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Sandra Omo walks tall and holds her head high to seal the deal

Four days ago I received a casting call from a modelling agency: “Models needed for a three-day fashion campaign; experienced, with a good catwalk, size 8 or 10, available for all three days, confident, elegant and at least 5’10”; the last bit is what got my attention – I mean my angered attention. Before the last requirement, I was very excited reading this casting call because it described me completely, but with it I could only pause and say what the hell? But being the kind of person I am, I was not going to stop at that.

“There are many models out there who have made it, even though they are below the required height”

Although I was not supposed to reply to the casting call because I am 5’9, not 5’10, as the casting required, I sent this exact message back to the agency: “Hi, I have just received your casting call and I must say that I fit all the requirements…and I am extremely confident, with a great catwalk (I listed some big shows I have done – this definitely got their attention) but, oops, I am 5’9 not 5’10, I guess you lose then?”

The next day I received a reply from the agency that read: “Hi Omo, I have received your reply and have forwarded your profile to the client. Please know that the final decision is theirs as they asked for those qualities.” In the first place, I was satisfied that my stubbornness got their attention, but I had to wait a couple of days to get a reply. I was irritated as I waited. Where did people or organisers get the notion that one has to be a particular height in order to be a good model? I, and I believe you have too, have seen very tall models that just aren’t great on the catwalk. I have also seen models below 5’7 walk like goddesses.

So why the height limitation? It is true that one has to be tall to be a model, but the required height is 5’7. If you reach 5’8 that is already past the bargain and you are fit and qualified, by height at least, to be a model. At above 5’8 you are already, at least, two inches taller than Kate Moss and just about the same height as Naomi Campbell! So I ask again, why the bizarre height restrictions? There are many models that have made it, even though they are below the required height – because of their strong features and uniqueness; while there are many six-footers out there who have not had a job for ages. What I am trying to say here is that modelling is not limited to height, as there is much more to it. It is about presence and standing out. These two qualities are the only things that may give you success in modelling. Every other thing is just the norm and there is no big deal.

So if someone tries to place a limitation on you, because of one thing or the other, do not accept it. I am not saying be arrogant or refuse to be corrected, rather to not be intimidated. The person might have a point but not a fact, and points can always be worked on. We all have something that works for us, whether it be height, weight, agency name, beauty or no beauty, size, attitude, etc – use it. In this particular case, my determination to not be intimidated by any restriction worked for me as I got booked for the job by the client and have even been booked for another job by the same client. How about that?

Andrew Kay cannot believe why it has taken him so long to find Hangleton Manor

Actually that is far less than the truth. It strikes me that my mates have been keeping Hangleton Manor a secret on purpose. In fact I know that is true because one of them said “Please don’t write about it, or we will never get a table.”

Well I am sorry, but this is far too good to keep under my hat, were I to wear one.

First surprise for me is that Hangleton Manor is such a fine building, a real delight and one that rather than being cosseted is being put to good uses. I like an ancient monument as much as the next man, in fact I am close to being one as I plough deeper into my fifties, one of the stately homo’s of England as my old friend Quentin Crisp put it.

“In a post festive mood four of us were on soft drinks with only Mr L on wine and even he was being restrained, at least by his standards which says very little”

Filling an ancient building with a busy pub and dining room seems to me entirely fitting, especially if it affords the owners the money to keep it in good repair. I rather liked the look here, robust and fun and the food followed the same course, as did the Gents’ where the speakers were playing classic Kenneth Williams sketches, what a nice idea.

I went along with a group of friends for Sunday lunch. I had a bit of a craving for crackling as it happened, so the invitation was very welcome. I was the eldest in our party and Jasmine the youngest at 12. Let it not be said that her age or mine reflected our appetites, she far out-ate me, not that I would encourage that kind of competition, but she does have a hearty ability to consume, and bless her, a mature palate too. I put that down to her parents always including her in their foodie adventures, and as a consequence she has eaten in some rather fine restaurants.

In a post-festive mood four of us were on soft drinks, with only Mr L on wine and even he was being restrained, at least by his standards which says very little.

We decided to go for it and ordered starters and mains. Mr L began with a pork paté and toast which came with a good chutney and in large portions. He declared it excellent as did Jasmine of her prawn cocktail when she finally lifted her head far enough from the crustaceans to comment. K and J shared a platter of foods, a bargain deal I reckon that included a cheddar cheese tart, roast vegetables, prosciutto, pickles, garlic foccacia… I think that was it but forgive me if I am wrong. It would be best described as a small picnic that, even with our help, the two of them could not finish.

I chose mushroom soup and it was very nice, rich and… well mushroomy.

To follow I had pork and so did J. It was very nice too, lean and tender with a nice piece of crackling that to my mind could have done with a touch more salt. The roast potatoes were good too and so was the gravy which although plated had not flooded the dish. There was a Yorkshire pudding too, which I ate, despite feeling that it was misplaced with pork. Apple sauce was in short supply and disappointing. K had lamb, again plentiful and Jas chicken, a half rather than slices, generous but I never feel it looks like a proper Sunday meal. The vegetables came in dishes and were all good although there were far too many. Full marks though for carrots with carrot flavour and not crunch or watery tasteless mush.

