It was standing in five inches of toilet effluence, next to Naomi Campbell, that HW came to realise that Hollywood glamour is about as real as Katie Price’s wedding vows. HW was at a party in the Hollywood Hills, an occasion that had the full line-up of tinseltown essentials - a sparkling pool, Ashton Kutcher, vodka jellies. There was just one problem - the toilet was flooding.
Oblivious to the sounds of DJ Funkmaster Flex, or the crowd that moved like a giant amoeba, the water kept on seeping - over million dollar persian carpets, across immaculate hardwood floors, and impressively, over a number of celebrity’s shoes. Rather like Ms Campbell’s reputation, my perception of Hollywood glamour has been on a down hill course ever since.