I looked over Jordan, and what did I see? [Boy George column]

On Friday, I started my latest venture. I am doing a 10-part interview series for the UK Play channel called One on One. My first guest was glamour model and hugely misrepresented diva, Jordan. You know, hugest breasts in the universe, ex-Iover of Dane Bowers, often seen with a glass in her hand. What don't we know about her?
Well, I got my brown rice guru, Simon Brown, to glve me some informatlon about her deeper self, and was able to click with her and had a very deep and interesting chat.
You could say, if you were cruel, that Jordan is dumb, or "thick", as she regularly refers to herself, but not only does she do herself a disservice in telling people this, she's actually quite 1oveable and vulnerable - even beyond my level. And trust me, that's vulnerable! Let's just say that after meeting her, I won't hear a bad word about her, whether or not I agree with the things she's done to her body (I don't, because why take a knife to a Mona Lisa?). What I met was a sweet girl who grew up deludedly believing she wasn't that pretty. In that respect she's as mad as a March hare in slingbacks, because she has eyes that could seduce a corpse. If I had to give her any advice, I'd say sack the silicone because she is, as my mum would say, "A gorgeous looking girl". She hasn't learnt to stand up to every interviewer, because later that day we shared the sofa on the Frank Skinner Show and he was too much of a quick draw. Not for me, because I pack an extra gun and ammunition, and I come from the Dolly Parton school of self-deprecation: get the joke in before they can. Jordan told Frank she can't find a man to love her and maybe that's why she demands that the world does via the media. Oh dear - it's a familiar story, but I did offer her my therapist's number.
My house was fullof male friends who not had no need to be there but made themselves busy bringing her tea, fussing and gawping. Jordan's breasts, like my reputation, proceed her. But trust me, she's a sweetheart who could survive quite easily with a lick of eyeliner, and her smile which lights up a room, or a house even - but which she oddly hates. The mirror of life is a confusing thing.

Next it was off to Wembley Arena to wit~ess the latest Eighties roadshow, which I mentloned some weeks back. Kim Wilde was excellent but the star of the show was Ben Volpeliere-Pierrot, formerly of CuriositY Killed The Cat.
I might have been the only one wbo noticed, but tben I've always been a fan. Ben has so much soul in bis voice, and was looking better than he has done in years. It's hardly news that he has been off the rails for the past few years but he was looking great. He needs to get back into the studio because he has a voice that is touching, imperfect (in the best sense) and very real. Think Gil Scott-Heron and you'll get the picture.
Each act performed with a highly professional backing band and made it all sound very slick. Also sounding pretty amazing as Peter Cox of Go West, who has lost his hair but none of hls vocal power or passion.
Bless Paul Young for saying: "I have a picture in my attic that looks like Boy George."
As I said last week, God bless the goddess of slap, and whlle I can still get away with it, I shall be trowelling it on. I figure I have a few years of drag left in me before it all comes "Tumbhng Down", to quote a Paul Young song.
I think this tour is ending in Manchester tonight but next year Adam Ant is on, among others, and I'11 be there for my yearly injection of nostalgia. I loved every minute of it.