Everybody keeps banging on about how much Botox they think Gwyneth Paltrow's had done, but I can't say I've noticed (lookit, she can still move her face, sort of..). I've been too busy wondering where her underwear is. Is she just becoming another one of the increasing amount of allegedly angelic sorts who like to push the boundaries of the term whorish?
Still, if pressed, I'd have to choose this trussed number over Leighton Meester's offering of naughty Southern Milk Maid in eye-watering wedges. In fact, I'm going with Tobey Maguire's missus. A bit bleh, but there's a lot to be said for a birrah mystery.
Yep, I'm officially an ole bag.