Ever since that Peaches one (just to clear up any confusion, she’s not the one with the cheekbones and the directional hair, she’s the one with the Pillsbury Doughboy jawline and the bad extensions) has got hitched, ageing columnists with nasal hair have been queueing up to tell us it’s all a mad act of impulsive youth. It’s classic 19-year-old stuff, apparently. Well, give me just a small freakin’ break, because the Fag Hag here don’t like it when old fellas make generalisations about that group of people wearing coloured raybans with annoyingly line free skin.
I know quite a few 19-year-olds. Most of them are in their first year of university, or having (like Jamiroquai and his pals still are) an extended funky gap year, or even God forbid, trying to earn a living.
What none of them are doing is running off to Las Vegas to marry a man they’ve known for a month. Ladies and gennelmen, that isn’t youth. Or a wild streak. That is what you call chronically crap parenting.