It’s been a day full of tight silver spandex… don’t worry – I didn’t squeeze my chicken drumsticks into a pair of star spangled dazzlers. Nope, Noel Fielding and Tina Turner did the honours. You know you’ve got it when you can strut your stuff in a sequin endowed catsuit and you’re either:

a) Male.
b) Over 65.

Let’s start with Noel. Our brush with the shaggy-haired Mighty Boosh star came after a day of interviews. We dragged our editorial behinds to London’s ICA for a screening of the cult comedy and a Q&A session with five of the colourful characters behind the series. You know you’re either just plain weird or in need of a good night’s sleep when you find yourself fancying a man in a glitter suit so tight you can see his crown jewels, Adam’s apple, right through to his small intestine. Throw a pair of knee-high white boots in the mix and a head of hair to rival Russell Brand and you’ve got sex on lanky legs. I think it’s time for some heavy duty sleeping tablets. Noel didn’t wear his suit to the ICA – which is just as well. Even the nation’s capital can’t cope with such a spectacle on a Monday afternoon. Unless of course, you live in Shoreditch.

Now, as I sit at home watching the Grammy’s, Tina Turner has encased her aged skin and bone in silver. You know what – the old girl looks hot. She’s shakin’ it next to Beyonce and wiggling her bits with almost as much gusto as when she started out. Sure her kicks don’t go as high as they used to, she’s clocked a few decades on the age-ometer and she’s probably had some work done here and there but I dare you to get your Nanna decked out in a catsuit without dry retching. Tina doesn’t have a wrinkle nor camel hoof in sight. She’s belting out ‘Proud Mary’ with gusto – hell, she even shows up Miss Knowles. Some legends deserve to sing on.

As for my own silver getup… maybe I’ll save it for a special occasion. A bit of glitter splashed across one’s eyelids is okay for a mid-week working day but we have a HR department for a reason. Spandex for anyone over a size ten is surely a criminal offence in this city. Beyonce could pull it off but this gluteus maximus ain’t quite so bootylicious. I’m working on it though… just ask Pete Burns. While I was puffing my way through yesterday’s afternoon of cross-trainer torture, Mr Burns and his assets sweated it out on the rowing machine to my right. One thing’s for sure… I ran faster when I clocked his reflection in the mirror behind me. There’s nothing like wobbling through a workout with Mr Burns at the rear. Not that he was looking – I hear heaving bosoms aren’t his thing. Silver spandex however… well, that’s another matter.