What kind of sick society has Jack Tweed as a pin-up - and what kind of girl wants to sleep with him?


Outside a London courtroom, bathed in the lemny sunshine of early spring, a young man punches the air in a victory salute.

Jack Tweed has just been cleared of raping a teenage girl at his Essex home and his callow triumphalism, before the cameras and news crews, is awful to behold.

In his position, some men might have had the good sense to behave with a little more decorum.

To act, even just for a moment, like a gentleman instead of a dim oaf who had just scored a goal or backed a winning horse.

To have the grace and wit to understand that this victory, if that is indeed what it is, is not just a hollow one, but one that reflects badly upon his lifestyle, his choices, his very existence.

Yet that is not Tweed’s style. Since the 22-year-old first crawled into the public arena as the jailbird bridegroom of dying reality television star Jade Goody, he has become the absolute distillation of everything that is rotten and sordid about modern celebrity.

He has no talent, no marketable specialty, no gifts, no nothing. Following Goody’s death from cervical cancer a year ago, all he has to peddle is the sulphuric allure of his rackety, low grade fame-by-proxy.

And sadly, that faint batsqueak of cheap bait — the empty promise of D-list celebrity and a place at his side behind the velvet rope with the Big Brother rejects and the X Factor cast-offs — is enough to hook many an impressionable young woman.

Long before this trial, a glamour model called Lisa O’Connor kissed and told newspapers of a drunken one-night stand with Tweed.

The three members of all-girl band Dice described attending a ‘disgusting, disrespectful and degrading’ eight-hour sex free-for-all at his Essex home.

And of course his short relationship with Goody at the end of her life was richly embroidered with rumours of his infidelity.

For inexplicable reasons, for reasons more to do with celebrity than personality, some women really like him.

The teenager who accused Tweed and his friend Anthony Davis of raping her went back to his house with friends after they all met at the Embassy Club in Mayfair last year.

It is a long journey from the white leather banquettes of the club to Jack Tweed’s home in an exclusive gated enclave in Essex; nearly 12 miles through the North-East London suburbs.

Picture excited Miss X in the car, as it sweeps through the deserted streets at 3am; what is she thinking?

Is she like Dorothy, hoping for her Kansas? A Cinderella searching for the missing crystal slipper? If so, she is in for a shock.

Once at Tweed’s £600,000 plus apartment, they drank and took drugs — just a ‘dab of cocaine’, she said, as if it was fine French perfume — and the three of them somehow ended up in the bedroom together.

In evidence, the girl said she was frozen with fear as Tweed and Davis treated her like a ‘sex object’.

The men claimed it was consensual sex and the defence argued that she only cried rape when her friends laughed at her for being a ‘slut’ and having sex with two men. The jury agreed. Tweed was acquitted in less than 20 minutes.

On the courthouse steps on Monday, Tweed’s eyes are hidden behind fashionable aviator sunglasses but his smile is one of conquest, not regret.

To the desperate girls he invites to his parties, the ones with highlights and orange skin and impossible shoes, he is what passes for suave. He certainly knows the power of image.

To impress the jury, Tweed made a point of wearing his wedding ring and his wedding suit trousers during the nine-day trial; for luck, in tribute to his dead wife, a cheap shot at empathy?

Take your pick. He has said before that he will mend his womanising ways, but no one is holding their breath.

For every night of the week in celebrity obsessed Britain, big city nightclubs throb with girls whose sole ambition is to bed a ‘star’ like Tweed.

It is tragic that there is such an endless parade of wannabes with bleached teeth and tiny dresses who will skip merrily into hotel bedrooms and wifeless homes with sundry football stars, golfers and famous personalities.

Who think that having phone sex with Ashley Cole or climbing into the back of a parked car with John Terry could lead to a lifetime’s supply of Jimmy Choos and the paradise of wall to wall, Chanelquilted Wag-dom.

Or who throw themselves at these men just for the thrill of a celebrity notch on the bedpost; a new kind of autograph for this generation of unashamed thrill-seekers.

In the new sexual politics, fuelled by the fetid aphrodisiac of accessible celebrity, the distinction between the hunter and the hunted has never been more blurred.

