Poor Russell Brand. One minute you're married to one of the world's biggest pop stars and remaking Arthur, the next you're a divorcee doing Yoga dressed as a Jedi with some new woman and those damn paparazzi can't get enough. What's a boy to do? Confront them, smash their phone to smithereens and slip into an ELO tour jacket from 1976 that's what.
Ol' Brandy pants was in New Orleans with the new woman, Oriela Medellin* driving an awesome vintage Mustang when he spotted the pesky pap. Being the crazy cat that he his, Russell confornted the "little swine" and grabbed his phone then threw it through the window of a nearby building.
Oh Russ. This surely flies in the face of your Karmic Buddhist shiz? This doesn't make you any better than those idiotic websites that keep these photographers in busine... ahem. He's gone and ended up woth a court appearance after the rozzers were called.
My thoughts on this aren't about the actual incident but more about the nature of becoming a celebrity's squeeze. Surely this girl had a job or a life or plans before she met Russell? They've been together for what, 4 weeks? Wouldn't you find it a bit odd to travel around permanently with someone you'd only known for a month from Yoga? My mum would have flipped a mental if that had been me.
It's stuff like this that keeps me up at night. Well, that and the Game Of Thrones box set.