So why is Boy George now all sweetness and light?
I GOT quite a surprise at the after-show party for the Mr Gay Europe contest inBudapest ...
As I mentioned in last week's column, I went along to the Hungarian capital to support Huddersfield 's Mark Carter, Mr Gay UK - who was placed second. Germany triumphed to my surprise, and I think Mark was secretly a bit relieved - he's enjoyed the limelight but now he wants to concentrate on his day job.
Anyway, I was delighted to find out that Boy George was DJing at the plush outdoor park party after the event as the last time I saw him, he flounced out of Discotheque in Leeds halfway through his set because I took a few snaps of him at the decks.
He's never been too pleased with me since I locked him in my house unwittingly in the early 1990s - he did a DJ set at one of my club nights, I had no money to offer him a hotel so I put him up at my back-to-back terrace in Bramley.
As I only had one set of keys, I locked him in then went to kip at my mum's. In the morning when he realised he couldn't get out, he was furious and really let rip when I finally arrived to meet him. Not exemplary for fire safety admittedly, but what else was I supposed to do?
Anyway, since then I've bumped into him a few times. I've always been chatty and friendly, he's generally been a bit grumpy and rude, but the Discoteque incident was the worst ...
I wondered what would happen when I arrived with my camera at this very classy Pride Island place. The place was hardly buzzing, there were only about 500 people there and I get the capacity was about 10,000. The party ran from midnight and when George took the DJ stand I started snapping away.
When I lowered the camera to smile at my old adversary, he simply said: "Oh, hello! I didn't realise it was you!" His brother, who's recently become his manager, was there.
In a bit, when he finished his set and made to go to his dressing room, his brother asked me in tetchy tones: "Can you give him some privacy?" but George told him: "No, it's Terry George, he's a friend."
We spent a couple of hours chatting and chilling out behind the scenes, George was in one of his trademark black jackets customised with safety pins - which apparently his brother now assembles.
And he was so relaxed and friendly, it was untrue. I think the community service he did in New York must have changed him. He appeared level-headed and sober and he actually apologised for his behaviour in Leeds that night, saying he'd been going through some bad times with the American court case hanging over him, and trouble with his previous management who're now out of the picture.
He was telling me he'd just come from Beiruit where he most definitely wasn't about to return to, after he was interrogated at the airport about the jewish star of David tattoo on his head and had his case searched four times.
Even that hadn't riled him.
And he took great joy in retelling the locking-in story to his brother as if it was all a big laugh - I'm pleased he now sees it like that. And I hope this new sweetness-and-light Boy George is here to stay, and not just another bizarre phase in his rollercoaster life!
Just call me Terry Four Puddings
I had fun at the Leeds Food Festival, which involved a load of cookery demonstrations on Briggate. I haven't seen celebrity chef James Martin on the TV much but I'm definitely a fan - he was hilariously funny as he whipped up amazing desserts in front of the crowd.
I was noseying around behind the scenes so I got to try all four of the perfect puddings he made. Imagine that! My own celebrity chef for the day.
Watching him spin sugar around a rolling pin to create the kind of sweets that people pay an absolute fortune for in restaurants was a treat in itself, never mind the tasting.
But of course that's the proof, as they say. First I attacked a gorgeous souffle, then came a delectable crunchy cream creation and after that, a summer pudding ... and I still had room for a fourth dessert.
My eyes were bigger than my belly as usual and I returned to the office feeling a bit sick and in need of a nice palate-cleansing cup of tea.
The day before that I'd been to the festival to see a player from each of the Super League teams - Leeds Rhinos, Wakefield Wildcats and Bradford Bulls take part in a celebrity cook-off with Brian Turner and, predictably, they were pretty talented.
A lot of the lads are very keen on cuisine and have done Thomas Danby college courses on gourmet cookery in their own time. It comes from a need to be clued-up on nutrition, which often turns into a passion for food and cooking - you notice this a lot with sportsmen.
I'd scoffed delicious pizza made by Brian, with help from local children, and that too was spectacular. So it's back on the diet now!
Desperate Househusbands
I'm particularly interested in the rumour that Robbie Williams and David Beckham will play a gay couple in the next series of Desperate Housewives. What an adorable couple they would make! I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it's not just idle gossip - and that they're signing the contracts as we speak.
When the Rhinos met the Wildcats
When the Rhinos met the Wildcats
Fellas - if you want to pull girls, become a rugby player. You should see females throwing themselves at the stars of the Leeds Rhinos, I can't believe what I'm seeing sometimes.
And what makes it all the more ridiculous is that the vast majority of these sportsmen are married or in steady relationships - a good proportion of them are also dads - so they've no interest whatsoever in all the attention.
I've been following the Rhinos for a few months now, taking photos of them on and off the pitch with a view to bringing out a coffee table book - I'm now in talks with publishers.
We had a laugh at a Western-themed ladies night - I think it was a fundraiser for the club - at the Queens Hotel, Leeds, where the guys joined tables of female fans for dinner, swapping seats between courses. I took some great pictures of them in cowboy hats and check shirts.
I was the only guy there who wasn't on the team. They said to me: "You wouldn't believe the sorts of things these girls are saying to us," and I said: "Like what?" but they were perfect gentlemen and didn't divulge - obviously not wanting to make me blush.
Some of the attraction is undoubtely their finely honed physiques but I also believe it's the genuine, down-to-earth quality that the rugby players seem to have, they don't act like prima donna-ish footballers sometimes do.
The lads came down to Mission, my Leeds club, later on and settled in to the VIP area. They go in there to escape the attention of women, to be honest! They were all drinking coke despite my efforts to get them to enjoy themselves and have a little alcohol - I wonder if they'd had stern words from their coach and maybe even a no booze ban.
