Bonjour darlings. The Faggy is about to totter down to the beach to get herself a few more Donatella wrinkles but before she does she likes to go online of a morn to check out the papers and see what’s been happening in little old Londres.
It was all very sad to read about poor old Mark Speight but even sadder to read about the various tragic wannabes crawling out from under their fraggle rocks to give us their heartfelt statements on how sad they are. So sad, in fact, that they decided to spend 15 minutes on the phone chatting away to a journalist, because that’s exactly what a decent person feels like doing when they’ve just lost a close friend.
I remember when Michael Hutchence died, a journalist I knew popped up on SKY TV looking devastated. ‘We’re just all in shock,’ he said tearfully. Yeah, funnily enough so would he have been. Why? Because he’d met you once at a party in 1983.
So in general, ambulance chasing is always best left alone. Well that is, of course, unless you have a new show on Bid Up TV or National Prune Week to promote…