Welcome to My World

скачать книгу бесплатно


After scouting round places like Harvey Nichols and Selfridges in Manchester, I spoke to Justine at Cricket, and she had to do quite a search through look-books and designer sites on the Internet before we eventually found a beautiful aquamarine-coloured gown by Alice Temperley. That was the hard part. Picking the rest of the outfit was fun. My clutch bag was by Gina and covered in diamanté. Because of the length of the dress I had to go for a shoe with a tall heel. I tried on Christian Louboutin, Marc Jacobs and Pucci, but in the end I went for a pair by Roberto Cavalli that had the same shimmering effect as my bag. I’d worked with the jeweller Boodles before for other events, and they kindly lent me an amazing diamond necklace, which looked unbelievable. I was told it was worth £125,000, which does make a girl feel quite special, if a little worried about losing it.

On the morning of the day itself, Sunday 21 May, my hairstylist Liza, from the Barbara Daly salon in Liverpool, came over to my mum’s house, where we were staying, to do my hair. I wanted my hair up to show off the necklace, so we went through a few styles and in the end came up with this modern-beehive look. I’ve got to admit that when I first saw the bun in the mirror I went, ‘Oh no! That’s massive!’ I liked the idea, but it just felt like I had this big thing on my head! Thankfully, my mum calmed me down and said it suited me. We were travelling down south by private jet and staying in a nearby hotel before heading to David and Victoria’s home in Hertfordshire. Taking one look at my new do, Wayne said I’d better watch out going through customs in the airport in case they thought I was smuggling drugs in my hair!

At the hotel, we got dressed and I put my make-up on. I’m not a big fan of wearing loads of make-up, I prefer a more natural look. Usually, while I’m getting ready, Wayne will be telling me to hurry up. If he’s ready then he thinks everyone else should be ready.

There were quite a few players staying at the same hotel and we had Rio Ferdinand ringing up asking if Wayne had a spare pair of black socks because he’d forgotten to bring his; then calling back and saying he didn’t need them because he’d bought a pair at the service station. Then Wayne had forgotten something, so he had to pick it up from Steven Gerrard. They’re all as bad as each other.

If I’m on a normal night out – maybe clubbing with my friends on a Friday or Saturday – then I’ll go round to my mum’s or my mates’ beforehand, dress there and have a little drink before we go. The last thing I’ll pack is my handbag. I have the same routine and follow it religiously. In will go my purse, my phone, my keys, a small bottle of perfume, my make-up and chewies. At the moment the perfume could be Chanel’s Chance and Viktor & Rolf, but Chanel is my favourite because they do little compact bottles that fit in your bag.

If I’ve only got a small bag, like the Gina clutch bag, I try to limit my cargo to as little as possible. I never change my make of bronzer or blusher, so it will be St Tropez bronzer, blusher by Nars and a Chanel blusher brush. I’ll swap lipstick and lip-gloss around. At the moment my favourite is a lip-pump by Pout. I’ll take YSL mascara, although I’m not a big fan of mascara

How to look fab and glamorous in an instant

You don’t have to spend hours in front of the mirror, trying on the entire contents of your wardrobe, to look great. Sometimes it’s the small things that have the biggest impact and turn drab into dazzling in the blink of an eye. For that quick fashion lift, try:

1. A pair of diamond or diamanté earrings for an obvious glimmer of elegance.

2. High heels worn with jeans, which will immediately turn casual into smart-casual and elevate you in more ways than one.

3. The right pair of sunglasses can lend mystery and midnight glam to any outfit, with a mix of rock-star attitude and screen-siren chic.

4. A sparkly clutch bag. Simple but effective.

5. A skinny glitter belt. Just a touch of disco will give you the sparkle you need for a night out.

6. Tuck those jeans into your boots. Let’s be honest, what’s good for Kate Moss and Madonna is good for everyone else. It’s amazing how something so simple can look so sexy.

7. Loads of necklaces worn with a simple T-shirt. Part festival-chic, part Mardi Gras, open your jewellery drawer and throw a few on. It looks like you’ve tried, but the beauty is that it’s so simple.

