I can't live without... four men reveal their secret weapons

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10 April 2012

All celebrities need a helping hand to keep them looking, feeling and sounding their best. Hannah Nathanson asks a mayor in waiting, a soul singer, a TV hunk and a top chef who is number one on their speed dial

LIB DEM MAYORAL CANDIDATE BRIAN PADDICK AND HIS BARBER JAMES COX

Before I started coming to Mr Topper's in Soho I'd been going to Vidal Sassoon like Chris Huhne, who never seems to have a hair out of place. But when they charged me £90 I decided it was time to change. I'm on a fixed income like lots of people and prices are going up, so you've got to make economies in hard times. The shocking thing is no one noticed a difference in my hairstyle.

James is very efficient. Every four weeks I get a number three on the sides and he leaves it a bit longer on the top. I can be out in ten minutes but we still have time for a chat. Sometimes I fall asleep in the chair because I find people touching my head very therapeutic. For £9 you don't get a luxury head massage, though, and you have to pay extra to get it washed.

I've never had a really outrageous haircut, but when I was working as an undercover police constable in the 1970s I shaved my head. Everyone else had long hair at that time but policeman weren't allowed to, so I thought I'd shave it all off instead. I bought a Fred Perry T-shirt and a Harrington jacket and wore drainpipe jeans and brogues with white socks. I would walk along the street and people would see me coming and cross the road because they were scared of me. I didn't want people to be frightened, I just didn't want people to think I was a police officer.

I think the role of Mayor is a balance between personality and power - a lot of people vote for personality and a lot of people vote for power, you've got to get both right and Boris is the man to beat.

I'm not planning to do anything outrageous with my hair for the campaign. My hair is just as messy as Boris's, except it's a bit shorter. I don't understand why Boris messes up his hair deliberately before he goes on camera. Don't let me near him with a pair of scissors or there could be trouble.

SINGER JAMES MORRISON AND HIS VOICE COACH JO THOMPSON

Sometimes when I'm playing a gig I see Jo's face pop up in the audience and I think, 'Oh no, I don't know if I did that right.' I started coming to her house five years ago when I was working on my first album. My voice would be completely hoarse by the end of a gig and I was struggling to finish even after two songs. It was really stressing me out because when my voice doesn't work, nothing does.

I try not to drink or smoke too much before I come for voice coaching because I know what Jo will say. I think we have a teacher-pupil relationship but it's much more productive that way. Jo's on speed dial for when I'm touring and I remember phoning her for advice when I had laryngitis in America. That's why all the lessons come in handy, when I'm on the road I know what to do with my voice technically to save it, whereas before I wouldn't have a clue. Working with Jo has definitely made a difference to me as an artist.

I'd never had singing lessons before Jo so I was nervous, especially since she has worked with everyone from Cheryl Cole to La Roux. I studied music at school but I failed and got a U at AS level, because I found it really technical and boring. I thought by coming here I was going to have to change my voice and one of the first things I said to Jo was that I didn't know how to sing classically.

In the early days we worked together quite intensively, maybe two or three times a week. I pretty much had to learn how to sing again. It took a while for me to trust my voice and get used to a new technique. Jo taught me how to control my voice and hit a high note without even thinking about it. The most nerve-racking thing is coming to Jo's with a new song and playing it in front of her, trying to get the technique right and then waiting to see what she says when I've finished.
James Morrison's new album The Awakening is out now

TV PRESENTER RICK EDWARDS AND THE OWNER OF PERCIVAL, CHRIS GOVE

Like most people I've dressed abysmally at various times in my life. I had earrings, bleached-blond hair and there's a photo of me wearing a big Kappa sweatshirt when I was in my late teens. I've often spent money on clothes but mostly on the wrong clothes. When I first started on E4 Music I used to wear bad T-shirts and quite bad jeans, which in retrospect was a shame.

When Chris and I met through a mutual friend five years ago, the label Percival wasn't up and running yet, but we talked about the idea when we were going up to Dundee to DJ one weekend. Chris was saying that he was keen to start his own menswear brand and now, two years later, here we are. We have the same style; it's what he would call 'utilitarian with a playful twist'. He is a very dapper man.

Every time Chris does a new collection I get a parcel, which is always exciting; the big cosy jumpers are a favourite. I'm a bit outsized myself so I can't wear samples, but Chris has changed his sizes this season so there's now more to fit a larger man. I like to think I'm partly responsible for that.

I did some modelling for Prada and some other labels when I'd just finished studying natural sciences at Cambridge. I found it pretty depressing because all my friends were doing proper jobs and I was walking into rooms and having people look at me and tell me whether I had a fat face or not. I would model for Percival if Chris asked me, though, but I think at the moment he has younger, better-looking models.

Chris and I have never been shopping together but I imagine we'd probably end up spending way too much money. Chris is yet to phone me up to tell me I look awful on TV, but I like to think we have a good enough relationship that he would let me know if I looked really bad.
Rick co-hosts That Paralympic Show on Saturdays at 1.25pm on Channel

MICHELIN-STAR CHEF GIORGIO LOCATELLI WITH HIS WIFE PLAXY

Plaxy and I collaborate all the time, both at home and at Locanda Locatelli where she's co-proprietor. I tend to become a bit blind because I'm there every day and only see things from the kitchen, but Plaxy sees the whole picture. She'll know immediately when the girl on reception is pregnant. We are a big team and Plaxy is like the mamma of 73 people.

We met 25 years ago when I was living in North London, sharing a flat with friends of Plaxy's. I remember thinking she was very attractive, but we were both in relationships. I know that Plaxy thought I was cute but very thin, with little spindly legs hanging out of my trousers. She teases me that my English was so bad all I could say was: 'My name is Giorgio, would you like a drink?' I was also wearing a yellow Snoopy jumper, which she didn't approve of. We met again a couple of years later in Fred's, a seedy place in Soho that has since closed down, and we started going out straight away.

Plaxy doesn't think I can turn on the television or the dishwasher when she's not at home. When she goes away the routine falls apart a bit. In the restaurant we say, 'Did you clear it with Plaxy?' She's the highest authority.

I come from a family where my mum and dad also live in each other's pockets. It worked for them and it's worked for us. Plaxy is my crutch wherever I go. When I took her back to my parents in northern Italy for the first time, I think they expected a blonde girl. Plaxy will tell you that the first thing my mother said to her was: 'We could have got one of those in the village.'

Our first project together was a pizzeria in Maida Vale. Plaxy was waitressing and I was in the kitchen. The day we opened it was empty, so Plaxy went out with flyers and we soon filled up. People still come to Locanda Locatelli and say, 'I remember when your wife gave me a flyer in the street and begged me to come to your pizzeria and now we have to wait for a reservation.' ES
Giorgio Locatelli's new cookbook Made in Sicily is out now (Fourth Estate, £30)

I can't live without... four men reveal their secret weapons

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