Then a group of lads from the Wakefield Wildcats turned up.
"Uh oh!" I thought: "Is this going to be awkward?" The Wildcats had beaten the Rhinos only a couple of days before.
I feared there might be huge local rivalry. It was amazing, I had about 60 rugby-related VIP guests - players, their friends and entourage - in the club.
But I needn't have worried. The players from the two teams mingled happily, chatting to each other - you'd have thought they were all on the same side! Could you imagine opposing football teams behaving so nicely?
Fun day Sunday
I had a packed day yesterday (SUNDAY), first I went to the Pink Picnic in Huddersfield - the 21st event no less, and it's going from strength to strength. Huddersfield's own Mr Gay UK, Mark Carter, officially opened the day - as you'll no doubt have read elsewhere in this paper.
I'm going to Budapest with Mark next week as he tries his luck in the Mr Gay Europe competition - a very serious affair in which the contestants get asked questions about politics and current affairs. Ours meanwhile continues in its usual frivilous tradition with a grand final at the Flamingo Club in Blackpool on Friday August 31. So who will Mark relinquish his crown to? We just don't know.
Last night I was on stage at the Queen's Hotel, Leeds, hosting the city's Bar and Club Awards with JoJo from Galaxy - there isn't room in this column to bring you all the gossip so you'll have to wait till next week.
Why I've gone off Ibiza
Since I did my bit for the Ibiza tourist board a couple of weeks ago I've been back twice to check up on my Federation club night at Heaven but the last visit was a real downer. I checked in to my villa, headed out for an hour and a half, and came back to find I had been burgled.
My new £6,000 camera was gone, as well as a load of cash. I checked the insurance and realised I was only covered for £1,500 of stuff and only £250 for single items. So there's a lesson - check your policy before you fly out!
That seems so old fashioned, many of us carry lots of items that would cost more than £250 to replace. I'm not happy but there's nothing I can do. Let's hope my next visit restores my faith in the party island ...
Cheer up Jason, it might never happen!
Poor Jason Donovan, he seemed absolutely miserable when I said hello to him at the Party In The Park in Leeds the other week.
Why? Because he'd been sitting around all day in the rain. Despite the fact he wasn't on till 5pm, he'd turned up at 11am. And despite the fact that it's been pouring down all summer, he'd decided to wear white sandals and Bermuda shorts.
Backstage as usual, I stuck my head round his dressing room door to say: "Good luck for the show!" but he seemed incredibly grumpy and stressed, and a million miles away - probably somewhere he'd rather be.
I know Jason from years ago, he once hosted a Mr Gay uk final for me despite the fact he'd been previously quoted in The Face magazine as saying: "I'm not gay, I surf", the subtext being that you can't do manly things like that if you're homosexual. I like him, though and didn't hold that silly comment against him at the time and it's been long forgiven.
The dressing room was hardly lavish - he had a chair, a table, a bowl of fruit and a mirror in his Portakabin and that was it. He was sitting with his sandals off, with his soggy feet up.
I introduced him to Darren Hayes, ex of Savage Garden, a fellow Australian who came out as being gay last year and had his civil partnership - his 'husband' is a little fella with a goatee beard and glasses.
Darren was wearing a powder blue suit with plastic bags tied on over his shoes to keep them dry. I took a picture of Darren modelling those carriers and Jason in his waterlogged flip flops - the pair of them looked really funny.
Jason's a true professional though and you'd never have guessed he was in such a foul mood once he was in front of the cameras and onstage, turning on the charm.
In much better sprits was Shayne Ward who I always love to see. He's looking incrediby trim, he reminds me of Beckham a bit. I said to his girlfriend: "If you get bored of him, pass him over to me!" She laughed and he grinned, rolling his eyes.
I spent about an hour and a half chilling out with Shayne. It was quite amusing because earlier in the day I'd had a film crew with me shooting footage for a pilot of a possible documentary about me and Michael.
Shayne too had a film crew, doing a fly-on-the-wall show about him. That says something about modern times that we both had our own film crews, it was just a shame I suppose that they didn't end up filming each other!
Onstage he did a funny, sexy dance, hitching his grey cardigan up to reveal the top of his incredibly unflattering boxer shorts. "They look like prison underpants," I told him. "How would you know, have you been in prison?" he laughed.
I told him how Gareth Gates had told me recently that he never buys his own clothes but relies on a stylist. I asked Shayne if he does his own shopping. He claimed he did, then relented, admitting he too has a stylist to do all that.
It seems everyone has a stylist except me. I don't think I'd want someone else telling me what to wear! I think I'd be a good stylist though.
You should see me when I take my sister Rosemarie shopping. I spent �300 on her in Monsoon in Leeds last week and we had great fun, me holding stuff up against her and picking out colours she hadn't thought of.
The guy in the shop actually said: "Are you a stylist?" obviously thinking that my sister must be a famous actress, or something. I was really flattered, being mistaken for a fashion expert. Yet another vocation I seem to have missed.
...
Actors out till the early hours
I had a gang of Emmerdale actors down at my Leeds club, Mission, what a rowdy bunch! Verity Rushworth was the only one who stayed half-way sober, doing her best to keep the others in check.
They were all sporting moustaches drawn on with eyeliner and one of the lads - I won't embarrass him in this column by saying who - was so drunk he threw up all over a sofa in the VIP area. He kept apologising but I'm still going to send him a cleaning bill.
I left at 4.45am and they were still all there showing no signs of going home. Hope they weren't filming the following day!
I joined Ricky in his Vegas dressing room
It wasn't tricky to join Ricky's gang
WELL I've just got back from Las Vegas, and do I have news for you?! The strangest things seem to happen to me and my time in the world's gambling capital was no exception.
