Justin Timberlake’s fate is in his wife Jessica Biel’s hands, sex or no sex with his co-star
JUSTIN Timberlake’s 56.7million Instagram followers (of which I am one) are given regular glimpses into what’s considered to be one of the strongest marriages in showbiz.
For example, on Valentine’s Day this year he posted a delightful photo of him hugging wife Jessica Biel with the caption: “Valentine’s ALL DAY, EVERY DAY since I found you”, followed by, natch, a red heart emoji.
Cue a collective swoon from women the world over.
Not only is he cute, a talented singer/actor and a great dancer, but he’s totally besotted by his equally talented and gorgeous wife. Sigh.
But hang on a minute . . . have we all been falling for an Instasham?
Earlier this week, Justin was photographed holding the hand of his on-screen love interest Alisha Wainwright while enjoying down time in New Orleans, where they are shooting the movie Palmer.
The pair were hanging out on the balcony of a bar, where, presumably unaware they were being watched, they got a little touchy feely under a table when she placed her hand on his knee and, at one point, they interlinked fingers.
It’s fair to say that, at this juncture, the entire male population is collectively rolling its eyeballs and saying: “So what? It’s not as if they’ve been caught having sex.”
But the deadlier of the species — yes, ladies, that’s us — isn’t quite so shrug-and-move-on about what, on the face it, seems like nothing but, to our fertile imagination, rings alarm bells.
Think about it. On any given Saturday night across the country, thousands will end up having sex with someone they’ve only just met and may or may not see again.
But holding hands is intimate, a simple gesture that presents a giant leap towards showing an emotional connection to that person.
In the film Falling In Love, when married Robert de Niro falls for fellow commuter Meryl Streep he tells his wife: “We haven’t had sex.” She replies: “That’s worse”, because she knows that an emotional connection is of far greater threat than a sexual one.
Obviously, I’m not suggesting that sexually cheating on your partner is preferable, I’m just saying that hand holding cannot always be dismissed as nothing.
JUSTINGATE EVIDENCE
On that note, let’s look at the evidence of Justingate.
Firstly, the absence of his usual wedding ring can probably be explained by the role he’s filming.
Secondly, someone filmed them at the same time, and it appears to show that the former *NSYNC star is pretty drunk. His eyes look glazed, his head slumps forward and his movements are slow.
By contrast, Alisha seems very alert and, by my, ahem, expert assessment, her body language towards him seems friendly, rather than intimate.
At one point, a woman — I’m guessing a film PR or PA — attempts to pull him inside, probably guessing that being on the balcony makes him vulnerable to being photographed while three sheets to the wind. Too late, dear.
And that’s it, really.
Were it The Bloke in these photos, he’d be facing a tough line of questioning on his return home and probably a few nights in the spare room.
But, ultimately, I’d probably mellow and put it down to drunken stupidity rather than anything meaningful.
Justin can only hope that Jessica, pictured with him, feels the same way.
Advice not on point
BRITS send 64million pointless emails a year.
Top is “thank you”, others include “have a good weekend” and “received”.
Apparently, the energy used to process this excess creates 23,475 tons of carbon a year.
A spokesman for energy firm OVO says people, “should think before they thank”, via email.
Hmmm. For me, saying thank you is a basic courtesy in life and I would seriously struggle to leave someone’s effort unacknowledged.
Equally, “have a good weekend”, is surely an attempt to humanise the recipient as someone with a life and not just a faceless entity in cyberspace.
And as for “received”, who doesn’t want to know that what they’re offering or requesting is being actioned and hasn’t fallen into the, “oh, I didn’t get your email” abyss?
No, we are already an increasingly detached society thanks to increased use of screens, so let’s leave these common cyber courtesies alone and focus our ire on the real carbon-producing culprits of endless memes, fake news and ghastly “inspirational” quotes telling you to, “shine bright like a diamond”, and live your best life.
BoJo's ghost of Xmas
I AM re-reading the excellent book Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell.
In it, he refers to research which shows that the main difference between doctors who have been sued and those who haven’t is the time they give to a patient’s concerns and the tone of voice they use. Treat their charges as an irrelevance and they could jump up and bite you.
Perhaps someone close to Boris Johnson could pop a copy in his Christmas stocking.
Jennifer Arcuri with whom he shared a “close friendship” when he was Mayor of London, is telling anyone who’ll listen how aggrieved she feels at being ghosted from his life. “You know, I’ve been nothing but loyal, faithful, supportive and a true confidante of yours,” she says.
“I have kept your secrets and I have been your friend . . . And I’m terribly heartbroken by the way that you have cast me aside, like I am some gremlin. Is this the price of loyalty? To be hung up on, ignored and blocked? . . . Why would I remain silent if you can’t even speak to me?”
Why indeed. It’s a shot across Boris’s bows and one he’d be wise to heed if he doesn’t want those alleged “secrets” to become public knowledge.
Grow up, Andrew
IT was his adviser Amanda Thirsk – now sidelined – who persuaded him to do it.
It was his ex-wife Sarah Ferguson. It was his daughter Beatrice. It was the tea-lady who brings him his afternoon fruit scone…
Enough already.
Prince Andrew is 59, not some innocent youngster.
The only person to blame for his car crash interview with Newsnight’s Emily Maitlis was the man himself.
Arrogant and out of touch, he thought he could control the narrative and it backfired spectacularly.
It proved to be a major loose thread on the rich tapestry of Andrew’s dissolute private life, one that’s now unravelling at pace as others come forward to question his claims.
Not least the alibi of being at a Pizza Express in Woking, a claim that has now overtaken Corbyn’s, “I was present at that wreath-laying, I don’t think I was actually involved in it”, as a rich source of ridicule.
Something is rotten or, at the very least, a bit dodgy in the state of Southyork.
And his decision to take part in this TV interview has inflamed, rather than dampened, that feeling.
Neil is boxing clever
FORGET all the high-profile “leader debates” on various channels.
To get a real insight into who you plan to vote for and how good – or otherwise – they are, look no further than BBC bulldog Andrew Neil putting each of them through their paces in the run-up to the election.
First up was SNP leader Nicola Sturgeon, who, despite being one of the most impressive politicians when it comes to being across their remit, was visibly squirming with discomfort as Neil doggedly held her to account during a 30-minute interview.
Last night it was Corbyn’s turn to be chewed up and spat out.
The devil of any decent political interview is in the detail, and Neil has always done his homework – meaning they can’t bluster their way out of any obvious failings.
After 27 minutes of his drilling down into the nitty gritty of their various promises, even the most experienced of politicians emerge from the experience as if they’ve just done ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
He’s the most formidable political interviewer we have.
More of him please.
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Act on the loo!
THEATRE bosses have been mocked for warning audiences that a gritty play features scenes where the actors are smoking.
This follows another production where theatregoers were told that, “a man repeatedly places his hand on a woman’s leg, to her discomfort”, and another that warned those attending Shakespeare’s Richard lll that it contains: “Brutal portrayals of war, violence and murder.”
Ye Gods, how namby-pamby.
While they’re at it, perhaps they should issue warnings about the painfully uncomfortable seating, the provision of one loo cubicle for hundreds of people and the rip-off prices at the bar.
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