8. A designer bag – my personal favourite. They might be expensive but a designer bag is your access-all-areas pass to fashion. Are they looking at me or my bag? Who cares!

as the next day I usually have big black eyes! I like eye make-up by either Nars or MAC. Other than that, I’ll always take my chewing gum, green Wrigley’s Extra, my credit cards, and a bit of money just in case I need to get a taxi home.

When the time arrived to leave the hotel a car took us to the Beckhams’ house. I’ve been to quite a few big events but I still feel a bit apprehensive about these kinds of things, wondering if anyone I know will have arrived yet, who’ll be sat at our table, the usual things. At the entrance the paparazzi were lined up and there was an ITV camera crew filming people entering. As we walked in they asked me who my dress was by and how Wayne’s foot was getting on – in case you’ve forgotten, he’d broken his fourth metatarsal a couple of months before the World Cup and everyone was worried about whether he was going to be fit in time to play.

I’ll never get used to the red carpet. The first time I experienced it was at the Pride of Britain awards when there was a wall of paparazzi shouting at me, ‘Coleen! Over here! Coleen! Over here! Over here!’ In the end I just stood there twisting my head around from side to side and going, ‘Wait! Give me a chance!’ That whole walk makes me feel really self-conscious. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. At the National Television Awards, when I was making my documentary for Channel 5, I started thinking, ‘What if I stand there and they don’t even want to take my picture?’

We’d been to David and Victoria’s house for dinner a few years previously, but this time the party was being hosted in a marquee in the grounds. Once inside, it took your breath away. Everything was gorgeous. They are great hosts. At around 7 p.m., just as we arrived, four jets with St George’s crosses on their wings flew overhead. There was a soft moss-green carpet leading up to the reception area, decorated with beautiful cream-coloured flowers and scented candles. In the dining area, over 300 guests sat at round tables, and each table had a silver birch tree at its centre, surrounded by an arrangement of lilies, tulips and roses. And they had my and Wayne’s favourite wine on the tables – New Zealand Cloudy Bay sauvignon blanc – so we were made up.

It’s rare that you’ll ever see me and Wayne attending a public event together. We just don’t go for that celebrity-couple thing. The Beckhams’ World Cup party is one of the few times it’s happened.

I arrive at an event like that and still wonder what it’s going to be like. I’ve never been one for wanting to meet celebrities. Lots of people have favourite actors and pop stars, but I’m not really like that, although at the Elle Style Awards I was really star-struck to see Charlize Theron and Mischa Barton. I suppose the only person I’d like to sit down and have a chat to if I ever had the chance to meet her would be Charlotte Church. Just because she seems quite similar to me, she’s the same age, and I think we’ve experienced a comparable amount of attention and scrutiny from the paparazzi and the press even though she has a totally different career to me.

I remember one of the few occasions where we were meant to go to a big do together, I was told I wasn’t allowed and ended up being really upset. We’d just started going out together when Wayne was named as BBC Young Sports Personality of the Year. He was invited down to London to pick up the award and asked me to be there with him. I was only seventeen and I was really excited. It was just before Christmas, so my mum and dad came shopping with me and I bought this little black dress. Then I saw these shoes in Dune, with an ankle strap and diamanté – they were really nice at the time – but they were £120 and I was still at school and my mum said, ‘No, you’re not getting them, we’ve just got you the dress.’ I’d resigned myself to settling for another pair of shoes, but just before the awards my mum and dad came back from town and they’d bought the ones I’d originally wanted. I couldn’t have been more made up. Then, that same night, Wayne came over and said I couldn’t go. His manager, David Moyes – Wayne was at Everton at the time – had said he didn’t think it was appropriate that I went with Wayne because we were too young. Maybe he didn’t want us staying in the hotel together. I was gutted.

I was excited to be going with Wayne to the Beckhams’ party. I expected it to be really good, but I imagined it would be quite a low-key affair with people eating and then a little bit of entertainment. That wasn’t the case at all. Everyone was really up for a great night, dancing away and enjoying themselves. It was brilliant. I suppose it’s not hard to enjoy yourself when there are 350 of you and you’ve just eaten a meal cooked by Gordon Ramsay and you’re being entertained by James Brown and Robbie Williams! Robbie used to be my favourite in Take That. By the way, I never did get the chance to have a few words with Mr Ramsay about how he was rearing a couple of pigs and had apparently named them after me and Wayne. Maybe it was a good job we didn’t get to meet!