I only went to see a boxing match but somehow I ended up being invited into boxer Ricky Hatton's changing room and making a new friend in Wayne Rooney .... not to mention bumping into a drunk and grumbly Vince Vaughan - and very nearly making my big Hollywood movie debut.
I hardly know where to start. My partner Michael and I bought tickets for the big match, paying an eye-watering £150 each for the two of us, Michael's son Paul and my friend Stu, and jetted off from Manchester airport.
In the days beforehand, my quest to get a press pass to take pictures was ignored by all and sundry despite mine and my PA's phonecalls and emails. That just made me more determined ... my challenge was to get VIP entry to the match without using my expensive ticket.
The others just rolled their eyes, they can't imagine why I just don't hand the ticket over, go in, sit down, enjoy the show and behave myself ... but where would the fun be in that?
As they entered the venue to take their seats, I decided to go for a scout round with my camera bag. Round the corner was a VIP entrance with a big red carpet. A limo drew up and a bunch of American celebrities got out. I had no idea who they were but from the fuss all their security people were making, they must have been pretty important. So I just joined their group - and got ushered in with them, simple as that!
Inside the building, this red carpet was the longest red carpet I'd ever seen, and at the end were curtains leading to the ringside and the VIP seats. So far, so good. There were some pre-fights so I took a place next to the photographers with their proper passes, and started snapping.
I noticed Rio Ferdinand in the crowd, and Wes Brown. Wayne Rooney and Colleen McLoughlin were right up at the front. Vinnie Jones was there and Antonio Banderas, who was supporting the other guy.
Robbie Williams was around somewhere but I couldn't spot him. Suddenly there was a tap on my shoulder. "Where are your credentials?" said a security guy. "One of the promoters brought me through," I lied. "Who?" he asked. "Oh, I can't think of his name," I replied, importantly. I was rumbled but then he got distracted by someone else so I nipped away and sat down in a free seat a few rows back. By the time he returned his attention to me, he couldn't spot me.
I took my time and didn't get up again with the camera till the fight was finishing and all eyes were on champion Ricky. Then I jumped up and got amazing photos of the celebrations - Ricky planting big kisses on Colleen and his own girlfriend, Rebecca, and everyone larking about with the big prize belt.
I spotted Ricky's manager, who I've chatted to a few times before when Ricky's been making personal appearances. "Hi Paul," I said. "Hi!" replied Paul, seeing a familliar face from England and welcoming me into the entourage.
The next thing I knew, we were all trooping off to the changing rooms. The excitement continued and Wayne Rooney was taking somewhat of a back seat, enjoying the atmosphere while Colleen did all the talking and socialising - you can definitely see who wears the trousers there.
I had a chat to Wayne, who was wearing a nice black Prada top. He has a lovely smile and piercing blue eyes and he's very shy - I teased him about his sunburned red nose and we had a chat for about 20 minutes. I told him about the reality TV show I'm going on, in which I had to live in a caravan for a week, and he told me about his dad's caravan on the Welsh coast.
I got the impression that there's all this hype around him and he's just in the middle, a bit overwhelmed - and maybe even worrying that all the money and stardom could all come to a halt. He confided in me that he'd shrugged off controversy over his friendship with Ricky, an ardent Man City fan, and that he wasn't a big fan of clubbing and nightlife, that Colleen's the party animal.
Ricky got showered behind a screen and proceeded to wander round inhis t-shirt and shorts. next came the post-match press conference and I trooped out with the Hatton gang. Weird! It got a bit boring, it was all boxing talk, but I had a laugh with Colleen who told me how she and Wayne had become great friends with Ricky and Rebecca, while the journalists asked their questions.
An hour later, the pictures were on my Myspace and I was getting hits from around the world, and I still had my ticket intact, unused!
The next morning, we went out for breakfast to the Wynn Hotel where I had to pick up a Jean Paul Gautiler suit I'd bought and had altered, and who should we see chilling out by the pool there but Wayne and Colleen? I didn't go up, I thought I'd leave them to it in case they were hung over - but I did send Champagne to their room - number 208, if you wanted to know!
...
How I nearly got into the movies
While we were in Vegas I spotted a commotion outside Caesar Hotel - it turned out to be the filming of a Hollywood movie, called Iron Man, to be released next year, and starring Samuel L Jackson and Gwyneth Paltrow plus Robert Downey Jnr - who I spotted acting from a distance.
I noticed a lot of people coming to and from the barriers and thought to myself: "They're not showing passes," so I walked through. They were heading to a queue so I joined them. I quickly realised I was in the wardobe queue for the extras who were getting kitted out in glamorous gambling gear for a scene.
This was hilarious. If I stayed in that queue I'd end up all dressed up and on camera, soundlessly saying 'rhubarb rhubarb' behind Robert DJ. Sadly, an hour and a half later, I was no near the front of the line - all the bit-part actors were moaning about how disgraceful the delay was - and I gave up, bored, and rejoined the others.
As I left the enclosed part of the street I noticed a drunk-looking guy with a group of Englishmen, tall and heavy-set. I recognised him. It was Vince Vaughan, Jennifer Aniston's ex. People were asking him for photos and he was grumbling darkly at them, looking annoyed and saying he 'wasn't allowed' to. So I didn't dare go and rattle him some more - that's one photo I haven't been able to bring the Examiner!
My ten days on the minumum wage
My ten days on the minumum wage
Remember the other week I announced there's no way on Earth that I'd ever consider going on Big Brother? I still stand by that but what I didn't tell you was that I had a rival reality telly appearance in the pipeline.
My instinct is to blabbermouth the whole story but if I do, the programme makers will probably be very cross with me - especially as it won't be screened till November. So I won't tell you what it is or why I'm on it, but it's not giving too much away to tell you that it involved a week and a half living on the minimum wage in a southern seaside town.
