7.25am: Wakes up. Stomps to bathroom. Defecates in an adorably normal fashion

 

7.35am: Makes faces in mirror. Despite provocation, mirror still reflects perfection

 

7.40am: Steps outside; rain immediately ceases. 

 

7.45am: Gym, with personal trainer. Clad in custom Nike. Runs, sweats, complain a lot. Makes faces on treadmill. Does exact minimum required. Trips, falls, shoots backwards into wall. Turns it into amusing joke. Is helped up by five attractive personal trainers. Des not bruise. 

 

8.45am: Doughnuts.

 

9am: Hugh Jackman stops by. Repeated re-enactments of J falling up stairs at the Oscars and H rushing to her rescue. Lols ensue.

 

10am: Cutting the ribbon of some important establishment, the related charity to which J has been donating since before she was famous. Clad in some ostensibly casual Dior with odd pockets and exposed midriff. Swears onstage, drops the mic, stage collapses, entire orchestra buried. Numerous fatalities. Lols ensue.

 

12am: Archery with Liam Hemsworth. Outstanding performance despite casual Dior with odd pockets. Laughingly shoots staff member in head. All present applaud.

Cupid's mad.
Cupid’s mad.

1pm: Lunch with Jack Nicholson. That cad. Suggested hotel tryst artfully avoided with Knock Knock jokes. Burger with fries (truffle). J finishes Jack’s leftovers.

 

2pm: Massage by Bradley Cooper (archery muscles playing up again).

 

3pm: Doughnuts.

 

3.16: Listens to 4 voicemails from Harry Styles; laughs, erases.

 

4pm: Skypes with old friends, making fun of: Hollywood, the Hollywood sign, the film title Winter’s Bone, fedoras and fixies,  people with Mockingjay tattoos, her blue X-Men jumpsuit, all demands that she diet, her Oscar (now dressed up in Barbie clothes) people without real careers born before 1990, One Direction, Dior, her.

Think my Oscar is shiny and perfect? LOOKIT MY ARSE.
Think my Oscar is shiny and perfect? LOOKIT MY ARSE.

5pm: Bike ride with Nicholas Hoult (fixie, natch), followed by hotel tryst. Paparazzi successfully avoided by entrance through kitchen. Chefs charmed; waitresses faint, showers of praise and devilled eggs. Ham snatched from walk-in fridge; used later in bedroom.

 

5.55, 6.37 and 7.02pm: Waterbomb paparazzi from windows.

Paparazzi do not look like this when wet.
Paparazzi do not look like this when wet.

7.15pm: X-men-themed role-play. Sheets: now very blue.

 

8pm: Premier. Another day, another Dior. Falls, breaks leg on steps to cinema. Heals immediately as angelic rays of light appear from on high. Lols ensue.

 

10pm: Calls parents; discussion about life decisions and/or future goals. Many Catching Fire/burn victim/smoke inhalation jokes.

 

11pm: Bed, with scripts to read. 100 scripts. 1000 scripts. Closes eyes, points, picks one. Doesn’t matter; has Oscar. Dior pajamas. Awkward pockets good for midnight snacks.

 

11.05: Dreams of doughnuts. 

Her real life is probably 100 times cooler than I can imagine.
Her real life is probably 100 times cooler than I can imagine.

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