We are famous. Who are you?

I thought we were the ones supposed to be on crack?!? What. The. Fuck. Get that crazy lass and her aliens away from me. I hear outer space is nice this time of year.

I need to get laid. What else is new?

Dear world,

I am a married man. Honeymoon is wonderful.

Regards, Elton (now married)

I currently spend my days counting money with lawsuits. First those gay rumours, now a crazy stalker. Why can't people leave me alone? Oh wait. Because I'm handsome, talented and adored by so many. Could be worse.

Go and buy my latest single Advertising Space. Written by Stephen and me. ME! I. WRITE. SONGS. Amongst other things.

One week in the life of a real popstar. Things to do:

• Enter the charts of most European countries (Austria, Denmark, Germany, Holland, Ireland, Italy,Switzerland, UK) and some others (Arabia, Argentinia, Australia, Hong Kong, New Zealand, Taiwan) on #1, some more on #2 (France, Spain, Portugal, Norway) with new album - Check.


• Be proclaimed the UK's best selling singer so far this century - Check.
  
• Win an award at MTV Europe for 'Best Male' and grace the audience with a spectacular perfomrance - Check.


• Sign a fashion deal with trendy label - Check.


• Receive praise from cowriter Stephen for being a genius and 'incredibly talented lyrically and melodically' - Check.

Will use my own words to comment: It's hard to be humble when you're so fucking big.

I am so, so glad this tour is over not that a lot of people went, anyway, hey, who said pop was making a comeback?, it means I can spend time with my mom and dad and brother and sister. Hey, did you know my brother looks like Donny Osmond? How cool is that?! (He got all the good looks in the family.) Other than that, nothing interesting has been going on my life, omg. It's so BORING. I think I might move back to Florida so I can go to Disney World every other day.

How's everyone else?

This week I decided to step out in Jude's hat, Heath's shoes, Sean's blazer, Daniel's scarf, Leo's top, and Orlando's leggings.



I think I look like a fabulous female boho version of Oliver Twist, don't you?

Eve showed me some presents she bought for Esther's birthday next Monday. One was a very nice dress, so cute and fit for my wee girl. It's a light yellow, with... lots of red and white... petals on it. I had to step outside for a few minutes.

I still can't believe Hayden will spend the next 99 years in New York. Okay, not 99 years, but it will feel like it. Two movies in a row! So what I'm doing now is trying to come up with a good excuse for me to spend some days of hot and sweaty shagging in New York. The excuse must be so good that everyone will swallow it without the slightest doubt. My family, friends, agent, colleagues and - Eve.

Of course I can't think of an excuse good enough. My ideas so far:

- Try to talk Charley into a Long Way Round reprise. Who wants to go to Africa, anyway? I say, we do London-New York again. Problem: Charley won't fall for it. And he already read Out of Africa and wants to see the Blixen plantation (CHRIST).
- Research for some coming movie project? Problem: Eve knows my work scheme too well.
- I'm doing this year's Christmas shopping in New York! Problem: Eve would want to come, too. So much for hot and sweaty shagging. If I want hot and sweaty shagging with me wifey, I don't even have to leave the house.
- I say I'll visit Sienna. Problem: NOBODY would buy it.

That leaves me with one alternative only. Hayden must come to London when he has some days off. Problem: discussion will go like:

Ewan: "Darling, can Hayden please stay with us for a few days?"
Eve: "What? Mais Ewan, he spent almost the whole summer here!"
Ewan: "Yes, but you know I promised..."
Eve: "Qui, I know you offered him a place to stay when he's in London, but isn't he in New York?"
Ewan (imagine me, eyes WIDE in surprise): "New York? Now, is he, really? Blimey! I had no idea! And I was thinking about going to New York soon to... to... to..."
Eve: "Forget it."

I don't know what to do. All I have left is this. And my Revenge of the Sith copy. I hope you have bought one, too. I need money to hire a double who'll replace me while I'm in N.Y.

There is truly no rest for the wicked.