Mr L was taken in by an offer of pork ribs. I’ve seen him do it before in the hope of recapturing a favourite dish of years gone by. He received a vast plate which was half fries and half a bowl heaped with ribs in a very sticky sauce. He liked them well enough but was clearly over-faced. I thought it would have looked better with half the quantity of both chips and ribs, and instead a big salad, to which he agreed. Given that he could not finish them it could be a way forward.

For pud I made light work of excellent ice-cream as did Mr L and K. J and Jas went to work on a lemon meringue pie and an apple pie, both huge and both defeating them.

Despite a few minor quibbles, picky old me, this was excellent and great value. It’s no wonder people have been keeping schtumm!

Hangleton Manor, Hangleton Valley Drive, Hove, East Sussex
01273 413266 | Map

Dani discovers that boredom and being stuck in the pouring rain can be a dangerous combination

I never fully understood how anyone could really be bored to tears. But this week I can begrudgingly say that I found out. And after four and a bit hours on my own, suffering from the most acute stage of boredom there is, I can hands-down say that I felt like I would burst into tears.

I generally need to be occupied, or at least have something to do. But when faced with absolutely nothing for a few hours, things went somewhat downhill.

“Either way, I was insane and so was everyone else”

I had been stuck in the pouring rain earlier in the day, and while the boredom set in the itchy legs did too. But as the boredom escalated I had managed to persuade myself that something which everyone with damp trousers experiences was actually some weird leg disease. So while suffering with leg disease (don’t ask me the ins and outs of the affliction, as I didn’t get further than it being something that makes you scratch until there is nothing left!) I was also worrying that I would lose the ability to talk, so would then try and speak out loud to myself to check that my four hours of solitude hadn’t totally pushed my vocal chords into death. But the speaking out loud would make me wonder – isn’t talking out loud to yourself something that insane people do? Is being this bored actually making me (more) insane? Or are the people who we class as insane due to their vocal outbursts actually just really lonely and worrying that the lack of conversation is turning them dumb? But then to go for that long without speaking to anyone might be a warning that there is some problem anyway. So either way, I was insane and so was everyone else.

Then I became briefly distracted by the skin on my hands, and the fact that due to my compulsion to wash my hands more than is probably necessary, I have some really dry red skin happening across my knuckles. And I was starting to imagine myself in a year’s time, having the face and body of a 21-year-old but the hands of a 180-year-old washer woman. This caused my boredom to verge on terror and then the tears wanted to try and push their way out. But I stopped them. I just got angry instead. Which didn’t really help as the anger just made my legs itch even more which subsequently drove me to believe that my legs would need to be amputated. Along with my bum cheeks, as they are always the bits that itch the most when you are stuck sitting in the same position in damp trousers, especially when you’re wearing woolly tights underneath, which seemed like a good idea in the morning when it meant you would be extra warm. That was a bad idea wasn’t it!

So I tried to distract myself from my boredom by reading. My book is about a private investigator lady in the 1920s, and that just made me feel worse because that’s exactly what I want to be.

You can see my point now. It is not a good idea for me to be left alone with nothing to do for a matter of hours. I just turn into a nutter who talks to themselves about their mysterious leg disease.

Victoria Nangle on how a wealth of comedy material is simply sitting there in your diary

Ever worried about running out of material? Not I. I just take a calendar into the comedy lab and simply write and go. Yup, topical doesn’t have to mean doing a bit of Gordon Brown-poking or bringing up conflicts in the Middle East. It can just mean checking out what’s happening in your own diary. It’s Shrove Tuesday next week – how’s about a couple of pancake gags? Or will they fall flat? Sorry.

“Topical doesn’t have to be Gordon Brown-poking“

Bad puns not withstanding, in this crazy mixed-up world in which we live there are enough religious, anniversary and plain nutty days marked that no one should ever have to worry about fodder for laughter. Today (21 January) is the anniversary of the death of Peter II, tsar of Russia, which was also by pure fluke the same say he was scheduled to get married. Talk about an excuse not to turn up at the church. Tomorrow marks the date that in 1969 The Beatles made their last public appearance as a group. The day after is the ninth anniversary of Johnny Depp chasing off photographers with a piece of wood in London. It’s amazing what you can find as raw material that can be time-sensitive.

That’s not even counting the National Nudist Week, Speak Like A Pirate Day or straightforward Valentine’s – yes, love it or hate it we all know it’s not far off now. With this much going on it practically writes itself. However, writing in this manner does give a defined lifespan to each gag. Blast. Just when I thought I might be getting a whole new set overnight.

Ideally, these kind of gags can be peppered into a set on an ad hoc basis a couple at a time. Every comic that’s been going for more than a year will have their own jokes about Christmas, Easter and Halloween. Recycling doesn’t only apply to bottles and paper. The other, smaller, occasions tend to only get a gag if they particularly tickle your fancy, and again these can be carted out each year ad infinitum. Notice how this has now started happening with Big Brother as each season comes around again. Plus, with calendar marks like TV shows there’s a whole 10 weeks to tout your BB jewel onto an unsuspecting audience.

Truly though, the people who appreciate landmark dates the most, and utilise them thoroughly, are the comperes. With pressure to come up with new material each week dates are a blessing from the comedy gods. With this in mind, here is my top tip for the next couple of weeks. If you’re in a loving relationship and like see ing stand-up, don’t sit in the front row with your partner. You’ll be Valentine’s fodder before you know it.