Trainer of the week – hands down – is the three-quarter-height Nike Star in white. Certain branches of Size? have been threatening to get them in for weeks after they appeared on their adverts, but so far they’ve been a phantom shoe (so you may have to plump for the good, but not quite as classy brown version below).

Basically, it’s like an old-fashioned Nike Blazer, with the box on the back for the logo and the old-fashioned podgy swoosh, but without the suede trim round the toe. Best of all they come in a perforated white leather (looks like mesh from a distance) that manages to be both eye-catching and stay clean for much longer.

They’re also available in all black, but you really want to hold out for those white ones.

I recently spent some time with Donatella Versace – fashion designer, mother, one-time muse, celebrity-courter, ex-party fiend, professional blonde, recovering rehabee, middle-aged rock chick and dedicated smoker – at her apartment in the centre of Milan. As far as I could gather – and, as you’d expect, I had a bit of a snoop around the gaff – in each room of the grand premises there lies a packet of Marlboro Red cigarettes, along with lighter and ashtray, ready for La Versace to smoke at a moment’s notice.

And the living quarters are suitably Versace-esque: dashes of classical, neo-classical, baroque, neo-baroque, mahogany and gold, studded with impactful canvases and framed photos of Gianni, Donatella, other-brother Santo, Ma and Pa Versace and various celebrity pals from Di to Elton and back again. It’s as full on as you’d imagine.

But in a surprising turn of events, Donatella herself appears to have become the antithesis of her brand’s bold and brash personality. The company Gianni Versace founded in 1978 has always been loud – and high-pitched loud to boot – and before his cinematic-style murder on the steps of his Miami mansion in 1997 Gianni did his very best to embody the brand. And Donatella, despite being notoriously shy in person (or perhaps because of this), has also lived the party lifestyle to excess, embracing the hedonism so prevalent in the fashion industry of the Eighties well into the Nineties and Noughties.

Now, however, she’s a different animal, having cleaned up both personally and professionally. She’s low-voiced, low-vice, lo-cal to the point of being skinny as fuck, allegedly lower maintenance (though I still don’t think you’ll see her popping down Milano’s equivalent of the 24-hour garage for a packet of fags in person) and generally low-key. Even the clothes she designs have been toned down a few notches.

Thankfully, three things remind you that the ‘high-key’ Donatella still lurks within: the hair (forever platinum), the mouth (which makes Leslie Ash look thin-lipped), and the fact that she insists that the health warnings on all her fag packets are covered with a large ‘DV’ sticker before she sees them…

See the October issue of Arena for more of Donatella – and some beguiling pictures of her menswear and Home collections…

I’m addicted to watches. Not dress watches, you understand - fancy designer thousand-pound Tag Heuers are, of course, to be coveted, but you’re only really going to own one at a time and save it for very special occasions. Like awards dos. Or job interviews. Or meeting Ms Arena’s parents and signposting just how much you’re going to love their little girl.

No, I like ‘fun’ watches with gimmicks; novelty childish add-ons like flashing LEDs, horrendously limited personal organisers you’ll never actually use, or three-and-in football games with sub-Spectrum graphics. Retro timepieces you can sling on at a gig, bash around and enjoy like you would when you were six. And far from being temporary flights of fancy, they may just prove more profitable than you might think.

Casio was always the king of garish watch fun ‘back in the day’, bunging all sorts of lovely unnecessary rubbish in for a bit of product differentiation. In my garage recently, during a mass clear-out, I came across my 1985 Casio GH-16 Heli-Fighter amid a load of Ruislip Manor football programmes and mouse-nibbled swimming badges. It’s one of those LCD plastic things with a Harrier Attack-style shooting game on board. It’s still pristine, looks sufficiently old-school to complement my ‘rock casual’ stylings, and fetches a minimum of $100 on Ebay.

But for those style-conscious Arena men too busy changing the world to have time for to a bit of childhood-raking for their retro fix, Nixon (nixonnow.com) is your best bet for modern gimmick-laden timepieces heavy on quality. Its fantastically titled The Dork– a big Robocop-esque monstrosity that shouts the time at you at the push of a button – was my last buy, but it’s now evolved into the far swankier The Dictator, recording up to three and a half minutes of spoken words (essential meeting notes, swearing at yourself as a wake-up call, that kind of thing) into its James Bond-like face-mounted mic. And with a plush leather strap and sleek yet large digital display included, some people might even think you bought it to tell the time. Fools.nici sterling movienude database moviemovie old westernadult online moviespantyhose free gallery and moviesmovie clips pissingmovie database porndownload porno movie Map

There’s little I like more than unleashing my inner cab driver by wearing Pringle. If I’m yelling my foul-mouthed reactionary opinions in some poor sod’s face at the same time, then all the better. All this means that this month I’m celebrating the rejuvenation of the classic knitwear label that has recruited Claire Waight Keller (formerly of Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren Purple Label) to get us all back into (somewhat more subtle) diamond patterns. The new autumn collection also features heavy-duty woolen blazers, pea-coats and woven winter trousers. The whole lot’s got a slightly naval feel, perfect for that ’staring into the middle distance and muttering “the Baring Straits are a terrible mess, Margaret…”’ look that I’m so fond of.

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