I've just got back and I feel like the experience has changed my life. I'm no stranger to being poor - I built my businesses up from nothing - but it made me think hard about quality of life, friends and family.
I arrived in town penniless, like any travelling job seeker, and took up residence in a caravan - scrounging tea bags and milk, and bread and butter from my neighbours on the site until I could earn some money - being filmed all the while.
Then I got a job delivering meals on wheels, which I loved because I got to chat to all the elderly and disabled people including a lady who'd had a stroke 30 years previously and had been in a wheelchair able only to communicate with a keypad ever since. She'd worked at Harrods in cosmetics as a young woman. She spelled out: "The stroke was my own fault, I shouldn't have overworked myself."
I felt sad and touched and full of admiration for her all at the same time. Totally humbled. For a day's work I collected about £36. I needed £20 to pay for my caravan, which left a few pounds to buy potatoes and baked beans for tea - a perk of being a meals on wheels man is that you get a free lunch and it was excellent stuff, stewed steak and carrots.
I found out, though, that they were changing the system meaning some older folk who'd been entitled to free dinners were going to have to start paying up or going without - which seemed really unfair.
My next job was in a nursing home, caring for elderly people. It was hard, physical work hoisting people up, and it was nice chatting to residents and getting to know them. It made me think about how the elderly get neglected in society and how many don't seem to have many friends around them in their final years.
Much less emotionally gruelling was a stint in a chip shop peeling the potatoes and putting them through the slicing machine and serving customers, who I found myself interviewing to pass the time.
I was fascinated that in this seaside town, they put the fish in the tray first and the chips on top.
"But that'll make the fish soggy!" I protested, and just had to ask every single punter whether they really wanted their fish in first. "Of course," they said, aghast. "That's the way it's done round here."
I have to say by the end of the 10 days I really liked my caravan, despite its rubbish cold shower. But I couldn't wait to get back to Yorkshire for proper fish and chips, the very finest in Britain.
Seriously, the episode made me to decide to enjoy life, relax more and make extra time for friends and socialising. If I'm in that nursing home I want all my mates around me!
Me and Leigh go back a long way
I'm hoping to renew a very old friendship with Leigh Francis, better known as Mr Bo Selecta. I used to be very good mates with his pal Keith, on whom the character Keith Lemon is based.
The pair of them used to come into the Ritzy nightclub in the Merrion centre when I used to DJ. I can't remember that much about Leigh - sorry I have no stories about him skating across the dancefloor with chickens wedged onto his feet like he does in his Wacko Jacko garb in Bo Selecta - but he remembers me.
When I was filming the reality show, the sound man knew I was from Leeds and mentioned that he knew him. I said I did too and that I'd like to get back in touch so he texted Leigh saying: "Do you know Terry George from Leeds?"
He said: "Yes," straight away and said it was ok for his number to be passed on to me. I rang it and got his goofy answering message, imploring me to "please leave a message and have a nice day" in an Avid Merrion type voice, but he hasn't called me back yet. I'll let you know when he does!
Celebs in court - and the clink
You can't pick up a paper without reading about a celeb in court - George Michael, Britney Spears, Paris Hilton. It seems you're not a bona fide A-lister unless you're getting hauled before the beak for some sort of bad behaviour.
However famous you are, and however many favours you can pull in from your friends in high places, you're never above the law. Something tells me that if I were to start trying to poke my camera lens over prison walls in my never-ending celeb-spotting quest, I'll be in the magistrates court myself ... would that be a way to make new high-profile pals?
Vernon's a real scream
98 Seconds of sheer hell
Every now and then something arrives on my desk that grabs my imagination straight away. This time it was an invite to cross over the Pennines and visit the latest attraction on Blackpool's Pleasure Beach, Infusion.
So, armed with more courage than I actually possess I trundled over, leaving my office in a cloudy and cool Leeds and expecting little difference the other side of the hill. Once over the peak the weather turned sunny and a clear blue sky accompanied me all the way to the sea front.
After a brief ceremony where ex X Factor hopeful Sean sang a song and man of the moment Vernon Kaye officially opened the ride to the British public... but not before a few of us VIPs got a ride first.
Vernon came off looking distinctly worse for wear so when it was my turn to have the Infusion experience I was very very wary.
My heart was beating like a small fledgling about to take its first flight as the mechanics bumped into action and it was too late for a change of mind.
Ninety-eight seconds later, and having managed to scream like a big girl all the way round, we came to a halt having been spun, turned experienced the world from all angles and had the most exciting thrill I've had in many a moon.
Blackpool may not be getting the Casino business they hoped for but at least the owners of Blackpool Pleasure Beach are trying to add something different to any visitors West Coast experience. Well done to them... and you've got an amazing addition to an already fantastic attraction. I caught up with Vernon after the event and asked him what he thought. ''Brilliant... really brilliant.''
I couldn't agree more.
Admiring Amir
I hosted X Factor Finalist Chenai's birthday party at my bar Fibre in Leeds last week, and among her guests was boxing sensation Amir Khan.
The Bolton lad shot to fame in 2004 when he won a silver medal at the Sydney Olympics aged just 17.
It was difficult to even get near him at the party as he was surrounded by a huge entourage; however I eventually managed to chat to him. I noticed he was sporting a Jacob diamond watch so I asked him if it was real. ''Course it is man'' he replied.
I told him I was flying out to Las Vegas at the end of this month to see Ricky Hatton fight against Jose Luis Castillo in the IBO Light Welterweight Championship and asked Amir if he would be there too. Unfortunately he can't make it as he is in training himself for his next fight on July 14th for the Commonwealth lightweight title.
