FANDANGO

MUSCLED MY way into the Company magazine eligible bachelor ball do at the Cafe de Paris last week, for a few reasons, really: a) because I heard they had TV cameras there and I wanted to jump up and down behind all the attractive girls with a little sign saying "Hi Mum!" (I haven't seen her for ages); b) to have a quick shifty (that's a look) at the men; c) the drink was free; and d) I knew Chris Quintin would be there (he'll attend the opening of an envelope) and I couldn't possibly turn down the opportunity of seeing him. So there we were, me and friend, sipping wine at the bar while each EB was paraded before us by Miss Melinda Messenger. They ranged from rugby and basketball players to the buying director of Office shoes (mmm, I thought, could come in handy when I want to feed my shoe habit) and the proprietor of Fish Hairdressing in Soho, who I have to say got my vote, not just for his cheeky chappie personality, but for dropping his trousers and showing us his derriere. I then discovered it was to win a bet and get the odd bit of publicity for his salon and new products. The extent some people will go to.

Basically, Paul I-like-to-flash-my-behind Burfoot, of Fish in Soho, cuts the locks of Robbie Williams, Eddie Izzard and Johnny "Cor!" Vaughan. Even though he has a celebrity clientele, he's no snob, but an approachable South London bloke who takes his Saturday afternoons off to watch Chelsea. There's no snotty behaviour or intimidation in his salon. Never mind if you can't get down to London, you can be part of Paul's world by purchasing from Superdrug, no less, his very own and very new Fish styling wax, super serum, and wax shampoo at around pounds 5. Go treat yourself.

I admit that I've been less than complimentary about the odd celeb in the past, but one young lady I feel some kind of loyalty to is Miss Zoe Ball - it has nothing to do with the fact we have the same names, it's that I'm sick of seeing pics of her looking less than glamourous at 3am in the morning. Is there some confusion here? Zoe is not leaving some groovy night-club at this hour, but going to work. Admittedly she gets paid a fortune but this does not, however, mean she has to look absolutely fantastic.

Last week I wrote that I spotted Tim Roth at trendy new restaurant in that West-Portobello-on-the-Grove-near-The Hill kinda area. Then this week I was tippy-toeing around the streets of Soho as you do when on appointments, in search of the latest creations to cover the Real Life pages with, and there, smack ban in the window of yet another posh eating joint, was Mr Roth again. So I thought, sod it, and I squashed my face up to the window, even though I wasn't looking my best (I've got a little spot, but I thought he won't notice or care), glanced around at all the lovely food on all the plates, while doing my best to get his attention, but he unfortunately didn't bat an eyelid, so I came back to the real world and went about my business. Timmy, I'm not stalking you - promise.

Speaking of spots, since my little outbreak last week, I thought I'd better find something that could resolve my nightmare. Lets face it, vain or not, it's hardly the best look in the world and one likes to be rid of these terrors as soon as one can. Yah! Anyway my secret - not for much longer - is Eve Lom's Dynamite Lotion. A combination of oils, including fennel, are used to dry out the little bleeders while camomile soothes and calms and tea tree oil acts as a natural antiseptic. Once applied, Dynamite dries to a powdery consistency so it's best applied at night. I can, however, guarantee that in the morning a miracle will have happened - you will be spotless and fancy free. Dynamite Lotion, pounds 14.50, is available from Space NK, 307 Kings Road, London SW3, 0171 636 2523.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about Ashley from Coronation Street and how he sounds like he has inhaled too much helium when he speaks. Well, it seems like he's started a trend: just recently (when I popped over to Paris for the weekend), I visited Les Bains Douches nightclub and noticed a group of people inhaling helium from a huge canister. (Despite the fact that helium inhalation can cause death, some people do it for a buzz.) So it doesn't only make you sound like a complete fool, it makes you look like one too.