Sophie’s Choice

Posted by Lara Masters at 11:59 on 14 Jul 2009

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Lara meets Sophie Ellis-Bextor; “She likes a flowy dress and she’s got a nice set of pipes on her."

I suppose I'm going to continue bumping into the world’s most gorgeous women aren't I? Confronting my self-image issues in counselling has just opened up a fat ol’can of worms - although worms are possibly not the most appropriate metaphor for describing the likes of Elle Macpherson and Sophie E-B – maybe - it’s uncorked a magnum of Crystal (not that I’ve sampled this elixir but I hear models and rappers drink it and its got like diamonds in it.)

As mentioned in previous blog, at the launch of the new Jaguar XJ, I met the bodacious Elle to the M-A-C to the P. Well, what I didn’t mention - because you can only squeeze so much gorgeousness per square inch into each blog - is that no sooner had I recovered from this intergalactic encounter then I was nose to navel with the cherubic and sublime Sophie Ellis-Bextor.

Sophie had come to DJ and it might have been Murder on the Dancefloor had I not been quite so dedicated to my counselling sessions, especially as I once had a boyfriend that I was very in love with who made it known to me he fancied her (then failed to follow it up with the obligatory; "But you're so much hotter." Idiot. He didn’t get to Take Me Home that night.)  

Actually, I’ve met Miss E-B before because a few years ago I worked with her dad, (a top TV producer,) on "Forbidden Pleasures" – an excellent documentary exploring whether sex was a human right and should be “provided” for people who are severely disabled - like in Amsterdam where some sex workers offer discounted rates to disabled clients - because they much prefer having sex with them than their able-bodied clients who are not as creative or interesting.

So, the dancefloor was deserted except for me and my friend who were tearing it up to the chunes spun by Sophie and her charming husband Richard Jones (guitarist in The Feeling) who DJ together as “Me and Mrs Jones”. And I had to wonder if the prospect of being able to use such a witty name for their double act didn’t sweeten the whole getting married deal. Not that I’m suggesting the deal would need sweetening, I mean possibly they just genuinely love each other and that’s why they got hitched. I hear it happens. Just not to me. But that’s not because God hates me. It’s just we all have our paths to travel - you pick up this kind of thing in therapy - and some paths include finding your one true love, mating for life and being blissfully happy. And other paths take you in the direction of a heart-breaking entanglement with someone you thought you knew but didn’t - and then when you did, wished you didn't again - and that's another month in therapy.

I digress; Sophie invited me to come and see her gigging at Shoreditch House on Sunday, so I did. She has a mellifluous voice and is very comfortable in front of an audience with her very attractive all-male band. At one point her four-year-old, Sonny, ran on stage and grabbed her leg so she was hopping around trying to shimmy sexily with a child attached to her thigh. She managed to pull it off. The dancing, not the child, who was now crying (possibly from sheer exasperation at the pride of gay guys who had overtaken the dancefloor leaving no room for Sonny to wield his bejewelled pirate sword. There is clearly a joke about sword fighting and gay guys in there somewhere but phallus humour is trickier when there’s a four year old in the mix.)

So, this week's therapy has learnt me that beautiful women such as Elle MacP and Sophie E to the B do not necessarily need to be exterminated on sight. In fact, it's useful to have such specimens around because when your boyfriend says he fancies them and doesn't immediately qualify this with a; “But no woman will ever compare to you..." as he gets down on bended knee and produces a decent-sized rock – you know the guy is a jerk and you can get on with the business of finding your one true love who will of course be impervious to other women’s charms. And will never tell you your friend has “a hot little body.” Unless in the context of; “I might have thought your friend had a hot little body – before I met you.” God. It’s not that frickin’ difficult.

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