Of course, Jack Tweed is right at the bottom of this totem pole of dark notoriety. He doesn’t work, he has been jailed twice for assault and his every dealing with the female sex is grimy with misogyny. He cheated on

He has never done a thing to redeem his reputation as a sponging layabout who got on television because of his connections to the goldmine Jade rather than his own ability. Yet, somehow, he seems to thrive in his carefully cultivated dystopia of party drugs, booze, violence and loveless sex.

Jack Tweed may have walked from court an innocent man, yet there is something unmistakably craven about him; he is somehow both shifty and puerile, a man for ever on the make and always looking for an angle. Now — at last — he has certainly got one.

In tribute to his latest sexual escapades, his agents are preparing to sell magazine and interview rights to his story and there are new deals being prepared for him to appear on reality shows. Perhaps even jointly with his new girlfriend, former Big Brother contestant Chanelle Hayes. So new, in fact, that she is pregnant with another man’s child.

And somewhere at the margins of his wife, whom he is said to have called ‘Cashpoint’ behind her back.

It is truly a wretched story, a moral black hole with no place for tenderness or decency.

And it shows yet again that there is also no place for shame or regret in public life. Years ago, a man like Tweed would have been banished to the margins of society, an embarrassment to himself and others.

Today, he is a star. In fact, he is almost a pin up.

This week Jack Tweed has triumphed, somehow he has become a reality star born of a reality star; a weaker, cheaper, dilute version of his poor, dead wife. Who could have thought that possible?

What happened that sordid night says everything about Britain’s cult of celebrity and the asinine ugliness of what reality television, and the stars that it spawns, has become.


Daily Mail

Originally Posted by InOne (Post 3195245) Quite an interesting read, she does not mess about.

Originally Posted by Mrluvaluva (Post 3195260) I take it she does not agree with the verdict.

Originally Posted by InOne (Post 3195954) Guess she just see's he's a twat and everything that is wrong with Society and she's right. what kind of girl would want to sleep with him?

Originally Posted by Mrluvaluva (Post 3195962) I think most of us see him the same way. Unfortunately there will always be girls wanting to sleep with the likes of him. And if he carries on the way he's going, he'll be back in the papers, and maybe jail again, in no time at all.

Originally Posted by InOne (Post 3195987) It's annoying they never seem to make anything stick with charges and stuff. I mean, people go on like Jade was some sort of Saint, he can't live off her name forever. Jade was pretty much what was wrong with society anyway, and our shallow nation got all sympathetic for her.

Originally Posted by Darenn (Post 3196050) I do agree.. He's not a good role-model, he's not the sorta guy anyone should go for &I wouldn't want to get involved with him. That said, however, I do find him attractive.

Originally Posted by Mrluvaluva (Post 3196076) Looks aren't everything though. These girls just want to get involved with him for the thrill of being photographed with someone "famous". It's the way of modern civilization. I bet most of them would not bother if he was an "ordinary" bloke. Quite sad really. They are all looking for their 15 mins of fame.

Originally Posted by Darenn (Post 3196050) I do agree.. He's not a good role-model, he's not the sorta guy anyone should go for &I wouldn't want to get involved with him. That said, however, I do find him attractive.

Originally Posted by Darenn (Post 3196086) Oh no totally, and I totally do agree with the article. I don't even think he should be famous, I think he's a vile person and the impact he's having is terrible. I meant on a very shallow level.. based on appearance, he is an attractive guy. Obviously the personality smashes that to pieces though.

Originally Posted by InOne (Post 3195954) Guess she just see's he's a twat and everything that is wrong with Society and she's right. what kind of girl would want to sleep with him?

Originally Posted by Shasown (Post 3196404) The kind of girl who likes it rough and wants her 15 minutes.

Originally Posted by InOne (Post 3196410) Yes, the same type who falls around town every week with sick down her top and kebab in hand.

Originally Posted by WOMBAI (Post 3196092) Sorry - but can't believe you said that! Each to their own I guess - but to most - there is absolutely nothing attractive about such a pointless, clearly unintelligent, unproductive waste of space as Jack Tweedy!

Originally Posted by Stu (Post 3196894) Looks, you helmet, looks. He finds him aesthetically attractive.

Originally Posted by Enid (Post 3197158) He'd be alright for a quick drunken fumble. I don't find his personality attractive at all, but I'd shag him. Leave a fiver in the morning. I like making men feel cheap and nasty.

Originally Posted by WOMBAI (Post 3197164) Go girl! :hugesmile: