Ah, Billie Piper. She seems alright when you see her, don’t she? Well, she comes off a bit smug in her opening chapter which, in itself, is written like some sort of Orphan Annie, rags to riches overnight, dreamscape to inspire to. That is you can be dumb and sheeplike enough to get over the annoying sense of glee she has.
I call it a chapter, but I should apologise to the artist now and relent to the format in which she presents her craft. This is not a book of normal, conventional parts. Oh no. This is a book of ‘acts’ and ‘scenes’ (as laid out in the pages) because of what I can only assume from the protestation within is to re-iterate her point that being on the stage (not as originally made famous) as an actress was always ger dream and the saccharine and crap pop career she was handed at 15 was well, nonsense. In fact it was something she gives us the impression that she just lucked into. Plucked from obscurity, if you will, in amongst all of the unappreciative whining about how ‘unsoulful’ her first single was.
It’s ok Bill, none of us liked it either.
Yes Yes, it went to Number One. I know. You can stop screaming at me.
Surely, it was a sign that children are given pocket money at too young an age. No?
Billie (as she proudly explains to us mere mortals) was unleashed upon the Spice-hungover pop charts as ‘the new British Madonna’, after a shrewd and clever realised that there were no strong, female role models or solo artists in the mid 90’s.
What an incredibly bold statement. The mid 90’s were full of excellent female artists from the UK. Mel B had herself a number one, there was the lovely Cerys Matthews of Catatonia, Billie Myers, Louise, Gabrielle, Shola Ama and Natalie Imbruglia (who may aswell be, the amount of times she spends here), not to mention all of the fantastic array of girl groups: Honeyz, B-witched, Cleopatra, All Saints and Eternal, so this is of course (as I am sure you are now expecting me to reveal), bollocks. Yes, that’s right. You can sleep easily in the knowledge that this is indeed a steaming pile of horse crap, fit to stop traffic on the M25.
In fact, Billie is one to talk about being the next best anything. But work at it she did. She hit the road and did the rounds of schools and singing PA’s, honing her style, voice and pimping her work to the underaged.
“Actually, I didn’t sing. Singing meant too much technical stuff.”
Like what? Talent, for example? Harsh, I know but she’s really making this too easy for me.
“They explained to me that it was easier to mime over the tape.”
Something compared to nothing tends to be.
“Hello, my name is Billie. This is my first boob,” read the unchecked pre-publication card that arrived at my bookstore, six months before release.
To be honest, it was never going to recover from there, really. This was back in May of 2006, when the crashing failure of Hodder’s pre-awareness campaign collectively made everyone they sent the scrawled nonsense of Ms. Piper think that she was a complete idiot.
Billie Piper has lived more lives at 24 than most of us ever will, we’re told but honestly, comes off incredibly lucky and spoilt. She is haunted by the Number 4 (a number she grew accustomed to in the charts after the initial number one success) so much that she felt compelled to constantly keep up with her invading American rivals, which eventually led to an obsession to Temazepan and a collective of after hours drunken stupors on the paparazzi club circuit.
A lot of this book is about her relationship with the brogue wearing Chris Evans, which I am sure her latest beau who is coincidentally ‘the one’, appreciates. Chris was so besotted with Billie that the morning after their first night out, he delivered a marriage proposal with a brand new Ferrari full of roses. Billie couldn’t drive and quote ‘didn’t give a fuck about the car’ and it was all a ‘head fry’, proving that love knows no bounds or really, common sense.
She really needs to get a grip though. The whole ‘I tried to kill myself because...’ line is a bit tiresome. There are a number of reasons why Billie wanted to kill herself it seems and it really makes you wonder how people with real problems would feel about reading this book.
“I wasn’t planned... I didn’t break America... My schedule is so gruelling... I only got to Number Four...”
Plus she uses the word, ubiquitous. Who are you and what have you done with Billie Piper? Other words I came across in this book include: "dichotomies", "altruistic", "subterfuge", "self-flaggelate" and "compartmentalized."
Shhh, don't tell anyone but I think somebody else wrote this book. Honestly...
But on the subject of self-flagellation (something I am always quite happy to discuss), the whole competing with Britney and Christina (two people she seems to blame for her health around this period) is a little obsessive and as much as we all found humour and oddity in the whole tabloid crazyness that was her relationship with Chris Evans, he seemed to have been a wholly positive influence on her. But you can't help but wonder how much of the positive spin Billie insists upon on their relationship is true and how much of it is glossed over, which is a shame because I actually found a certain affinity and joy from their whirlwind romance.
Ah, forever the romantic.
Billie should be proud of her acheivements and not dismiss her silly pop career like she does. After all, if it wasn't for the pop socks and the marketing to eight year olds, she wouldn't be a hooker now. Sorry, actor!