Robert Drewe ponders the ‘Poor’ epithet
Robert Drewe, whose new book, Swimming to the Moon, is out this week, has learned rather more about ‘Poor’ Jennifer from his doctors’ waiting rooms, than he ever imagined possible.
If it weren’t for the doctor, dentist and physiotherapist I would never have learned about the intense and complicated lives of Kim Kardashian, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and Poor Jennifer Aniston.
I owe their waiting-room magazines a great deal for introducing me to these significant, multi-talented and world-famous people. Thanks to a troublesome knee cartilage, tennis elbow and wisdom tooth I’ve learned much about their romances (many and exotic), best-friend feuds (lots), diets (constant), hobbies (nightclubbing) and fashion sense (skimpy).
I’ve learned a vast amount about their sex lives (vigorous), their technical skill at filming their relationships for posterity (patchy), their addictions (where to start?) and their choice of rehabilitation clinics (somewhere pleasant).
I know which nightclubs they like to depart from in a dishevelled state in the early morning, and with whom. I’ve learned they have bodyguards at such times to place them into cars and punch photographers. I know about their arrests, court appearances and token imprisonments. I know when the waiting-room magazine editors consider they’ve let themselves go, whether they’re “Still Hot?” or “Given Up On Love?” I’ve even been visually informed as to their tendency to shun underwear.
In mentioning the colourful lifestyles of the above internationally celebrated women, I remind myself that they must be extraordinarily gifted or their existence wouldn’t be so constantly celebrated. And of course I exclude from that list of shenanigans Poor Jennifer Aniston, for whom the waiting-room magazines have nothing but constant sympathy.
For what reason, beyond merely modest talent, looks and film success, I’m not sure, but “Poor Jen”, as she’s always described, must have suffered an ongoing loss so tragic that it overwhelms her personal wealth, apparent good health and pleasant-enough appearance.
In her wretched state – regularly confirmed for the magazines by her sometimes undergoing haircuts — she was joined for a time by Poor Katie Holmes (Tom Cruise’s ex) and, further back, by Poor Nicole Kidman (Tom Cruise’s ex), but the waiting-room magazines decided that, unlike Poor Jen’s, their tragic lives had a definite time limit and had run their course.
There are more waiting-room magazine regulars of course, like the Beckhams, a mysterious duo that the mags seem unsure whether to pan or praise, and those other Royals, William and Catherine and cheeky Harry. Plus JLO and Brangelina, as I’ve come to familiarly know them, and Beyonce, and a string of lesser Kardashians.
“As the doctor I see for skin cancer check-ups offers only surfing magazines, I presume he’s encouraging me me out into the sunshine…”
Clearly the magazine industry can’t get enough Kardashians. Like other distinguished families, such as the Kennedys, the Redgraves, the Barrymores and the Rothschilds, the whole Kardashian family is wreathed in fame and good taste, and the sooner Kim’s baby, North West, is old enough to go nightclubbing with Miley Cyrus, or film a bedroom tape with Prince George, the better.
Unfortunately some waiting-rooms let the side down. Waiting in a hospital ante-room for a knee arthroscopy, I was surprised to pick up the only reading matter, a tattered Woman’s Day, and discover that Lleyton Hewitt had just married Bec Cartwright from Home and Away, and that Tom Wants Nicole Back. Similarly, while I realise that The Life of Tutankhamun and The Wonders of Belize never really age, has anyone ever read a waiting-room’s National Geographic that was published more recently than 1998?
From his piles of magazines extolling the joys of skiing and extreme sports, I can only imagine my knee surgeon is trawling for custom. And as the doctor I see for skin cancer check-ups offers only Tracks and Carve, surfing magazines, I presume he’s encouraging me out into the sunshine every day.
But for one-track reading matter you can’t go past the waiting-room offerings at any business to do with cars. At the garage, it’s car magazines, pure and simple. Just having your tyres changed? Then you’ll be wanting to read about cars – much better, faster cars than yours, of course. You’re a man? Unless you’re a sook you should only want to read about cars. You’re a woman? Bad luck, it’s time you got stuck into Muscle Car, Wheels and Top Gear.
However, it’s the specialist surgeons who really rub it in. From the magazines they provide — Exotic Cars, Luxury Yacht Magazine, Luxury Travel, Gourmet Traveller and Country Living — you get the message. If these are those chaps’ avid interests, guess what sort of bill you can expect?
Robert Drewe’s Swimming to the Moon is published by Fremantle Press: fremantlepress