Sometimes you go to these kinds of parties and everyone is on their best behaviour, but everyone was so relaxed, including Wayne. The next day the newspapers made a big fuss about Wayne dancing on his injured foot. Well, the truth is that I tried to stop him, but Wayne loves dancing and once he gets going there’s no holding him back!

Wayne’s quite proud of his fancy footwork on the dance floor. At every party we go to he makes a big thing of dancing, doing his thing, flips, the lot, you name it, until people form a circle and start cheering. He loves it! It’s his party piece. Actually, he’s not a bad dancer, but he’ll start doing this flipping and stuff, then the circle will form and all of a sudden he thinks he’s Michael Jackson! At Victoria and David’s he promised me he was going to behave himself. Then, later on in the night, he started dancing. I’m stood back and I can see this telltale little circle starting to form around him. As soon as I saw it I was over there, in the middle, dancing by his side and telling him, ‘C’mon, there’s a circle forming, you’ve got to come over here.’ Fortunately, I managed to get him out safely before the flips started.

I expected Victoria’s party to be really good, but I imagined it would be quite a low-key affair with people eating and then a little bit of entertainment.

For a lot of events I’ll take my best friend, Claire, with me. Over time, I’ve become a bit wiser to the way things work.

I can go out and enjoy myself, but I have forever got to be on my guard because there are always journalists hanging around trying to catch well-known people out, either doing something they’re not supposed to or even if they’re talking to someone that might make a story. It sounds paranoid, but I’m always aware that journalists might be ear-wigging my conversations, or they’ll try to take advantage of Claire if she’s standing on her own and start asking her questions. I’ve come to understand that it’s possible to be at a different party from the one that’s reported in the newspapers the next day.

I found that out very early on. I had my eighteenth birthday party at the Devonshire Hotel in Liverpool. It was quite hard arranging it because of the football fixtures and fitting dates around Wayne’s schedule. In the end, we sorted out a date and it was fantastic. I’d just left school and everyone was there, family and friends, the place was jam-packed. Everyone was up dancing from the beginning. I was given a three-tier cake, decorated with shopping bags from all my favourite stores made out of icing. However, in the end it was a fight that made the headlines the next day. They said there’d been a scrap between my family and Wayne’s. That wasn’t the truth at all. At the end of the night the bouncers were clearing the room and asked one of Wayne’s family to move to a different area. It wasn’t a big fight, it was a small argument which turned into a scuffle. Within minutes the police appeared and the whole thing was blown out of all proportion. It was like someone had been ready to call the police and the press, because no sooner had it started than everyone appeared and the story was in the newspapers the next day. I still can’t understand how the press and the police were so quick to arrive on the scene. It makes you wonder.

In case of emergencies

Whether you’re at a party or spending a night on the town, a girl never knows when she might have to pull in for a beauty pit-stop and make a few on-the-spot repairs. I’m not often this organized, but when I am this is my must-have first-aid beauty kit:

1. Dental floss

For after dinner when you need to service that great smile of yours.

2. Cotton buds

To tidy up mascara and blend creased eye-shadow.

3. A tiny bottle of your favourite perfume

Or a perfume atomizer. Don’t go mixing your scent with any freebies that might be on offer in the Ladies.

4. Oil blotters

I know none of us get sweaty – sorry, perspire. But just in case you do, these will make sure your face doesn’t resemble a big, shiny, round, sweaty thing!

5. Nail file

Just in case that pedicure doesn’t hold out.

6. Lip-gloss or Vaseline

One for the girls who, like me, don’t go for lipstick. Stops lips drying out and keeps them plump.

At the Beckhams’ party I think the main reason why people were so relaxed is because the press and TV cameras were so controlled. It just meant everyone didn’t have to worry so much about what they were or weren’t doing or saying. It’s not always that way but David and Victoria’s party was great in that respect.

One of the highlights was Graham Norton’s charity auction. There were all sorts of things to bid for, like a diamond-and-ruby encrusted Jacob watch that belonged to David, which Ashley Cole bought, and an Asprey necklace designed by Victoria. Ozzy Osbourne said he would cook dinner for ten and that was auctioned off, while other guests offered different on-the-spot lots.

