The fag hag was sadly unable to attend the BAFTA Ceremony in London’s glittering location somewhere opposite a Garfunkels last night on account of not being fucking invited – (honestly – do they know who I’m not, nor am ever likely to be?)
But like every other muggle, I was privy to the proceedings kind courtesy of the plasma and frankly all I could think was – ladies. What on earth happened? Was there some sort of explosion in the Karen Millen factoire? Cheap sateen strained across thighs and floor length pastel chiffon fresh from Mike Baldwin’s factory may be fine for 21st birthday parties in Loughton but pas devant la Belle Dame Judi!