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Oh Cherie Booth. You know not what you have done for women. Just as I was seriously beginning to loathe the old girl. Superwoman. Top career, loads of dosh. Kids that don't pick their noses on the streets. Husband ruling the country. Top new house - albeit with Norma's chintz and freezer full of rotten cheese.
Not really that bright really are you Cherie? After all. Let's take that scenario one more time. You've just moved into Number 10. Your husband's just made history with a landslide victory. The doorbell goes. Who the Hell did you think it was? The milkman? Humphrey the cat? But dear Cherie naively opens the door to the world's press clad in a nightie, bleary eyed and hair and make-up askew. She has endeared herself to millions of women. There but for the grace etc etc. I am now taking great pains to cover up the peep-hole rubber bra every time the doorbell goes. Still there is at least one resident of Downing Street that isn't a Blair fan. Cherie has made it clear that she finds cats unhygienic. Pity poor Humphrey, the feline resident of the street. Personally I would have favoured kicking out the three kids on grounds of hygiene, but at least Humphrey has the last laugh. Yesterday he posed nonchalantly in front of his house, licking his balls for the world's media. Proving to men everywhere that cats are biologically superior to mere humans. | |||
Humphrey may be moving but sadly this isn't true of everybody. Paul Daniels, the odious folliclely-challenged magician, you may remember promised he would flee the country if Labour got in.Ever helpful The People sent round a removal van this week, together with two tickets (one-way) for Bermuda for Paul and his squeaky squeeze Debbie. The nation held its breath. Was he grateful? Not a lot. Sadly Paul declined the kind offer. | |||
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Denial is also a major problem right now for Carlos Leon, one-time trainer, lover and sperm bank to Madonna. It seems the dear boy is a little upset at being dumped by the Material Girl now that she has given birth to their baby Lourdes.
How naive. Sweetheart, let's look at the facts. You are a hapless, skint, albeit pretty gym instructor. She is a multi-millionaire babe. Frankly she overdid the commitment bit when she let you stay the night. | |||
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But at least in his new rule as non-persona he gets to escape the world's media. Something Princess Di, despite being dumped for someone with a face like the back end of a bus, will never achieve.
An entertaining piece ran in the Independent on Sunday about her "private hell" of being permanently chased by the paps. "She," opened the paper, "hates being followed by the paparazzi. She has tried everything she can think of to stop them." Yeah, like shagging all and sundry, and going on prime time TV to talk about how she sticks her fingers down her pretty little throat and wafting round London clad in skimpy lycra in search of a new gym. Yet she does try some more entertaining methods. "She (Di) increased her speed and lurched back into the fast lane, coming up directly behind me," said one pap recalling a particularly harrowing photocall. "We were travelling at 90mph when I felt her bumper touch the rear of my car." "I could see Diana's face in the rear-view mirror. She looked possessed. She was driving with only one hand, with the other gesturing wildly at me. Her car remained just millimetres from mine." Not exactly shy, retiring, non-headline grabbing stuff is it? Still Di, there's hope yet. Given that our new First Lady has taken to posing on the doorstep in her undies, you may find yourself out of that hated limelight pretty soon. | |||
But yes! One day into her victorious role as First Lady of Britain she has one hell of a bad hair day in front of the world's media.
