Why it should have been me naked on Grammy’s red carpet with Kanye and not Bianca Censori

In the tub-trumping words of the 70s Motown Legend Yvonne Fair: It should have been me.

Oh, but it was ass naked on the red carpet on Grammys Sunday night, where he narrowly avoided arrest and collected widespread public humiliation/pity.

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September 7, 2008 – Night Kanye West, alias the one who escaped, asked me out.

And an evening that could have changed the course of the Showbusiness story forever, but for a cruel, cruel fate.

To summarize, it was the MTV Awards in Liverpool, and I was there in my role as a dishonest gossip -spalge.

Before that night, I had never shown any remote interest in Kanye West and TBH would not have recognized him if he had bowled over to me singing gold diggers, with a lanyard carrying “Kanye West” around his neck.

After the awards that had seen Beyonce, Katy Perry, Pink and Take That Perform, (unfortunately I had a little when Kanye sang), and several glasses of champagne down, a small man continued to make eye contact at the after-party.

Wearing a borrowed D&G dress, I politely smiled back to the sweet man who grabbed a nice glass of whiskey in VIP.

Minutes later, a huge security guard knocked me on the shoulder and said my presence was requested in the VIP area.

I was duly controlled behind the velvet stop and plonet in front of a man that I still couldn’t recognize as Kanye.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked laconically.

Answer, I asked him about his. He looked at me strangely and said nothing.

“Cat got your tongue?” I continued, inexplicably. “Just tell me your name, you are weird.”

“You’re funny,” he replied, not smiling.

At the time I was parched, and without champagne to be seen, I handed over and picked his glass from his hand.

From here I lowered the contents of one before giving him an empty crystal tumbler back.

He looked a little stunned. “So where is Kanye?” I asked, ever the crack reporter.

(This story doesn’t get better for me, fyi, no matter how many times I repeat it.)

‘So where is Kanye’

“Huh?” He said and quickly lost patience with the obviously crazy, minesweeping blonde in front of him.

Two flunkies then came over asking Kanye if he needed anything.

Realization went up, creepy when he got someone to pick me up my own drink.

We then held painful little talk in the next few minutes-taking the actual kanye asked what my after-after-party plans were.

Half an hour later, a bodyguard came over, took my phone and asked me to recite my number. I made it so excited.

I was 26. I didn’t think marriage or babies. Or even a snog.

Love for my next 36 hours

But I was aware that going on a date with Kanye West would create a good dinner party story one day.

And then my Nokia battery died.

For the next two hours, I pace the room, where I asked for a phone charger-this was 2008, HUSK-OVERSED the love of my next 36 hours was feverish messaging and calling.

To get back to my hotel room at. 4 and connecting the stupid thing back, I waited with bated break. Nada.

It was clear that West had moved on.

This is where my story ends. His continues, though.

Lucky Escape

While I may have had a lucky escape, I feel for his poor wife – the ironically named Bianca Censori; A woman who needs to be censored before she can perform in a family newspaper.

Sunday tonight’s Debakel was painful to look at.

No one knows what’s going on behind closed doors, but clearly the American singer is a troubled man.

I also especially think of his two daughters with Kim Kardashian, a woman who made her name with a sex band.

And now they have Bianca as a role model.

With his own fashion brand, Kanye is a self -formed fashion guru.

So why wasn’t he in five inch stilettos with his winkle hanging out?

Because men like Kanye West are about control – and I have pity for anyone who gets in the way of their way.

Cher has literally a new baby

So Cher found the love of his life in the age of the great Olympics.

Her whippersnapper, a guy who is not long out of short pants, is a music exercise called Alexander Edwards.

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He is 38 years old.

Presumably, my very own soulmate is busy reciting Humpty Dumpty in a diaper while I write. . .

Carry behind you, Kate

Catherine Middleton has played an absolute blind.

The princess of Wales’s dictation that flunkies no longer tells the media what – or who, as Posh people say – she’s wearing, is long, long too late.

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By getting people to focus on her work, not her £ 400 booth frock, she helps with a hand pull Buckingham Palace kicking and screaming out of the 20th century.

The breathless obsession for each sartorial spit and cough of Kate’s clothes – £ 3.99 Accessories Earrings !! The woman of the people !! £ 3,000 Alexander McQueen Dress !!! She is so patriotic !! etc – is as boring as it is weird.

Sure she has done plenty to increase the sale of lesser known Brit designers by showing their goods, but that’s what googles for.

From memory I couldn’t tell you that the brand of a single suit William has carried. However, I am aware of his great homeless initiative, his mental health campaign work and environmental earthquake award.

Obviously, Kate, who has so brave and publicly fought cancer, has had a waking call: Life is short.

Let her get to work in jam -colored pajamas if she wishes. It really doesn’t matter.

But her heritage does.

Gen Z makes it

It’s not often I agree with Gen Z, but in this case they are bang on.

A vote from 18 to 27-year-olds showed that more than two-thirds believed that sex offenders should be castrated.

For a generation famous soft when it comes to most daily practice-thinking WFH, tetotalism, work/life “balance”, journals and “raw-dog” (goes on long-distance trips without headphones or screens so to be “at the moment”) – They have a particular hard line when it comes to morality.

Which is no bad thing.

Miss taking

Ah, what fresh bulls ** t is this, daily telegraph?

The Snooty Broad sheets ran an article that declared and I quote: “If a woman wants to achieve the ultimate status of power, she has to get married.

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“Honestly, if you want to be taken seriously, you have to be Mrs. rather than a Mrs.”

Right.

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But if one had to tie the knot. . . Oh to be Mrs. Crapo.

The unfortunately named US Senator Mike Crapo, the consultation was dealing last week to consider the appointment of controversial Robert F Kennedy as health secretary.

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A Jabs army …

How reassuring. About 500 prescriptions for Fatjabs are awarded for front line troops.

Our wingful warriors if you want.

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The drugs have been signed at the same time as exercises are scaled back and equipment purchases are canceled to save money.

Call me old -fashioned, but I want to think of my armed forces running over walls and sprinting up enemy hills.

Do not cling clumps of meat between their portly digits and throw their mummies in the morning.