Who the hell would want to be a model? Seriously it’s the most over glamorised profession in the world. Not only are the people behind the scenes total divs, as Channel 4’s documentary The Model Agency shows, but the people paid to waltz along the catwalk in clothes nobody will ever buy are modelled by folk that could easily work in a fast food restaurant.

Well that isn’t exactly true, some models do become household names like Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell.

One of the younger stars of the modelling world is Daisy Lowe. She’s currently going out with geeky looking Matt Smith, aka the bloke who goes back in time in Dr. Who(GivesAShit). She’s also escaped the clutches of hipster musician Mark Ronson, so she can look after herself.

Like every other person in the modelling world, she walks, stops and strikes a pose like she’s sucking on a lemon stuffed with extra strong mints. Nothing exciting you’d say, but in vaguely riveting news, she’s expressed an interest in fancying women!

Okay you perverts, close your eyes and get some man sized tissues at the ready, we’re about to write something that’ll be more erotic than when you watch Babestation and try to work out what filth their muttering down the line.

Daisy Lowe has told a deep and personal secret to GQ magazine that she will now get people tugging furiously away in some sort of sordid fantasy.

Daisy Lowe told GQ that her lust for the same sex started when she visited the Coachella music festival last year. Did the heat of the Californian send her in a frenzy and towards her own female kind? No, she ended up bumping in to fellow airhead model Kelly Brook who is also quite an attractive lady and yet another person who doesn’t respond to our letters.

Don’t worry filth fans, there were no awkward fumbles in the toilets, instead Daisy Lowe just generally thought the same as most men. Asked by GQ what she thought of Kelly Brook, the response was “such a hotty” and, asked if she liked women, said “yes, I think women are really hot.”

If this gets your penis excited, then don’t ever look at Page 3 of some newspapers. Fear not porn lovers, here comes the orgasmic quote as reported by thisislondon.co.uk:

“I am, pretty much, a mild lesbian.”

Ooo are you quivering in excitement like us? We do hope so. If Daisy Lowes a mild lesbian, we assume she’s gone past the “basic and light lesbian stages” which pretty much involve giving her fellow species a cuddle and air kiss. But what about this mystical mild stage? What is it classed as? A kiss on the lips? Or a stroke on the botty? Or does it just involve drinking pints of mild and thinking about naked ladies (in which case, there’s probably a few OAPs who qualify as ‘mild lesbians).

Somebody tell us!

If you are a boy and reading this and want to experience softcore lesbian action, go visit the outside world where girls kissing is an insultingly common site.

Okay? Good.

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Duran Duran have dropped to their knees in front of the altar of the Muso-Deity Mark Ronson and exclaimed loudly over the sound of a yacht engine that the producer-cum-everything may well have saved their ailing musical reputation.

According to Duran Durummer Roger Taylor, following the poor performance of their uncomfortably modern Red Carpet Massacre, the band saw their new album (slated for release on 21st December) as a ‘do or die’ release for the group most famous for hits like Rio, Girls on Film and the powerfully erotic Wild Boys.

In the same interview, Taylor comments on the luck of “falling in” with Ronson who took them by the hand and pointed out the blindingly obvious to them.

In the wake of Red Carpet Massacre, it seemed to be alien to Duran Duran to return to the values and production that had brought them success in the first place.

Roger Taylor says:

“We all knew it was a very important album for us, it was do or die actually.”

“After our last record didn’t perform that well, we thought, ‘The next one better be good, because it could be our last.’ Thank God that we fell in with Mark Ronson, who showed us the way.”

Instead of trying to keep the pace with useless Nevadan shitehawks The Killers, Mark pointed them in the direction of their 1982 LP ‘Rio’ as the basis for their old new material.

Working tirelessly, the band took their linen suits from the wardrobes, had the waists let out a little and got aboard the Duran Duryacht for weeks of intensive writing and 80s’ living which included eating Angel Delight and cocaine for every meal and swilling champagne while ceremonially kissing a portrait of Maggie Thatcher standing on the corpse of a miner.

After a while, Ronson’s speedboat caught up to the vessel and they had one hell of a wrap party with Le Bon and Ronson collaborating on ‘Record Collection’ the eponymous track from Ronson’s latest LP. It was a heady night and reminded the men of Duran Duran of the adoration that could await them in the New Year. Their thirst for success was back and they raced through the rest of the album and booked themselves in for a tour of 80s’ revival bars up and down the country.