I keep all the dresses I’ve worn to big events, parties and ceremonies – well, the dresses that I’ve really loved. I have big clear-outs of the rest of my clothes every now and again, and after friends and cousins have had a look at what they’d like, I take the rest to our local charity shop.

Wayne loves his rap – Jay-Z, P. Diddy, Kanye West. So you should have seen his face when P. Diddy stood up and said he would auction off either a weekend in his house in The Hamptons or the chance to spend a day with him in his New York recording studio. I saw Wayne and Rio look at each other across the table and I just knew they were going to go for it. In the end Wayne was bidding against Sharon Osbourne, and managed to win when he shouted out £150,000. One reason I expected Wayne to go that little bit further was because he’s really good when it comes to charity. The other was that I knew there was no way he was going to lose the chance to hang out with P. Diddy and go and party with him at his house. The invitation was for two, so everyone assumed he’d be taking me with him. Quite a few people dropped by the table asking if I was made up at the thought of holidaying with P. Diddy. I looked across at Wayne and Rio and said, ‘I’m not even going, it’s them two!’ I didn’t mind at all. They’re both into their rap. But Wayne was always bidding for himself and Rio, not, like the newspapers reported the next day, as a present for me! There was also a story that me and Wayne were going to fly over to New York and P. Diddy was going to close the whole of Bloomingdale’s and let me have the run of the place to shop. Now, maybe that would have been a bit more interesting!

Of all the parties I’ve been to, Victoria and David’s ‘Full Length and Fabulous’ must rank as up there with the best. Me and Wayne were almost the last to leave and didn’t get back to our hotel until the early hours. Now, that is the sign of a good party!

I keep all the dresses I’ve worn to big events, parties and ceremonies – well, the dresses that I’ve really loved. I have big clear-outs of the rest of my clothes every now and again, and after friends and cousins have had a look at what they’d like, I take the rest to our local charity shop. My mum always goes for my shoes because she’s the same size as me. It’s good to have clear-outs, but I refuse to part with any of my handbags.

Since we moved house I have my own big walk-in wardrobe, so I’m lucky enough to have the space to store all the special dresses that have made it into the news. I’ll never throw them away. They are my collection of memories, and in years to come they’ll be the best reminder a girl can have of some great times.

chapter five a very strange relationship (#ulink_9019aa63-a77e-5b33-8abd-63617ea07e85)

I’ve had to learn to live my life knowing that around every corner there could be a man, and they are mostly men, with a camera, waiting to leap out and take a photograph of me. Over time, you get used to it and the paparazzi become a part of your day-to-day life. It’s a complicated and quite strange relationship, and I would be the first to admit that, in some ways, you could say the paparazzi made me. All those pictures of me out shopping and with my mates brought me to the public’s attention. So it could be said that they allowed me to carve out a lucrative career for myself, enabling me to have contracts with the likes of Asda, Closer magazine and LG mobile phones. That’s been the up-side of the relationship and, in that respect, I’ve been lucky. But at the same time I’ve never been someone who’s courted publicity. And while I say you get used to being constantly followed by the paparazzi, that doesn’t mean you enjoy it. Sometimes I think it’s crazy. Do people really want to see another picture of me carting a load of shopping bags about town?

Each morning I wake up knowing there’ll probably be paparazzi waiting in their cars outside the house. They don’t tend to follow Wayne as much because they know all he’s going to do is leave home, drive off to training at Manchester United and then make the same journey back a few hours later. Whereas they don’t know what I’m up to, so they’ll follow me just in case I’m doing anything interesting. Most of the time I’m really not doing anything very interesting, believe me, but that doesn’t stop them. In fact, some of the photographers are under contracts to capture as many as ten pictures of me per day, so their job is to grab those photos no matter what.

There was one paparazzo who kept on following me all the time. Everywhere I went he was there, trailing me, jumping red lights to keep on my tail and generally acting like a real idiot. One day, when I was with Wayne, he followed us onto the motorway. Wayne is more likely to lose his temper at that kind of thing than I am, so he pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder. The photographer slowed and pulled up behind us. Wayne drove off and the man started following us again.

