Society
Now what? - Lauren Booth sets the record straight
Published 13 May 2002
How Mick Hucknall never made a pass at me and Derek Draper claimed he did
A tabloid found yet another fatuous reason to print the long, exaggerated list of women (supposedly) linked by romance or a heady mix of hormones and alcohol to the singer Mick Hucknall. It used a picture of me looking like a startled llama and placed it several places beneath an altogether glossier shot of Martine "EastEnders" McCutcheon.
How did I feel, seeing myself paraded in print as part of a popstar's harem?
Was I angry, embarrassed? Not really. Women are complicated. In England we don't like being whistled at when we walk past scaffolding, but as a very classy Italian lady once said to me: "on the Continent it is considered worse to be ignored completely. To have just silence . . . that is far, far worse."
The truth is, I'm part of a much, much shorter list than the one the tabloid published: women Hucknall never even made a pass at. As far as I know that chart reads: number one, Ann Widdecombe, number two, Lauren Booth.
Suddenly I felt rejected - and got even gloomier thinking that Mick Jagger has never propositioned me, either. OK, we've never even met, but that's not the point: if I was deliciously ripe and tempting, Jagger would have tracked me down by now.
Never in history has there been such blatantly gladiatorial fighting over wealthy, famous menfolk. Considering that women now have the opportunities to work and become more powerful than ever before, it's sad that so many I know insist on rating themselves by their role in a man's life. When we meet, we still ask "so are you married, or with someone then?"
As I was sitting, thinking about liposuction and a new hair colour, two pals e-mailed me about their latest dates: "Do you think he really likes me? Should I pretend I'm not interested to keep him interested?"
Then another story appeared about my one-time, allegedly active, love life. It was in a diary column. Derek Draper (one-time new Labour spinner/wonk), it seems, still includes me on his list of "conquests". I decided not to get cross: after all, true or not, in these sexually competitive times, being on Degsy's list may be better than being on none at all, as my Italian friend would say.
I can't really condemn Draper for exaggerating his liaison with me. It's natural to bend the truth to seem more trendy and glamorous. We all do it, let's be honest. And before you shake your head, I dare you to pull out an old CV from your twenties and take a long look at all those exotic "hobbies and interests" you put down. My acting resume from the Nineties is the Walter Mitty of CVs. There's stilt-walking and circus skills on there - I did a three-day course in a church community centre. Horse-riding - I went once every four years. And the old safety nets: tennis - I never run for the ball - and swimming - which I can only do like an old lady, without getting my hair wet.
A researcher for a TV show rang me on Monday. "Lauren, just for our notes, what are your hobbies and interests?" I froze at my desk. The old jumble of exciting leisure pursuits flicked through my mind: rally-driving, scuba-diving, painting in watercolours.
"It's OK if you don't have any," she reassured me.
"No, no, hang on, I'm just remembering, I mean thinking, which ones to say."
Cleaning, working, fretting, drinking. All the stuff I do ending with "ing" is either chronically dull or ends with me throwing up. After a painful few seconds I took a deep breath and told (some of) the truth. "I bake and read books."
When she said, "Hmm, anything else?" I said goodbye and hung up. Being honest isn't always sexy, but not striving to be Mick's next fling or a swashbuckling rollerskater on horseback leaves me quite a lot of time to hunt down the perfect recipe for cheese scones and plenty to pinpoint the drink that makes me laugh rather than vomit.
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