Duran Duran have been revitalised by returning to the out-of-date synthprog that made their name. At gigs up and down the country, ladies of a certain age will scream so loud that they’ll need a new Tena Lady.

Duran Duran will be back and all it took was Mark Ronson, some angel delight and a massive yacht.

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When observing Any Winehouse, even the most observant of explorers would find it difficult to observe the beast that is Camden’s core by-product.

Known for pretty much having a few multimillion-selling jazz albums, inking herself with billions of tattoos and having a father who releases shit records of the back of her success, Amy Winehouse is a one-off.

After a high-profile battle against heroin, ketamine and every other drug under the sun, Amy Winehouse needed to come back with a bang. Despite prehistoric mating calls with her Blake, it seemed she had settled down and weaned herself off the evils of booze and mind-altering substances. However, a performance with all-round smug multi-instrumentalist Mark Ronson showed that Amy Winehouse still hasn’t quite reached her maximum potential and is still wilting in a horrible parallel of her former existence. Wobbly video after the jump.

Known for being the coolest hang-out for media sods and promising types, the 100 Club did nothing to show that Amy Winehouse had banished the demons that dragged her back into a past she’d rather forget. Despite the rhythmic tones of The Zutons that she has covered so well, we get the feeling that this performance didn’t go smoothly.

Looking confused, unprofessional and like a second-rate karaoke singer, this really doesn’t give the impression that Amy knows where she is or what song she’s singing. It’s a shame really, in a current climate where most songs are generic cover versions or revamps of old crap, we’d like to see Amy Winehouse genuinely pulling something out the bag.

If we wanted to hear cats screaming, we’d only need to step outside.

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Sam Ronson isn’t just the sourfaced, hat-wearing lesbian who’s subjected to the sight of Lindsay Lohan’s pubes more than anyone else, you know.

No, Sam Ronson is also the sister of producer Mark Ronson. They both share quite a dominant ‘terrible haircut’ gene. And they’re both DJs too, which leads us to believe that their family is so rich that neither of them to ever have to worry about getting a proper job.

But, anyway, Mark Ronson is apparently trying to end Sam Ronson’s relationship with Lindsay Lohan because he wants to be the famous one again he really cares for her and whatever.

Mark Ronson and Sam Ronson – aside from the crap hair and silly job thing – really do share a lot in common, you know. They both have stepfathers from the band that inadvertently performed the soundtrack to the Gene Simmons sex tape. They’re both related to Malcolm Rifkind. And they both, for whatever reason, enjoy hanging out with wildly problematic women.

Mark Ronson, of course, is Amy Winehouse‘s producer – a job that seems to consist of three parts developing an authentic soul sound, two parts shaping melody and lyrics, and 500 parts screaming at Amy Winehouse not to eat all the drugs in the world and then slash about herself with the nearest sharpest object.

And, presumably because she’s playing the wrongest game of catch-up known to man, Sam Ronson responded to this by convincing Lindsay Lohan that she was a lesbian and embarking on a romantic voyage that seems to involve nothing but grimacing at a succession of vaguely pikey nightclubs together.

However, over the last couple of week it has seemed as if there might be trouble in paradise. On New Year’s Day, it was reported that Lindsay Lohan and Sam Ronson had a screaming punch-up in a hotel that had to be broken up by security, prompting Lindsay Lohan to  jump on her blog and declare that they weren’t splitting up.

But that’s apparently not good enough for Mark Ronson who, in a bout of concern for his little sister, is reportedly trying to break Lindsay and Sam up for good. The News Of The World reports:

Well said DJ MARK RONSON, who has ordered his skinny little sis to end things with “actress” LINDSAY Yes-I-Really-Am-A-Lesbian (I-Think) LOHAN. “Mark doesn’t think Lindsay is right for his little sister,” said an insider. “He’s really protective and is pressing to end it for good.”

Of course, Mark has every reason to be worried – not so long ago Sam was hospitalised with exhaustion, and that has to be related to Lindsay Lohan somehow because the only way her job could be any less exhausting is if she had an armchair surgically grafted on to her bottom or something.

But we shouldn’t rush to conclusions here – the only way to tell if Mark Ronson is a serious threat to Sam and Lindsay’s relationship is to sit it out for a couple of days and see if Lindsay Lohan blogs about it. Because, as we all know, Lindsay Lohan only blogs about the most important things in her life, like parental betrayal and politics and how Facebook are like being total douches and shit. Time will tell.