Last night I was foiled in my attempt to scale Oprah's mammoth fence and intrude the fiend's property. I miscalculated!! How could I have been so STUPID? I, using just some fishing line and my love for 'tology as a guide, climbed up the electric fence that surrounds the perimeter of Oprah's yard. It was only my intention to steal what is rightfully mine (I will get into that later, yes, that deserves its own essay and you all need to know), and I was just about to gracefully glide over the threshold when my foot lost its grip and I went crashing down into a pile of dobermans.

I stayed perfectly still. I thought maybe their vision was based on movement. They snarled and tested my integrity, and I snarled back. I wasn't going to be played a fool by my canine adversaries.

I then began to crawl slowly away, appeasing the mongrels with a t-bone steak that I brought Just in Case, and began spelunking Orpah's terrain. The soil was fertile, too fertile. I can only imagine the disgustingly illegal contraband she is cultivating!

It wasn't until I was maneuvering myself under her bed when I was knocked unconscious, ressucitated (quite immorally, I might add, there is a lawsuit in my attacker's very near future), and then dragged kicking and screaming back to base camp. I was handed a restraining order, and I ripped it up and spat on it. Ho ho, Ope!! You cannot defeat me!

I am quite sore today.

The wedding plans are well. I know you're all dying to pat me on the back for knocking Snaggle up. I really appreciate whoever sent me that exploding cigar... very festive. I was very amused, right on!!

I'm afraid I have been slacking on handing out pamphlets. Ah, life. They have been updated now anyway, they are now interactive with dancing holographic Scratch'n'Sniff L. Ron Hubbard images. Fun times, it was my idea. YEAH!!!

It is not fair to stand alone and be so surrounded.

Becks rang today. I'm still not sure why. He's a great lad, David Beckham, what an idol. I adore him. Like he adores me. Funny. It took us long enough to overcome our mutual awkwardness and stop communicating per agents and offcial letters and finally talk to each other. Now we're something like mates, but Becks, he's... uh, it's not easy with him. It went a bit like this:

Me: "Hullo?"
Becks: "Rob? It's me. David. Beckham. I, uh, David Beckham."
Me: "Hey, mate. How's tricks?"
Becks: "What tricks?"
Me: "Uh, never mind. I saw the match last night. Good for you you're back in the team."
Becks: "Yes... I was injured before. It hurt. Very much."
Me: "I know. But you're better now, right?"
Becks: "No. They stole me Beamer. Bastards. My poor car. All alone now."
Me: "What a shame. I'm sorry."
Becks: "And, and, and they all tease me because I like your music. Rob! I think I'd rather play with you than with them."
Me: "Stupid wankers. Ignore them."
Becks: "But they're in my team! And they tease me all the time!! And Vic's only interested in buying another posh house and doesn't even let me wear her knickers anymore!!!"
Me: "David..."
Becks: "Sorry, mate. I... sorry. How are you?"
Me: "Good. Preparing for tomorrow's award show in Portugal."
Becks: "Portugal? But that's... I'm in Spain! We're neighbours then! For a while. Isn't that exciting?"
Me: "Uh. Yes. Splendid."
Becks: "We'll be so very close. Terrific! We... Uh oh. I have to go, Rob. Brooklyn's calling."
Me: "Me too. Lisbon's calling."
Becks: "But... since when do you have children?"
Me: "I don't. I really have to go, mate. Cheers."
Becks: "Ta!"

See what I mean? There's a reason I don't like playing Scrabble with him.

I am WOMAN man hear me roar! ROOOAAARR.
I'm in group therapy, it's for people who aren't comfortable with themselves. When I go I wear this cute little micromini I borrowed from Janet, oh my god it is SO SEXY. And then I top it off with a tunic top and maybe some of the chunky glasses, for that new trendy boho look.. like MK&A I lloove them. I do this in the hopes that they won't recognize me.
It's our little secret. Tee hee!

I putting a great big jack-o-lantern in front of my house tonight and it looks exactly like me.. not that I look like a pumpkin..