Perhaps the temptation of the huge all you can eat buffets in Las Vegas would be too much for him?
Host with the most
During the last week, I have been really flattered to be asked to front 2 local events. The annual Leeds Bar & Club Awards which takes place on Sunday 29th July at the Queen's hotel in Leeds and to open a new tanning salon in West Vale, near Elland called Tanned & Fabulous where proceeds from the open evening are being donated to NSPCC.
I'll be hosting the Bar & Club Awards with Jo Jo from Galaxy Radio. I have to say I'm quite nervous, particularly since they told me I have to follow a long script, and I'm not the best reader in the world. I've booked 3 tables for all the staff from my bars and clubs to attend as a thank you to them for the hard work they put in throughout the year. I'm sure they will be heckling me from the audience.
Maybe the tanning salon will give me some freebie sessions so I can go on stage with a healthy glow to hide my blushes. But not looking like Dale Winton though!
You don't have to be mad to go on Big Brother, but it helps
You don't have to be mad to go on Big Brother, but it helps PEOPLE often ask me whether I'd go on Big Brother. Now I know I'm not renowned for being a shrinking wallflower when it comes to grabbing a bit of the limelight but there's absolutely no way on Earth I'd ever consider committing myself to that house.
Can you seriously imagine being under that scrutiny, for that long? Absolutely everything is at stake - your future, your reputation.
You have no say over the way the footage is edited, and you sign a contract allowing your image to be used in whatever way they want, for no payment at all, anywhere across the world.
But forget the morals, what people who share my point of view are really scared about is being filmed, night and day, lying around in their unflattering pants and vest, looking gormless.
That would definitely not be good for my image - which I like to think of as a go-ahead, successful businessman who's always sharply dressed and nicely groomed.
Even if I managed to make myself incredibly popular by excelling in the fun and games and group activities, and shrewdly sussed the house politics to my own advantage, nothing would make up for the indignity of being beamed across the nation, picking my nose and staring into space - like everyone inevitably is.
I already have to contend with the risk of being spotted absent-mindedly mining the old nostrils when I'm in standing traffic on the M62 every morning. I don't even know I'm doing it.
But on TV in front of millions of strangers, rather than the odd fellow motorist I might happen to know, would be just too much.
I'd love to be properly famous but not at that cost. And Big Brother very rarely leads to a successful media career.
My friend Kate Lawlor's making a good effort with her DJing but that's down to talent, not just BB exposure. Most disappear once it's clear that they have nothing to offer the outside world.
You can chart virtually every Big Brother housemate's descent into z-list oblivion from the moment they leave the house. I know plenty of them - when they walked along that walkway to meet Davina, they were hot news and straight away they could command £3,000 or £4,000 for a personal appearance.
A few weeks or months later that's down to £200, then you find their agents are touting them for free, to keep their flagging profiles up. "They'll appear for expenses only," say the desperate agents. And when you say you can't or won't pay expenses, they come back with: "Well, they'd like to give their time anyway!"
Look how massive Shabaz was... now people can barely remember him. All the latter contestants just blend into one. And who's seen Huddersfield's Lesley lately? That poor girl's often said she wishes she'd never done it, and advised anyone who'll listen not to put themselves in that situation.
I'm listening, Lesley, it sounds like good sense to me.
An activist who's so polite
I see gay rights campaigner Peter Tatchell was beaten up in Russia on his latest crusade. I don't doubt that he does looking for trouble, and he finds it, but I think he's deeply misunderstood.
People expect Peter to be loud and opinionated but I've met him a few times and he's a lovely person, quiet and almost humble.
Unassuming and easy-going... honestly.
Once, he attended a Mr Gay UK final that I'd organised, which was being compered by Jason Donovan. Peter wasn't keen on Jason because he'd once answered a journalist's question: "Are you gay?" with: "No, I surf!" meaning surfing was a manly thing to do and therefore he couldn't be homosexual.
Peter wanted to jump onstage with a banner and he actually asked me first, saying he didn't want to embarrass anyone or spoil the competition. I said: "Er, no, I'd rather you didn't," so he kept his banner furled up and out of sight. What a polite activist!
I feel a bit sorry for him because he funds all his campaigning himself - nobody gives him any money. You have to respect him, that's dedication for you.
The "gayest" kids' TV
I read that people in Poland were puzzling as to whether the Teletubby Tinky Winky is gay or not. It must have been a slow news day...
And what rubbish! One thing's for sure, he won't be "gay" as far as his infant fans are concerned - just funny and entertaining.
Talking of "gay" children's telly, nothing's ever been camper than my old favourite, Rainbow - you had Jeffrey jumping around in his brightly coloured trousers plus bickering twosome George and Zippy both seemed decidedly pink. All right, so Zippy is orange ...
The Cribs really rock!
From rhubarb to rock in one giant leap
Guess who's my current favourite West Yorkshire band? The Cribs, of course! I met them last week when they played at HMV in Leeds and signed their CDs for fans.
Wakefield wasn't exactly on the map of rock and roll folklore - but it is now. Who'd have thought the city that's more famous for rhubarb than anything else could produce such a hot, pop act?
I chatted to the charming trio before they got down to the serious business of making some noise for the throngs of studenty-types who'd turned out to see them. This notoriously nonchalant demographic acted like awestruck nine-year-olds when The Cribs took to the stage - getting all over-emotional, throwing themselves around and generally having to be restrained by security.
All in the usually sedate environs of a record shop personal appearance, rather than a sweaty after-hours club, too. What a band, what a buzz!
They're such nice ordinary lads - I'm sure I say that about virtually any famous pop star that I meet, but I really mean it. The first thing I noticed was that Ryan, the singer, was wearing the same red stripy top that he had on when I saw him last, at the Carling Weekend in Leeds last year.
