Page Six is suggesting today that Gwyneth Paltrow got a boob job. Something about her flashing a nipple in her movie Two Lovers with Joaquin Phoenix and her breast looking like that of a 15 year old. It’s an assertion based solely on observation, they claim.


They don’t know my G. My G has always had small bubbies. And now that she’s working out like an obsessed fiend trying to block out the misery of a miserable marriage, they’ve just reverted to tiny size. It’s hard to sag when there’s nothing to sag.

More interesting are the reports this week in the NY Daily News that she and Chris Martin are trying desperately to save their relationship by shutting themselves away at home and rekindling the flame. If you’ve been reading my blog long enough you’ll know already about the rumours that have been raging in London for ages – that he was stepping out, allegedly with some lawyer, a civilian, and that theirs has been a fractured (and irreparable?) union since after the birth of Moses.

It would explain a lot. It would explain her pathetic GOOP. The gays are obsessed with it. Deano, my heartbreakingly beautiful, SOOOO beautiful, young gay friend who looks forward to every Thursday, opening up his inbox and seeing her sad attempt at Martha waiting for him to ridicule.

It’s embarrassing this GOOPy endeavour. It’s so not Gwyneth. It’s so obsequious. It’s so common. Frankly it’s so disappointing. My Gwynnie should never have to try so hard. Like she might even want to be your friend. Or worse still… my friend! Ew! It’s breaking my heart every day, to say nothing of aligning herself to that fitness lady with the shady past. Ugh.

I want my Gwyneth back.

File photos from