good in swimwear, probably because her tiny, tiny chin doesn’t cast any distracting shadows on her boobs. Kimberly does well despite her No Bad Togs rule, but Chantal’s posture makes her look like a question mark. Coincidentally, it also makes her future on the show look like a question mark. YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE? No, because it’s punctuation, see, and later she’s in the bottom two, see, and… oh, shut up. Never mind.


• Joanna wins the challenge because she’s fucking good at everything. Except knowing who famous people are, and having a short distance between her eyes and mouth.

Besties

• WE GET IT. Every time you get a Sarah-Mail, you have no idea what to expect. You don’t know who the quoted celebrity is. You’re not sure what’s going on. You don’t know what might happen next. But when you’re shocked that Shiny Alex Perry turns up at a challenge? Bitch, please. When you walk into any room on this show, there will be a minimum of two things inside it – a member of the show’s judging panel, and oxygen.


• We need to have a talk about pyjamas. When the girls get up for their early morning exercise session, looking at them from left to right, it starts pretty well with regulation sponsored fluffy bathrobes all in a row. Moving a little further along, though, we see that Amanda sleeps in a onesie. A ONESIE. Is a onesie really high fashion? Is a onesie the real reason that Linda Evangelista won’t get out of bed for less than ten grand? Still, Amanda’s get-up beats the rumpled mess at the end of the row.

I dreamt that I was dragged backwards through the Homeless Bogan Discount Barn, and when I woke up, it was true!

• There is one skill that only the best, most accomplished models have. It can’t be taught, and its use is sparsely distributed. Only select models, actors and reality show contestants are able to tap into its deep and elusive power, and even then, only occasionally. It is the SCT, friends. The Solitary Crystalline Tear.

Raw talent, people. Check it.

• Last week, Sssophie hated her hair so much she had a near breakdown and added her own extensions to it. This week, because I want to close myself in a hotel room with this show and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, the powers that be decide to cut her hair even shorter. Housekeeping, please make up my room and kill my life.


Phoy-toys

• Josh meets the modules at Maroubra for their SHOCK bikini shoot on a cold, rainy day, rocking biker boots, a heavy coat, and a funny discoloured patch on the side of his head that, once seen, cannot be unseen. Photographer Pierre Toussant high-fives himself, ready to tell his mates at the pub tonight that he called the shoot ‘Bras in the ‘Bra’ and saw a girl’s bottom.


• Joanna remembers the ‘flick your hair around’ rule and waggles accordingly, commenting to camera that the photographer “wanted me to look like I’d just got out of the ocean”. A true struggle for the old acting skills, that one, considering you’d like, just got out of the ocean and all. She rocks it.


• Jessica again manages to look surprisingly sexy in a bikini, although Pierre calls her a “deer in the headlights”. Dude, her eyes are bigger than the moon. Cut her a break.


• Kimbo and Kelsey do predictably well, Brittney brings it like a basket of taut muffins to grandma’s house, and Amand-FUCKING HELL. Amanda makes me dissolve. Hot damn, woman. You need a licence for that.


• Chantal’s posture rears its ugly head again, and wishes that she would. Josh notes that “Chantal’s main weakness is the awareness of her own body”. Oh, no! Everybody knows that a model should look down and be shocked to find a torso there. Criminal! But not a crying problem. Josh tells her that it’s getting stiffer, which I’m pretty sure is the first time he’s ever said that in front of a girl.


• Sophie has the perfect body for swimwear, is given the perfect hair extensions for swimwear, and flails her biscuits around in a way that is perfect for swimwear. Kelsey imitates her on the beach by grabbing her own arse and waggling it in a critical frenzy, which is perfect for looking like a bit of a bitch. But… also a bit funny. I’m sorry, but as hard as I try, I can’t look at bitchiness without some kind of a sense of sisterhood. What, am I made of stone?


Eliminationosity

The modules, dressed for the first time this week in something other than pyjamas of wrong or bikinis, front up to the Eliminarium to be greeted by Saint Sarah, who is exhausted after a walkathon to raise awareness for the Truth In Sentencing For Celebrities Action Group. Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton are yet to offer their support.


Saint Sarah lists the prizes this year, which I think include a two-pack of washing up gloves and a bonsai tree, and then introduces the judges – guest judge Megan Gale, Charlotte Dawson, who has wrinkles and spots on her top but nowhere else, Shiny Alex Perry, who seems to be smelling a much less heinous fart now, and Chest Smith, who only has two shirt buttons undone, and is therefore dead to me. DEAD. TO. ME.


Kimberly has come as Rizzo from Grease, and Sssophie’s new haircut shows off her squiggly neck tattoo. It’s like going on a bogan discovery tour, except without any complimentary Chiko Rolls.


