Non so dove sia stata finora, ma con Madonna impegnata a divorziare, Angelina in astinenza forzata da sei bambini nel letto, e Anna Wintour che rimette i sandali dell’anno prima, nell’improvvisto deserto di modelli comportamentali, signore, è con gran sollievo che vi presento Maia, la moglie di Damien Hirst

Del sopravvivere alla sindrome-Truffaut, dimostrando più tenuta di Sam Taylor-Wood (che pure si colloca parecchio in alto nella classifica di donne che paiono la tempra incarnata)
At the time she was dating Hirst’s good friend, the art dealer Jay Jopling (…) Her relationship with Jopling soon foundered. “I think Jay and I had already outlasted our relationship, realised we weren’t going to have babies together. When Damien came along, it was painful, and sudden” — and inconvenient, dammit. “When I realised I was in love with Damien, I had to move out, and I didn’t have a place or a job. I ended up living with Daniel Chadwick and Marc Quinn.” But can love survive Brit Art? Jopling has just split from his wife, Sam Taylor-Wood. “I know,” she sighs. “We’re all very sad. I guess it’s a sign of the times. You get to that age and you’ve just had enough of each other after 10 years. Unless you can do it for 20!”

Del gestire un marito dalla forte personalità
She says she would marry him — “Of course!” — if he asked, but one gets the impression that Hirst is calling the shots (literally, in fact: word comes just before the photoshoot that he has sanctioned a picture, but just the one inside the house). However, “there’s a side of him that’s really scared of me”, she giggles. “I punched him in the dark once! We were on mushrooms. He was being really horrible and difficult, and then he said, ‘I’m gonna leave you.’ I popped him one! He was devastated. He had a split lip and then he had to sleep in the coal shed because he couldn’t face me.”

Del non aver bisogno di dire che no, non abbiamo tate, faccio tutto da sola
“We’ve got a nanny,” she says, “and a housekeeper, and then we’ve got a woodworker, a general manager and a gardener. And then a kind of . . . a leaf-blower guy. Then we’ve got two tree men who manage the forest. I think that’s all. Oh, and a driver who does the school run, too. Delegation is just so cool, isn’t it?”

Della superiorità degli inglesi rispetto alle menate da AA e se bevi due dita di vino dopo trent’anni, bum, sei un alcolizzato di nuovo
Does she miss the partying? She screws up her face up into a cheeky grin. “Yeah, I do occasionally,” she says, before admitting to the occasional glass. Damien, however, “has had to stop entirely. In a funny way, I wasn’t very supportive initially — almost a hindrance. ‘It’s boring!’ I said. ‘You’re not really going to give it all up, are you?’ Also, he was the first of all our friends. It was a way of ostracising us.”

[E, per incapacità narrativa a riferirne con la sua stessa allegria, ometto il padre che la stupra e altre amenità che rendono la biografia di questa donna il soggetto ideale per la prossima fiction di Losito. Teodosio, la prego, si affretti ad acquisirne i diritti. E mi raccomando: Damien deve farlo Garko.]