Shropshire Magazine

Tom Cruise and Johnny Depp: Big-screen draws for the ladies.

Where have all the heart-throbs gone? Those hunky chaps who made it onto the silver screen in the ’80s and ’90s because they looked so hot.Sometimes they could act a bit too, but more often than not were simply there as eye candy in a film with a gossamer-thin plot aimed at gangs of girls with bottles of wine and an evening to kill.

Like Richard Gere in his white uniform scooping up his factory girl in An Officer and a Gentleman, Tom Cruise taking our breath away in his aviator shades as Maverick in Top Gun, and Hugh Grant flicking his floppy hair in Notting Hill.

The good news is that I’ve found some of them — hiding among popcorn and Coke, jumbo hotdogs and pick’n'mix at Saturday afternoon kiddie cinema.

Youngest son Sam has become an early convert to the big screen and loves to go at least once a week. At first I tried to palm the dubious pleasure of accompanying him (and stumping up £30 a time for tickets and refreshments) onto his father.

Then I realised that, if you avoid the cartoons, kids films aren’t all that bad. And some are liberally sprinkled with some great looking guys — which helps pass the time if you’re a shallow mum forced to turn off her mobile.

I’ll admit there is something slightly freaky about still fancying Johnny Depp when he is wearing an orange wig as the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland, but the man who made pirates bootylicious is still delicious as a bipolar milliner.

But what has happened to Richard Gere? He’s playing a granddad — yes, a grandad — which is bad enough. But a granddad who dies mid-film after being roundly upstaged by a dog in the U-rated movie Hachi. Growing old gracefully or a downward slide for an American Gigolo? I think I’ll send Sam’s dad to find out!

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Vanessa Lloyd-Thomas

They say the seriously rich have largely avoided the recession — but a recent long weekend in London proved otherwise.Nowhere was it more evident than in the designer floors at Harrods and Selfridges. Wandering around the fabulous bags, shoes, dresses and jewellery was like a trip around the Marie Celeste, albeit much more fun.

Where have all the wives of Russian oligarchs and Arab princes gone? Even the fragrance halls were deserted, not a fur coat or hijab in sight.

And for the first time in years empty taxis were waiting kerbside ready for use. No running meters, and back seats piled high with bags and lackeys to carry them.

Of course, without the top spenders in town the shops assistants have been forced to lower their sights and come chasing mere mortals. It was a hoot to see two salesmen in Sam Cam’s Smythson franchise in Selfridges scoot across the floor believing I was about to hand over a grand and a half for a weekend bag I was admiring. Some hope!

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PS: A huge thank you to all who read last month’s column and felt I was entirely justified in taking an interest in the shopping potential of my eldest son’s university prospects. ‘Persuade him to go to Bristol’ was the general consensus. Subtle hints were the order of the day until he heard back from Aberystwyth that they were offering him a bursary and unconditional place on the strength of two pre-entry exams he took with them.It is fantastic news for Tom, taking the pressure off for this summer’s A-levels. But my shopping will now be restricted to sunhats and seashells. Still, who knows, by the end of three years I might just have saved enough for that Smythson holdall.