Read more:

Leave Her A-Lohan – News Of The World

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The planned Amy Winehouse and Mark Ronson Bond-theme has been cancelled because, according to Ronson, when it comes to her current mental state, Amy can’t find a quantum of solace anywhere.

However, a spokesman for Winehouse has said that this isn’t the case and that the real reason is to do with a clash of interests regarding the development of the song, of which Amy had “other ideas”.

Is Amy telling the truth, or is it Mark? Who knows? As far as that argument goes, it’s probably best to live and let die.

It’s a terrible shame for all things Bond as, when it comes to musical collaborations, nobody does it better than Winehouse and Ronson.

Fortunately though, unlike the prospect of this dream Bond-duet, tomorrow never dies and, as they are young and have all the time in the world to recover, Ronson has stated that he hopes they’ll have the chance to die another day, having another go with the Bond theme next time around.

It’s a brave statement that goes to show that they aint no octopussies.

Oh dear.

Ronson told Sky News:

We did work on it but we never finished it, so that’s about it. We tried to work for a little bit. I’m not sure she’s ready to work on music yet.

And Amy’s spokesman responded:

She has always made her own decisions about her music. Needless to say, this is part of the process between artist and producer and we’re sure they will continue to make great music together.

And so, as the moonraker of Amy’s mind gently drifts her from one traumatic experience to the next; from scaring the living daylights out of her dad to the point where he wants her locked up, to her wanting her own husband to remain locked up, from her husband wanting a divorce, to her being cautioned for nutting some good Samaritan on the street, it seems that the world is more than enough for Amy.

Read More – Winehouse is not ready for music – Sky News

The Osbournes hosted the Brit awards last night, so the show promised to be jam-packed with enough controversy to turn your granny blue.

Is that what happened, though? No – thanks to the Brits' stringent 'don't let Ozzy Osbourne say more than three words in a row' policy, the only vaguely controversial thing the Osbournes brought to the Brit awards was the way that Sharon Osbourne's face looked as if it had been attacked by jellyfish in her sleep.

Oh, and Leona Lewis didn't win any of the four Brit awards she was nominated for. That's sort of controversial, isn't it? Anyone?

The Brit Awards always manage to scrape at least one stand-out moment, whether it's Jarvis Cocker mooning Michael Jackson, that Tubthumping bloke lobbing water at a politician or Joss Stone acting like the world's biggest anus. There was plenty of scope for controversy at last night's Brits, too – Ozzy Osbourne wanted to violently attack Heather Mills, for example, and the puffy-cheeked chimney sweep from Kaiser Chiefs got in a strop because people thought he was quite a lot crapper than he thought he was – but nothing came of it. 

In fact, aside from a brief display by Vic Reeves reinforcing why he isn't famous any more, the Brit awards were so utterly incident-free that we wish we spent two hours doing something a bit more worthwhile, like trying to burp the national anthem or crying.

So, without anything interesting to discuss, the Brits can be boiled down to two things – the performances and the awards. The awards went to the artists you expected them to – Take That got a couple, Foo Fighters got a couple, Arctic Monkeys got a couple, Mark Ronson won one – and Mika and Kate Nash also won a Brit each, although they weren't so much 'expected' as 'horribly, horribly wrong'.  

Sad old X Factor winner Leona Lewis didn't win a jot, though, despite being nominated for four Brits – Best Breakthrough, Best Female, Best Album and Best Single. Leona's losses might have been down to music industry snobbery – she won a talent show contest, after all – or a backlash because you can't listen to any local radio station for more than 30 seconds without hearing Bleeding Love any more.

And then there are the performances. Despite the much-trumpeted musical collaborations at this year's Brit awards, nothing really clawed out of the realms of mediocre. Mika wanked around like a little girl hopped up on Um Bongo at a karaoke party with Beth Ditto. Rihanna and Klaxons sounded like one of those dreary mash-ups that were popular six years ago. Mark Ronson, Adele, Daniel Merriweather and Amy Winehouse made Version sound even more Stars On 45s-y than usual and Kaiser Chiefs were upstaged by some tiny buildings.

And let's not forget that Paul McCartney finished the evening with the same four-hour version of Hey Jude that he closes every single bloody event he's ever invited to with.

So that was the Brits 2008. Woo hoo. Let's put in an early motion to get Joss Stone to host next year's show. And let's fill her dressing room with Special Brew beforehand. At least that way we'll have something to talk about afterwards.

Read more:

Leona Loser - Mirror