Photos are squizzed at, with tasty crumbs dropping on the tablecloth thusly, almost exclusively from Charlotte Dawson’s semi-mobile mouth:


• Charlotte admires Kathryn’s shot, telling her that there’s an “intense burning in her face”. I think that might just be pimple cream, but she has a point.


• I’m pretty damn sure Dawson says “fuck” to Brittney. But she’s usually so delicate and demure! My head’s in a spin.


• When Megan comments that Jessica looks great from the neck down, Charlotte says “There’s not really much of a market for headless models, though is there?”. I dunno – I didn’t think there was a market for new vampire movies to be released every fortnight for a year, and look how that turned out.


• Of Amanda, Charlotte says “She needs a fashion rocket up her arse, quicksticks”, which sounds almost glamorous. Guys, next time your girlfriend seems sheepish, just say “but baby – it’s my fashion rocket”.


• Dawson says of Brittney’s shot “She’s gone from a block of balsa wood to a bombshell”. So she sinks now, is what you’re saying.


The judges deliberate and Saint Sarah starts picking off girls one by one until only Kimbo (who needs to separate the personal from the professional) and Chantal (who has lost her warmth and bubble) remain.


An hour and a half passes, and Chantal is pushed of the cliff. Kersplash!


Bye, Chantal! Remember to be amazeballs on your way out, my little question mark!






Next week, the scrags do some go-sees in Melbourne in posh frocks, and are asked to crawl on the floor on their hands and knees. Getting down. Fancy gown. Brown Town.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Six #3

When hair is in the shower drain, it’s revolting. When hair is in your goat-cheese-and-marinated-artichoke panini, it’s downright vomitous (and, let’s be honest, a bit of a wank). When hair is on your bikini-line, it’s been a while between boyfriends. But when hair is on a wannabe model, it’s NON-STOP HISTRIONIC HILARITY. Welcome, coiffure comrades, to the ‘I Wanna F*ck You Like A Follicle’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model.



You get me closer to Oh My God.


Skin-Tight Budget
This is the section of the recap that explores, with keen awareness of fiscal trends and a calculator fixed to the ON/C position, the limitations of the Top Model production budget. Results are calibrated by qualified actuaries and double-checked by NASA engineers. After extensive research and an HB pencil worn down to the nub, the results of this week’s cost-cutting machinations are as follows:


Brittney’s hair extensions.


Thank you, that is all.


Me Talky Proper And That

Because modules and that talk good.


• When Sophie kicks up a stink about her impending haircut, Josh comments that “She’s very attached to her hair”. A tumbleweed stops rolling down the street for a second, looks up, and says “duh”.


• As guests arrive at the challenge party, Chantal gushes “I was so excited because people were walking in”. Also exciting to Chantal: milk products, hexagons and the colour blue.


• When Amanda makes a mistake during the challenge, she says “I know I’m gonna get kicked at elimination. Fair up the clacker”.* I would love to go to a fair up the clacker. I’d steer well clear of the Dagwood Dogs, though.



Make Me Over, Red Rover

I love three things about life. Gin, cheese, and makeover episodes.*


• First, Josh turns up at the Module Mansion in a two-tone tuxedo jacket and tells the girls that this week will be all about hair. Sophie says “I was so nervous, because I didn’t know what was going to happen”. Well, my darling, considering every third word out of Josh’s mouth is ‘hair’, and considering hair makeovers occur in episode 3 of every Top Model series in every country on every planet since the dawn of time, I’m guessing it’s something to do with horse-riding and popcorn.


• Josh introduces last year’s winner and person upon whom all adorable things are now modelled, Tahnee, who is here to direct the modules’ ‘before’ shots. After telling the girls how pretty they look, she then says “Before we take the before shots, we’re going to keep it real and take all your make-up off with this Nivea product placement opportunity”. SO ADORABLE. She then encourages everyone to ham it up in front of the camera, even suggesting that Kathryn try a “Paris Hilton mug shot”. I’m not certain that mentioning ham, Paris Hilton and photography in the same breath is a totally good idea. Jessica misunderstands and channels Lindsay Lohan instead.

This is what I think of your three months in jail, bitches.

