Saturday night saw this poor little faggy slumped on the sofa nursing a hangover, the beginnings of a bitch of a cold and a strange permanent burning sensation on my upper lip brought about by chronic over-use of Lip Venom (well, I was going for the Jocelyn Wildenstein vibe on Friday, some collatoral damage was only to be expected…).
Imagine my surprise – and delight! – when, squeezed somewhere in the schedules between some other fucking actress in another fucking Jane Austen-style bonnet saying ‘Mr. Dingleberry! I bid you gooday, sir!’ was the best show ever. That’s right! The One and Only (like X Factor or American Idol for looky-likeys!)
I’ve come to it a bit late – I’ve been in New York: so sue me, haters! – but it’s a little piece of genius. We likey Dusty Springfield (like a karaoke Myra Hindley) and lovey Cher, but we laughed until quite a lot of wee came out at ‘Kylie’ aka Charlie Drake on amphetamines.
Sadly, we were forced to say goodbye to Rod Stewart this week – but the good news is he is likely to be snapped up by some talent spotter immediately and will have a very lucrative career ahead of him as a tribute and a lookalike act. To Lynne Perrie.
Oh, look, it’s Kylie!