Fabio's Madio

Devon Quince talks to the sexiest man ever (to promote margarine), Fabio about why he's so mad with the current hottest man on the block, George Clooney.

I was shocked to read this week of a feud between George Clooney and, of all people, Fabio. For starters, I thought Fabio had passed away in a freak accident- but it turns out a bird just flew into his face on a rollercoaster (which in my defence, would have killed many people). Not only is Fabio Lanzoni still alive, he's furious another man who makes a living from his looks (and if you've seen Ocean's 13- looks alone) George Clooney, for insulting some of his female dining companions earlier this month.

The story goes George called one of the women at Fabio's table "a fat cow", which saw Fabs quoted as saying, "You have to be a low-class, scumbag to start calling a woman a name. If you're a man, you should never. You should be a gentleman. These women were with me and as a man I defend them. He was lucky he ran out of the restaurant. He's not even half a man."

I was curious to fill in the gaps of a dinner party I was now furious to have missed, and in particular to see if the big F gave GC one of his famous 'hair-flicks' (now they can kill).

Devon Quince: Mr. Fabio…is that what I call you?

Fabio: Ahh…yeah, for sure…yeah, you know…

DQ: So that's how it's going to be…

F: Can I get some cheese?

DQ: Well, there's a first. Sure, I'll see what we can do. Now, George Clooney…

F: The man is a scumbag! Well and truly, and no fooling.

DQ: Right. OK. But did you over-react a little?

F: He insulted miss woman- and that is something never, that you would do never in your life of times.

DQ: Wow, Mr. F. That pigeon English of yours is an absolute Rubick's Cube…

F: Thankyou much sir, I say remarkably.

DQ: Moving on. Did George apologise for insulting your friend?

F: Not a jot. The coward ran like little girl he is…and is.

DQ: So is it fair to say you think, even with his reputation as a sophisticated leading man, George Clooney is no gentleman.

F: Most absolutely, yes. He is nothing but a hack of the b-grades.

DQ: But isn't that the pot- or the margarine- calling the kettle- or the butter- black…or not butter?

F: I don't, ahhh…understandi?

DQ: Well, understaldi that as a cheap romance novel model and the face of a dairy spread who makes money from having boobs and women's hair…

F: I thankyou…

DQ: That people think you are the b-grade hack… and more like c or d grade at that?

F: Well, I never make miss woman feel bad. I make them feel nice.

DQ: I am sure you do. How big are you boobs these days?

F: 36 DD. Yeah, I'm pretty happy with them.

DQ: I bet- can I see?

F: For sures.

At this point I passed out. I have no memory of actually seeing Fabio's breasts. All I can recall is Fab unbuttoning his shirt, a flash of deep brown surging towards me and then…black. I woke, according to Fabio, only a few minutes later, but we started the interview at midday and when I opened my eyes it was night time. So who knows what happened in that lost time…

I certainly won’t be going on too many roller-coasters any time soon.