Gaga/Gregg Mashup

VainGlorious Bastards

I watched Inglourious Basterds recently, and immediately decided to write about it. No doubt others have written extensively, criticising Tarantino's increasingly grotesque revenge motif, or admiring his bravery for keeping the dialogue almost entirely in French and German. But what can I do. All I really care about is the hats.

Here are five of the best.

1. The gorgeous Mélanie Laurent.

The very model of intellectual Parisian chic.

2. Diane Krüger.

Is it morally acceptable to fancy these men in Nazi uniforms? Pervy minds want to know.

3. Julie Dreyfus (who played Sofie Fatale in Kill Bill 1).

Ch-ch-ch-cheetah face. Love it. Love the whole concept.

4. Michael Fassbender.

War finds yet another justification. Take that, Thomas Aquinasshole.

5. Mélanie Laurent again. Doivent-elles les femmes porter le voile?

BAH OUI

Some Moves For Your Dance Vocabulary

'I'm gonna dance this one out.'

The woman who invented punk meets the equally musically significant Nicola GirlsAloud, who gushes to Grazia: "The fact that I have white skin and red hair is my thing." I think this explains the air of mutual disappointment.

Daily Digest

Once again, the Mail has outdone itself in bitching about fitties whilst nevertheless exploiting their beautiful, naked bodies.

I could just about swallow Jan Moir's griping about gay people. But you malign Eva Green over my drop dead gorgeous body.

These Charming Men

A clip now from the glorious BBC drama, Beau Brummell: This Charming Man. Beau has just met Lord Byron, and they sleep with a courtesan, and in the morning have an apocalyptic discussion punctuated by Byron's insistent refrain of "come back to bed."

The programme centres around three of the most powerful Georgian men, George, George and George (Brummell, Byron and Hanover). The Prince Regent is invited to watch Brummell dress, and becomes a bit infatuated, before Beau meets Byron and becomes infatuated with him, driving the poor Prince to the heights of jealousy and petulance. It's almost completely imagined - based upon Byron's quip that the three great men of the age were Brummell, Bonapart and, of course, himself. But it is sublime in the most Burkean of ways.