This morning was an auspicious occasion – the fag hag has met the most inept bitch in London.
The little darling even had the temerity to try and take me on – I felt like a cat who’d been handed a half-dead mouse to play with.
It all started when the fag hag got introduced to some ladies who were working on a magazine. One of the charming girls commented on my to-die-for, scene-stealing diamante summer flip flops, which clearly left inept bitch simmering in her horribly cheap and nasty strappy shoes complete with Newcastle hen-night cork heel and wrap dress in highly flammable fabric that had seen one too many summers.
‘I was going to buy those,’ she sniped, ‘but then a friend of mine told me they looked far too chavvy.’
Her friend gasped, the man in Caffe Nero giving us takeaway coffees gasped, the whole world gasped. Oh how tiresome these rank amateurs are, I thought.
‘Fortunately, I’m far too posh to have to worry about things ever looking chavvy on ME,’ I sighed, eyeballing her car boot sale ensemble. ‘But I can see that not everyone’s so lucky.’
Frankly I like to think that she got off lightly – imagine if she had said such a thing to my me-me-me pals – in fact why don’t you all tell me exactly what you would have said. Consuela, I know you love a big old gauntlet being flung down… do your worst….