Multi talented as she is Dotty considers the West of the first gold rush and the East of the new... while taking in Tax changes and other such high faluting business.  Busy, busy, busy, like the Queen Bee of Soho that she is... we can only assume that Miss Parker has attained boddhisattva-hood and now spreads her tender mercies via arms plural. 

Dotty concurs, how else would she be able to drink her daily five portions of fruit, recommended by Dr Antonovian of course, if she could not rest Apple-tinis and Pineapple Heads in a multitude of palms?  Our late night, amber hued visions of a mulit-armed devi aside, Dotty has been on a work-high of late, enjoying the bloom of Spring as Soho starts to come alive with glorious dandies, bright pink daisies and elegant limbs escaping from the confines of Winter's hosiery.  But a word of caution escapes her scarlett lips, enjoy the rush, let blood run through veins as the word "sale" reaches the high street and the low industry, but let buyer beware.... 

Indulging in her favourite way to wile away the morning, Dotty is struck by the monster of things to come.  Is it all a part of that syndrome diagnosed by her therapist, Dr Antonovian, post-Oscarian depression? 

 Never fear... as Dotty soon remembers, we could be heroes... 

Dotty gets her waders on for another session in the mire of the industry... And soon returns with her buttons shined bright, hair brushed straight and a cheeky smile that welcomes the new term at Netribution Grammar...

In the absence of many of my filmmaking compadres and my flock of artistes boheme over the weekend I found myself donning waders, binoculars and a small notebook to start my new hobby.  No, not ornithology, birds of a feather do not particularly attract me, unless of course the feathers are of the burlesque type and are hiding a much more fancier species of bird.  No, this weekend I devoted myself to the zoological study of a hugely common species often to be found gracing the pages of YOU magazine or appearing at your local cinema before disappearing back into the wilds.  I speak of The Overnight Success.  

Michael J Fox isn't the only one with the keys to the the DeLorean jangling from his oh so yesterday skinny fit, stone wash jeans.  Through the power of the internet you can now travel back to a year ago next month (confused... wallow in it)... and peruse Dotty S Parker's slick, sweaty, ice cube desiring column from one hot day in Soho. While Dotty changes her skin tone from porcelain white to wife swapping beige in the Maldives, sneaking licks at the cherry flavoured popsicles the shirtless boy, Arias, sneaks her through the wire fence that entangles her detox boot camp, we'll just have to make do with what crumbs the divine Dotty gives us as a trail back to her buffed and vampish toes and wicked tongue....

Dotty enjoys the company of an older man, while dreaming of young bucks... and no, this is not turning into "The Story of O"....

Recently between my hundred percent Egyptian cotton sheets I have been enjoying an elder statesman of film.  Bill has worked with the best, the worst, and the shit.  He has anecdotes coming out of his ears and boys, to take you through an anatomical diversion, the way to a woman’s pleasure bone is definitely through her funny bone, trust me.  If a man can make you laugh he is mere inches away from making you do something else.  I am a great one for anecdotes, but given my twisted nature I am more often found by the hearth in my flat spinning tales of cinematic horror than humour.  But dear William has a way of making the most terrifying of the levels of development hell sound like a four ring circus.  His career has taken in Newman, Redford, Zanuck, and Kasdan.  And there is definitely something to be said for experience in a man.  Usually it’s a word made up totally of vowels.