• The Fashion Fiestas drop the girls off at the Joh-tox Bailey salon in Double Bay, where they each learn their follicular fate.


o Joanna, Ashton and Kathryn all have their hair parted exactly one millimetre further to the left than usual. Joh Bailey charges them three thousand dollars.


o Kelsey is given a dense fringe and a tousled, ‘rock chick’ mane. Like Suzi Quatro, perhaps, or Ella Hooper. Or y’know – any of the other short ones.


o Chantal isn’t rapt with her darker shade and new style, saying it makes her feel like an old woman, and that “I think a model should not need to cover her face, because she’s beautiful, that’s why she’s a model”. And on page two of Chantal’s Big Book Of Circular Arguments, we discover that cans of beans should have beans inside, because they are beans, and that’s what makes them cans of beans. I think it looks amazeballs. Yeah, that’s right. Amazeballs. Because I have just bought a thesaurus from the Things The Kids Are Saying These Days book co-op.


o Kimbo says she has to pee, so excited is she about her new short, red ‘do. Depends and Huggies start a bidding war for advertising space for the rest of the series. Kimberly’s hair takes a while to grow on me (Ha! Grow on me! I’m kind of like Pun Santa), but I only have to look at her ‘before’ shot for a second or two to register the massive improvement. Kathryn comments that she “doesn’t look like a Gold Coast bogan any more”. The Gold Coast Tourism Board cancels their advertising spots for the rest of the series.


o Jessica’s hair becomes straight and sleek with a dense fringe, which somehow manages to make her chin look even smaller. It’s like she borrowed her chin from a photograph of someone standing on the horizon.


o Brittney is given masses of hair extensions which gives her what Josh calls ‘Versace hair’. Hey wow, my hair’s dead too! I totally have Versace hair! That’s exciting.


o Sophie is so angry about her slightly-darker, slightly-shorter haircut that she almost gets some natural colour in her face. She says “I feel right now not myself”, to which Yoda responds “Get over it, you should”. She pouts. She cries. She complains to her mum that she doesn’t feel hot any more (but sure, we’ve all done that). Once back at the house, she cuts up some blonde extensions she brought along in her suitcase (but sure, we’ve all done that) and attaches them to her head. ATTACHES HER SPARE EXTENSIONS TO HER HEAD. She says that “the end goal of this procedure is to have some blonde showing through”. Honey. Your name is Sophie, you pronounce your esses like a hissing kettle and you wear thigh-high suede boots. You could have your head in an opaque bucket full of tar and there’d still be blonde showing through. Joanna says what we’re all thinking about this scenario. Joanna smacks herself in the face with a notebook.

In the modelling world, this is known as 'reading'.

Challenged

A Sarah-Mail arrives containing a quote from Lou Reed. Now, if you look at your watches, you’ll see that the big hand is on the Brittney Doesn’t Know Who Lou Reed Is, and the little hand is on Face Palm. Joanna, would you like to do the honours?

Thank you.

The scrags are whisked to the Overseas Passenger Terminal in the Fashion Fiestas, where Josh (whose theme this week is ‘lapels’) informs them that they’ll be taking part in a party for Vivid Sydney, a festival curated by Lou Reed. Brittney says “It was exciting to find out that he was there. But I still don’t know who he is”. This is like a blind man being excited about buying Ansel Adams negatives in a garage sale or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like Ke$ha being excited about a new range of whore-reducing spray.


In front of 400 guests, the modules are required to be part of a “living light sculpture”, which entails standing very, very still in futuristic, bedazzled post-punk garb, throwing shapes and not talking to a douche with a microphone who thinks it’s a good idea to interview them while they’re being watched and judged by Saint Sarah and Emma Balfour.


All the girls are given bright orange, teased hairpieces to wear, which Sophie describes as “rank” and adds articulately “They look like pom poms like cheerleading or something”. Josh warns them all that there should be no “scratching, touching or fiddling with these hairpieces”. You know what could quickly and easily solve that problem, Josh?

And you call yourself a stylist.

Kimbo proves that it’s not just her hair that’s all sophisticated and shit now, it’s also her vocabulary. “I got to wear this high-waisted, suede, push-studded g-string diaper-looking thing. I was rather uncomfortable wearing it because I had this cow going up my backside”. Aaaand that would be me having an aneurism caused by the sudden rush of jokes to my head.


Now, I know that watching a bunch of tease-haired modules standing still for two hours may sound interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by the crumbs in the bottom of my toaster. Kelsey wins the challenge. Kimbo thinks she should have won the challenge. Next.


Besties
• I’m ninety-eight percent certain that Sssophie spends her entire life with her flesh-coloured mouth wide open. Fine if you’re trying to attract gentlemen who enjoy holding onto your ears, but perhaps not so fine if you’re trying to avoid people asking you if you’re going to the Emerald City via the Yellow Brick Road to ask the Wizard for some courage.

Tell me I'm wrong.

• When the weekly challenge is over, Josh says “Okay, girls – job’s finished, but I need you to leave like models”. Be sure to leave a trail of broken hearts and vomit, now.