By now Wayne had had enough, so he pulled up alongside the photographer’s car, asked him what he was playing at, and the two of them started arguing. The photographer just didn’t care. All he kept repeating was that he was just doing his job! Unbelievable!

And there’s nothing you can do to stop them. On another occasion we even drove to a police station and the photographer followed us there. That didn’t make any difference. As long as there’s a camera in the car the police can’t do a thing to help you. As far as the law is concerned the camera means he’s a photographer and not a stalker. How crazy is that?

Sometimes the situation is downright ridiculous. I was in one of the card shops in Liverpool city centre, just before Valentine’s Day, and my mate and I were engrossed in looking through the rows of cards. The next minute, we turn round and the whole shop window is full of people peering in at us. There was a crowd of shoppers, three to four deep, craning their necks to see who was inside Clinton’s card shop. At the front of the pack there were three paparazzi taking pictures of us, while everyone else had just stopped to see what the fuss was all about. Me and my mate just burst out laughing, and I was thinking, ‘Oh, please, I hope I haven’t picked up any dirty cards or anything!’ People had their camera phones out and everything. It was really embarrassing! I felt ashamed to walk out of the shop. ‘You know what,’ I said to my mate, ‘I’m gonna walk out and people will be expecting someone really big to be in here, like Elton John or something, and then I’ll walk out and it’s just me!’ The next moment, a security guard asked if we wanted to leave via a back route, so we ended up going down some stairs and coming out of Boots next door. Outside I bumped into an old mate I used to go dancing with in Liverpool. She said, ‘Coleen! I’ve just been standing outside that shop wondering, “Who’s in there?” Then I looked and it was you!’ I told her I felt embarrassed. Stuff like that just makes you think, ‘That’s so ridiculous!’ It’s madness. What most people don’t realize is that there are now literally thousands of untrained guys out there with cameras calling themselves paparazzi. Many of them have never even sold a picture, but they keep on trying to make money by stalking celebrities 24 hours a day, hoping something will happen that will make their fortune. A lot of them are good guys, but some are really intrusive and even try to wind us up just to get a picture and story showing Wayne or me getting cross. Which anyone would if they were wound up like some of these guys can do.

When we were in Germany the press stalked us everywhere. We’d step outside the hotel to go to buy lunch or just to go for a walk and they’d be with us all the time. In the end, I used to ask them, ‘Aren’t you bored? Aren’t people in England bored of us? It’s ridiculous.’ Believe it or not, there are even times when I feel sorry for them and I think they’re just doing their job. But then in other situations, like when we’re on holiday, I wish they would go away, leave us in peace and give us a bit of privacy.

We’ve been sitting on beaches in Dubai and Barbados and we can see the paparazzi there, twenty or thirty metres away, just waiting to get a shot of us. It’s a public beach so there’s nothing we can do. I try not to let it affect me but I’m totally aware of the kinds of shots they’re after and, like any girl, it does make me feel self-conscious about my body. I find myself breathing in a bit when I stand up so I end up sitting down on the lounger all day. Otherwise, I take a walk down the length of the beach and there will be a load of them following me. It just means I’m on my guard all day. However hard I try, sometimes I can’t avoid giving them the shot they’re looking for.

I’d rather just go on holiday and be myself and not care what everyone thinks.

We were on a beach in Barbados once, with a few friends, and I stood up to remove my shorts because I had my bikini on underneath. As I was taking them off I accidentally pulled the string of my bikini and they came down a bit. I just panicked thinking that was the picture that would be in the newspapers the next day.

The alternative to all this is to agree to do a ‘set up’ with the photographers. If we agree then they promise to leave us alone for the rest of the day. Celebrities do this all the time. The picture will appear in the newspaper and readers think it’s a genuine paparazzi shot, but in reality it’s all been posed and agreed on. More often than not the photographic agencies will pay money for the picture and often split the proceeds with the celebrity. You can always spot the beach set-ups in the newspapers. They’re the ones with the soap stars looking all beautiful and toned, or splashing about in the sea. They’re not the ones of them sitting on their sun-loungers eating a burger, or where they have a few rolls of flesh on display. I couldn’t pose for one of those photographs. I’d rather just go on holiday and be myself and not care what everyone thinks.