I truly think Halloween is my real birthday.

Bloody fantastic. You show your dick and the money rolls in. I must use that for a song.

I'll show you
My precious knob
And you'll see
I *am* that hot
You want to suck
You want to lick
I want to die, but before I do
I'll let you have my dick

Praise it, hate it, love it, leave it
Touch it, eat it, suck it, tease it
Whatever you do, you know it's true
My dick's a bitch and so are you

Stephen's going to love it. Can I kick it? Yes, I can.

The internet is a strange place. You neglect it for a few weeks, because you're a very busy man who has several jobs at once, a family to feed, awards to accept, friends to dine with take care of and lovers to teach. Then you come back to your so-called online diary and notice that all your little pics (icons, avatars, whatever you call them), well, all those pics that you scanned and resized and brightened in all those many long hours when you told your wife you were working are gone. Who wasn't asked? Me. As usual. The story of my life.

This is to tell you that I am doing okay. Thanks to all people out there who worried and sent me lovely fanmail (and asked me to join other online places, I feel very honoured, but as you can see, I can barely keep up with this one thing here). I tried to answer you all, but I had some trouble accessing my computer Eve locked it down, I think it was a virus or something. But it seems to be fixed so I'll try to be around whenever I get the chance.

What else happened? The usual. As you might've noticed, the Bond debate has come to an end. I don't really want to comment on this subject, since everybody knows I never cared about it, aye? But still, this is the most hilarious piece of shite I've read in a long time:

'James Bond' bosses reportedly rejected 007 contender Ewan McGregor because he's "too short" to play the dashing spy. A leaked email allegedly says the 5ft 10 hunk was thought to be too little to play Bond, according to reports. The memo from Barbara Broccoli's Eon Productions also detailed why other stars in the running to play Bond were ruled out. It said 'X-Men' hunk Hugh Jackman was "too fey", while Irish hellraiser Colin Farrell was deemed to be "too sleazy". Eric Bana was written off as "not handsome enough".

One Two Three tiny comments from me.
1. Craig is 5'11''. That is 1 inch. In words: ONE.
2. Poor Eric. That's a fucked up thing to say.
3. No more Broccoli is going to be served in the McGregor mansion, ever. Clara will be happy.

But it really doesn't bother me at all. I'm fine, cheers. Apart from the two weeks post-Bond-depression that, I spent three or four days laughing about the rumour of Jude going on a biketrip with Charley and I. Jude. In the wild. On a bike. For weeks without women, conditioner and the latest edition of GQ. As if.

Now you know I'm still doing fine, no need to worry, aye? And if you'd excuse me, this bloody rabbit I gave Esther in a fit of fatherly love escaped yet again. Guess who's going to catch it. "C'était your idea, Ewan, non?" Christ.

I'm on a healing hol. Lovely island - lots of fucking pretty colours. I'm staying in one of those hut thingies. It's got stilts and everything. So fucking exotic.

Hey, here's a good tip for when you go to the beach: A sand dollar may look like a nice low-fat cracker that someone left, but trust me, it doesn't taste like it.

I ... miss complaining about life.

You know, if people are going to be focused on me then they should focus on the stuff that makes them feel sorry for me. I am a Hollywood starlet now! Not only do I have to worry about my wretched wonderful singing voice, but now I have to worry about being sexy ALL THE TIME, which is why I am now on a Hollywood blowfest healthy diet. I don't think anyone realizes what it's like to be a star! I can't go out without makeup, I have to keep my cocaine habit attitude under control; there's just so much pressure!

Not to mention, the evil paparrazi can be really mean. They tend to over exaggerate things! I had one drink that night, the guy I'm with is totally not hot, but awesome in bed like a brother to me, and my wedding ring is off because it got in the way when I snort my coke my finger is swollen.

People just don't understand.

Who would have thought that with Terry Gilliam directing, the movie would have been such a flop, you know?

It was fun to make, at least. I think I'll go polish my oscar.