Lee Randall: Life's just not worth living if a gal can't get her pet fluffers

Published on Monday 30 November 2009 16:36

ACCORDING to the most amusing gossip of the week (courtesy of telly presenter Kate Garraway, who couldn't wait to blab), two people were employed to lower songstress Mariah Carey onto the sofa for her appearance on GMTV.

Carey was not attempting to mask a previously undisclosed physical debility, in the manner of polio-stricken Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who was never pictured in the wheelchair he relied upon for mobility throughout his numerous terms of office. Rather, so the story goes, the multi-octave warbler required assistance because she feared her dress might crumple were she to plop down in the normal way, by hinging her dimpled knees into a 90-degree angle and allowing gravity to provide momentum.

Others sniggered, but Carey rose in my estimation, given my inordinate fondness for the truly bonkers. Because – and let's be ruthlessly honest here – bona fide eccentricity is scarce as hen's teeth.

Since it's the time of year when it is traditional to formulate a near-impossible-to-achieve list of resolutions detailing all the ways in which we plan on improving our daily lives once and for all, I hereby vow to adopt Mariah Carey as my role model.

I'm sorry Cher. While I will, as they say, always love you, you're simply not insane enough anymore. My usual mantra, "What Would Cher Do?" will, for the duration of 2010, be replaced by "What Would Miss Mariah Demand?"

As challenges go, I expect this will test my creativity to its limits, but I'll start by taking a few cues from the lady in question.

First, most famously, there's her RSPCA-bothering yen for cuddly white kittens (puppies or bunnies, in a pinch), which she's alleged to have demanded (and not for the first time) when switching on the Christmas lights at London's Westfield shopping centre this month.

Whether she really insisted on the provision of small animals (other rumours say her list also contained white doves, a pink podium, pink Rolls-Royce, and pink butterfly-shaped confetti) is a moot point. I'm a cat person, so henceforth, anywhere I go my entourage shall include Daisy and Minsky, with whom I've shared my life for the past year.

Thus I shall also require a fleet of pet fluffers to ensure that their fur is never rubbed against the grain, that their whiskers never overlap, and that they are never showcased against surfaces that clash with their lovely grey-and-black-striped pelts.

Carey allegedly requires 80 security guards to protect her person. I'm willing to compromise on one stunning bit of beefcake to accompany me day and especially night – though I make no guarantees whatsoever about his safety.

I've heard she has a breast tape assistant. That's too fabulous for words! Alas, it's not a service that I require, unless, of course, someone was employed to tape breasts on to me. I do, however, have troublesome circulation, so I'll be insisting on a warm-of-palm retainer to pitch up hourly and gently rub some life back into my wrists and hands.

Carey's detailed concert rider includes both Cristal champagne and bendy straws, prompting one wag to say, "You can take the girl out of Massapequa, but…", which is probably only funny to me because I know whereof they speak. But along those lines, let it be known that throughout 2010 I shall imbibe beverages of every description solely through an eyedropper. So I'll be needing someone to squeeze the bulb.

At least there's no need to hire assistants to lower me delicately onto the sofa. Darlings, I plan never to leave the damn thing in the first place!

This article first appeared in The Scotsman on Saturday 28 November