• If you’re short (like Kelsey) and you really want to be taller (like Kelsey does), you know what works? Lying on the floor and getting people to pull on your arms and legs. And you know what I’m doing right now? Not telling the truth.


Phoy-toys
The main two things you need to know about this week’s close-up, mostly bare-shouldered beauty shoot are:


1. That the photographer is Jason Capobianco, who is welcome in my pants anytime; and


2. That the stylist is Claudia Navone, whose accent, as soon as it’s medically possible, will be installed as the voice in my head. Remember: it’s not a “hairdo”. It’s a “her-dew”. Sigh.


• Say what you like about Sophie, she’s fucking beautiful. There. I just said everything I like about Sophie.


• Ashton’s shots are fantastic. Fantastic for an ad campaign for Quaaludes.


• Amanda can just pack up all her gorgeous in some matching luggage and go to hell. I love this woman. Granted, I’m pretty much a sucker for anyone who says “fair up the clacker”, but goddamn. Claudia agrees, commenting that Amanda is a “vanderful sooprise”. Oh, Claudia.


• Joanna, with an off-centre towering bun, an editorial boob-clutch and a sly wink, causes Claudia to comment that she is a “leedle meenx”. Oh, Claudia.


• Kathryn does her usual magic trick of being borderline meh until she steps in front of a camera, when she becomes amazing. Chantal has trouble relaxing her lips, and Brittney looks great during the shoot, but her final photo is lacklustre. LIKE HER EXTENSIONS.


• Kelsey rocks the mo-freakin’ bejeezus out of her shoot, causing Claudia to compare her to a lioness and say “I fink Kailsee ees dynamite”. No you are, Claudia. You are.


• Jessica’s final shot is stunning. She’s growing on me every week. Growing like her chin isn’t.


• Kimbo gets upset when Josh tells her she’s over-thinking things and advises her to turn her brain off. She would, but the off switch is located between her buttocks, and there’s still a cow up there.


Eliminationosity

The scrags sashay into the Eliminarium, where they’re greeted by Saint Sarah in a gorgeous fifties-style black and white number, who only just makes it in time from a fundraiser for the Suddenly Unemployed Photo-Retouchers Foundation. Membership fluctuates considerably. Saint Sarah dutifully lists the prizes, which I think this year include an eight-piece saucepan set and a novelty barbecue apron, and then introduces the judges. Charlotte Dawson is wearing leopard across her boobs and cougar everywhere else, guest judge Emma Balfour actually has some interesting input, and Chest Smith is in a black t-shirt with a v-neck that reaches to the earth’s core, matched with a military-style jacket. Sir, yes sir, Major Chest! Three bags full, Major Chest! Except there are just two bags full. Full of nipples. Shiny Alex Perry has his shirt buttoned higher than usual, presumably as a white flag surrender to Chest Smith’s magnificent lumps. He’s been busy making facial hair schnitzel, though, and was nice enough to give me the recipe – take a cue ball, dip it in egg wash and flour, then buff it and roll it in stubble. Garnish with sunglasses.


Photos are flashed, girls are grilled, and the deliberation begins, with the usual generous dollops of awesome:


• Charlotte says of Ashton’s shot: “I don’t feel any emotion, it’s just dead”. At least, I think she’s talking about Ashton’s shot, and not the nerve endings in her own forehead. Either/or.


• Running on a general botox theme, Shiny Alex says of Kathryn’s shot that he “admires anyone who can cock one eyebrow”. Pfffft. He said “cock”. During deliberation, he also adds that Kathryn is “filthy expensive”. This phrase will be on a t-shirt I will be wearing within the hour.


• Shiny Alex then describes Brittney as “a lump in a photo”. I love it when Shiny Alex drags out his ‘lump’. Oh. Wow. I see how that sounds now. Sorry.


• Of Kelsey, Charlotte comments “The only problem here is that Alex is going to call her a midget”. Alex says “She’s a midget”. I love this show.


The modules swish their way back into the room, and Saint Sarah calls their names until only Ashton and Brittney remain. Ashton is told that her beauty is not translating into her work, and Brittney is told that she’s taking small steps, but that the judges need to see big steps. Lady, she’s like, fourteen feet tall. She takes big steps just by chewing.


A year and a half passes, and Ashton is pushed off the cliff. Ker-splash! Bye, Ashton. Mind you don’t mess up your barely-perceptible haircut on the way out.


Next week, some stuff happens, some other stuff happens, and I forgot to watch the bit that tells me what happens next week. Sad. Mad. My bad.






* Yes, yes, I know the correct spelling is ‘cloaca’. You do realise this is a blog about teenage models, right? What are you even doing here? Why don’t you go read the encyclopaedia or something, geek-features?


**Penises are pretty good, too.