I said: "I'm not being funny but is that your favourite jumper?" He told me he's sponsored by Ben Sherman so he gets his shirts free. Can't be bad. But presumably they supplied him with more than one.
Ryan told me he lives in an apartment near Kirkgate Markets in Leeds his brothers still live in Wakefield. They love going out in the city are The Faversham is their favourite haunt. They've regularly toured with the Kaiser Chiefs and the two bands like covering each other's songs.
As we chatted, the lads were scouring the aisles of the store - their payment for the gig was �50 in vouchers to spend on CDs! Ahh! You'd think they'd have commanded a bit more than that, the crowds they enticed.
When Gary struggled to find anything he wanted to buy, picking out one solitary CD I joked with him: "Why don't you buy five copies and put the spare ones on eBay?"
He replied: "I do that with my promo CDs, I sign them and upload them!" I think he was joking ... but I'm not 100% sure!
The band also told me how much they loved playing in America where they're becoming huge - no mean feat, look how hard Robbie Williams has tried to engage an audience across the pond to no avail.
Apparently their fans go even crazier over there ... and Japan, well! They've got an incredibly devoted following in the Far East but there's certainly an element of Lost In Translation ... or rather, no translation at all.
"They react so differently," say the lads. "And you can't communicate with them between songs ..." Looks like there's a cultural divide between West Yorkshire and the Far East but if anyone can bridge it, it'll be The Cribs!
Call for Mr Merrick ...
When I heard Michael Jackson was staying at the Dorchester in London, I rang up and asked to speak to him. Why? Because that's the sort of thing that entertains me. And of course, as everyone knows, I knew him as a teenager.
"We don't have a Michael Jackson staying with us," said the receptionist. Course they didn't. I'd need to crack his code name if I wanted to talk to him. What moniker would he be booked in under?
John Merrick, the real name of the Elephant Man? So obsessed was Wacko with this legend that he once tried to buy his bones ... Bubbles Taylor? An amalgamation of the names of his ape and his favourite actress Liz? No, too easy.
I'll have to really think about this one, then if he turns up at the Cedar Court, Ainley Top, I'll get straight through ...
Elton and his image
Well done to Elton John and the Scissor Sisters for their Ivor Novello songwriting award - scooped with I Don't Feel Like Dancing, possibly the catchiest hit of the 21st century.
I love Elton, despite the fact that when I photographed him at his Huddersfield concert and uploaded the pictures to WireImage, a website through which the media can buy pictures by a wide range of photographers, his 'people' immediately got in touch and made the website staff remove them.
Why? Was it something do to with falling foul of copyright? No, it was that the photos of Elton were 'not flattering enough'.
Clarkson's latest clanger
Jeremy Clarkson, the most obnoxious celebrity around, has been hitting the headlines for all the wrong reasons again - this time he's in trouble for using the term 'ginger beer' to mean queer, and complaints about him have been upheld by Offcom - so he hasn't got away with it for once!
I'd love to meet Clarkson, and send him up a bit. I'd pinch him on the bum and say: "Ooh, has anyone ever told you you've got a lovely bum? If they did, they were lying!" He'd be absolutely horrified!
It's no go for Jacko
It's no go for Jacko
Poor Michael Jackson, in the past few days he's been reportedly turned down by Simon Fuller and Simon Cowell to re-launch his pop career.
I read that my old teenage friend is desperate to put his troubles behind him and relaunch his pop career, and has had several meetings with ex-Spice Girls manager Simon Fuller in the hope of harnessing his substantial industry clout.
However, the 19 Management boss has told Michael: 'Thanks, but no thanks' a response matched by nasty pop mogul Simon Cowell. In The Sun, a source is reported to have said: 'Both Simons are busy with TV and music projects so are unable to commit to him.'
I find the whole idea of Wacko teaming up with either of the two slimy Simons a bit of a nonsense, what they're best at is spotting young, undiscovered talent, honing it, and marketing it to teen audiences.
What self-respecting 13-year-old girl is going to be interested in a dodgy 40-something fallen star with a very strange face?
He's hardly Sugar magazine poster material is he? I also heard that some of his memorabilia, seized by a company he owed money to, will be auctioned off in Las Vegas. It apparently includes skin whitening cream. I'd check the use-by date if I were to put a bid on that...
Let's hope Jacko isn't reduced to trudging off to the car boot sale or sitting up all night uploading stuff on eBay like everyone else with a surplus of possessions does.
The truth is, I just don't know what Jacko will do next. Over the past couple of years, much has been made of the fact that I met him as a teenager and he befriended me. It's a surreal image, I know, but I vividly remember my parents going ballistic when our phone got cut off because I'd been ringing Michael in California, running up huge bills!
People suspect I make this stuff up but I swear, it's true. So bizarre is this story that I still get asked to give interviews about it. I feel
like I've told the tale a million times before but if you haven't heard it before, I knocked on his hotel room door at the Dragonara, Leeds, in February 1979 when I was 13. I had my tape recorder with me, as usual, and he let me interview him.
Anyway, when he went back to the States we spoke on the phone a few times, for up to three hours - just about general chit chat.
Contrary to what people say, the talk only strayed towards sex once and I just laughed it off, a bit embarrassed, and steered conversation back towards pop music and TV.
This stuff's recounted in a new book, out at the end of the month, by Darwin Porter.
It's called the Rise and Fall Of Michael Jackson and the three pages about me are gathered from old interviews - he didn't even talk to me in person. Bits are misconstrued and inferences laid on as thick as Michael's make-up- it's amazing what people get away with in print.
Anyway, back to MJ today - I think he's still got bags of talent to offer, but he's embarrassed himself going to those two Simons.
Still, he could do worse and approach ex Take That manager Nigel Martin Smith - I've got his number, Jacko, if you want it.
£10 a minute to see Man U
My partner Michael, a Man United season ticket holder, has just paid a whopping £900 for an FA Cup final ticket. He lost out in the fans' lottery and had to nab one from a guy who arranges corporate boxes and such like.
That'll work out at £10 a minute - it had better be good. I paid another £750 for my friend Stu to join him. What a swizz, but the prices are better than American Express could manage.
I'm in a special club, called the Centurian club, into which American Express invite people who they think are big spenders.
You get a black credit card and perks like free travel insurance with lavish cover meaning you can immediately spend several hundred quid on essentials if your bag gets lost by the airline... Anyway, another thing they do is say they can get you tickets to absolutely anything.
I inquired and they said, yes they could. For a whopping £1,350 plus VAT. I'm not that big a spender...
I think it's time for a ban on ticket prices over and above face value. The Glastonbury festival's photo pass idea is the way forward, I reckon.
Mr Gay UK Date
I CAN'T believe it's that time of year already but the heats for my male beauty competition, Mr Gay UK, are coming up - and we've one in Huddersfield for the first time in a few years.
It's at the New Union on Sunday July 1 and, you've guessed it, the reigning Mr Gay UK himself, Huddersfield policeman Mark Carter (pictured), will be there. Under the competition rules, he's not allowed to go for the title again, so the dashing constable has to give up his crown. Could someone else from Huddersfield triumph? What are the chances?
Stars in my bars
Stars in my bars
Blimey, it looks like I'll be ditching my favourite hobby of chasing celebrities around... they're all flocking to me!
Or more specifically, the venues I own in Leeds. The first of a string of celebs to turn up for a drink was Duncan James, the chirpy former star of boy band Blue.
He arrived on Wednesday at my club, Mission , which seemed a bit odd, as that's student night. Maybe he's thinking about enrolling to do a degree at Leeds University and wanted to check out student nightlife?
I've met Duncan a few times, first when he was in Blue, then when he was hosting Soap Star Superstar Extra for ITV2 in Manchester. Of course he's more famous lately for dancing on ice than singing anything.
I'd had a long chat with him when I saw him at ITV2 - and reminded him about the time he made a fool of himself by throwing a strop when I tried to take a nice, candid shot of him and his daughter backstage at Leeds' Party In The Park.
Fine, if he wanted to protect her privacy but minutes later he took her onstage with him, and sang her a song in front of thousands of people. He apologised and told me it was a moment of madness from the adrenalin rush before going in stage.
Another time, I met up with him at a gig he did at Blackpool illuminations. He'd borrowed a flat cap from a member of the audience to wear, then he had one at the Clothes Show Live in Birmingham as well when I saw him there. I couldn't resist telling him I didn't think it suited him.
Then, weeks later, when he turned up in Mission he was wearing a flat cap, so he obviously took no notice of my fashion advice. I don't know if that means he's been wearing the same one, solidly, since then, taking it off only to get his skates on... not a good look, Duncan!
So, you want to know who else has been round, don't you? On Friday, Paddy McGuinness, Peter Kay's sidekick best known as Paddy from Max and Paddy, arrived with the blonde girl from Shipwreck whose name I can't remember.
I like him but he's not exactly Robert De Niro in the acting stakes. Someone told me that they had to call his character Paddy in Phoenix Nights because he kept forgetting to react when they tried a fictional name and another actor called him by it as the cameras rolled. Bless!
Saturday was all about Emmerdale, first I bumped into Lucy Pargeter pushing a baby in a push chair in Zara in Leeds and later that night not one but three Emmerdale stars turned up at Mission - Cleveland Campbell, Sammy Winward and Kelvin Fletcher.
They were in good spirits and bought me a drink in the VIP room. We had a great time sharing showbiz gossip and Cleveland told me what it was like going to drama school with Anthony Cotton... and then got talking about myspace, still my current favourite topic.
I have met Kelvin a few times but had no idea who the other two were. I'm never at home when Emmerdale's on.
He told me he didn't have a myspace, but that strangers keep setting one up in Sammy's name.
I asked Sammy what she did for a job, as I couldn't figure out why she was supposed to be famous and the centre of all this myspace attention.
''I was in Brookside ,'' she replied. ''How come people remember you from that? It's not been on in ages,'' I said.
It turns out she's currently doing very well in Emmerdale, so I don't know whether the 'Brookside' line was idle mischief, a genuine desire to play down her telly status or maybe she was miffed that I didn't know who she was.
Perhaps she just couldn't be bothered to answer a load of questions like: ''Do they serve real beer in the Woolpack?'' that she thought I was going to ask her. All Cleveland had to say on the matter was: ''It's all politics!''
Sammy and Kelvin looked to be getting on very well - I half wondered, as I put them in a taxi at 4am, whether there's a bit of an off-screen romance blossoming there. Who can tell?
How I brought a taste of Brazil to the big smoke
My other career as an arty photographer is going from strength to strength... I had my first exhibition in London, at Canning House in Knightsbridge, which has links with the Brazilian embassy.
I was showing off my photos of the Rio Carnival which were a big hit at the Troubadour Gallery, in Chorlton, Manchester, last summer. A selection of them were snapped up by a German publisher for a coffee table book Carnival In Rio:Samba Samba Samba! The book, which comes with four CDs, has been selling well for the past year or so, and there were plenty more photos where they came from - I go back to Brazil every February for this fabulous event.
The opening night for my latest show was brilliant, there were about 200 people there including Brazilians, so I had to think extra-carefully about what I said in my speech - obviously they know their country better than I do and I didn't want to come out with any misinformation!
I was surprised at how nervous I was for the speech - I think it suddenly dawned on me that here I was, Terry George from Leeds, here in London, with all these people come to see me and my work, and I felt a bit overwhelmed.
My hands were shaking and my voice was wavering as I thanked friends and associates including my friend Ruth who I met, by chance, on holiday and who went on to appoint herself my unofficial agent, securing me my Manchester show and also this one with her amazing contacts.
When someone asked me to sign a copy of my book, my legs turned to jelly. I can't decide whether that means I was humbled or I'm developing an ego the size of West Yorkshire!
Now my latest big photo project is with Leeds Rhinos - I'm hoping to put my images of the players on and off duty together into a glossy book, but it's early days yet. I'll keep you posted!
The league of straight gentlemen?
So where are all the gay footballers? If one in 10 people are gay it must mean there's at least one on every soccer team... yet there aren't any openly out footballers in Britain.
I had to laugh when it was reported that John Terry claims that if he was gay, he would fancy team-mate Frank Lampard. The Chelsea defender was asked who he thought was the best looking player in the squad. England captain Terry, 26, a dad of two, was stumped at first, then said: ''Probably Lampsy I reckon. The girls like him a little bit. If I was that way I'd see something in him.'' Ahh, that's nice.
Inside story of celebrity fashion
The papers and telly couldn't get enough of Kate Moss last week, and all her fans who swamped Topshop to snap up her clothes. What's the big deal?
Celebrities turning their 'talents' to clothing is absolutely nothing new - if you can call nodding vaguely at a few drawings and samples, then signing on the dotted line and waiting for the cash to roll in 'talent'.
And besides, does anyone really think that Kate herself would wear this stuff? She's hardly your down-to-earth high street honey, is she? And that's why we all love her.
I think it's amazing how she's bounced back after the drugs stuff. It's not that long ago that everyone was nervously distancing themselves from her. Celebs have been endorsing clothes for donkey's years. Michael Jordan is one of my all-time favourites, his link with Nike trainers will stick in my mind forever. And if I ever get to the gym I'll definitely be donning that famous swoosh on my feet.
There's no doubt that a famous face helps shift a product... did you need more proof than that footage of scrums in Topshop? Plenty of those eager punters had their eye on a quick eBay killing, though, rather than unblinking adoration of Ms Moss.
Hours later, that hotly-coveted pansy print dress was selling for more than �100 on the internet auction site eBay, a nice mark-up on the �45 price tag. Kate's not the only one with retail to detail. Pop queen Madonna's given H&M a whole new air of couture glamour and, er, my mate Colleen is doing a grand job for Asda. The list goes on and on.
Kylie's knickers, anyone?
Another friend of mine, the designer Colin Wolfenden, is in charge of footballer Michael Owen's range for Burton.
All Michael does, apparently, is approve the designs - and he never fusses or asks for any changes or adjustments to be made.
So far he's always said: ''Yes!'' That means Colin's the world's best mindreader as well as a cracking designer, or, er, Michael doesn't have the meticulous, hands-on role that fans might expect. Actually, it's probably the former.
All of the items in the collection have a sneaky reference to a part of Michael's life, including Bomber, his Staffordshire Bull terrier, and Midget Gem, the nickname given to him by his pals in the Liverpool team because of his height and football skills.
Key pieces in the collection include a blue V-neck T-shirt with red trim, featuring the number 10 and a patchwork Michael Owen shield, plus his dog's name Bomber.
Things don't always go swimmingly for celebs who market their own merchandise. Who on earth persuaded Jade Goody to do a perfume? She's great but I can't imagine many girls aspiring to smell like her. I chuckled to myself a couple of weeks ago when I saw it being sold for �4 at a car boot sale.
I know it doesn't fit with the showbiz image I like to project but I have to admit, I love a good car boot sale. If you spot me picking over bargains on a Sunday morning in Huddersfield, please do come and say hello.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
My take on why gay BP chief felt he had to lie...
PEOPLE have been asking me what I think about the business with Lord Browne stepping down as boss of BP, after he told porkies to the High Court about how he met his boyfriend... I was even invited to talk on Radio 5 Live about this, the morning when the story broke last week.
In a nutshell, I can totally understand why Lord Browne would want to protect his sexuality from it being made public.
He grew up in different times when homophobia was rife and he clearly felt a 'white lie' to the court to save himself from exposure was insignificant.
But being gay is not such a big deal these days. Most people reading this will think he should just have come out. Who would have been bothered?
I know closeted people such as footballers, pop stars, TV executives, and judges. I shout about being gay but not everyone's an extrovert like that, and whyshould they be? I didn't always feel so carefree about my sexuality. I remember in the 1980s when I was working for a large leisure chain, I was mortified about my bosses finding out I was gay.
Then, when they did discover my secret, pressure was put on my manager to sack me - the higher echelons were worried that even shares in the company would be affected if people got to know I was a gay man working in an entertainment arena that drew in thousands of teenage customers.
Today that kind of attitude would be totally stamped upon, and rightly so.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Strange world of Boy George
BIZARRELY, Boy George was arrested and released on bail after a 28-year-old man accused him of ''false imprisonment and common assault'' at his flat in London's trendy Shoreditch.
I'm just glad that George didn't report me to the police when I unwittingly locked him in my back-to-back house in Bramley, Leeds, in the early 1990s.
I've told this story before so I'll give you an abridged version - he was DJing for me at a venue and I had no money to put him up in a hotel. I offered him my house and went to kip at my mum's, locking him in as I only had one key.
When I returned in the morning he was already up and about and thought I'd abandoned him - he was absolutely fuming with anger! I think he still bears a grudge to this day and he always seems upremely grumpy whenever I run into him.