Fag Hag Diary

Oh Georgina Kyriacos Panayiotou how I do adore thee. You and that pesky ‘culture’ of yours (cue Greek hairy hand thrust into camera and mad staring Malteser eyes) has gone and got you into all sorts of poopie plops again. But it’s not what you do, it’s the way that you do it, (as three slags in Doc Martins once said), and personally, I just love the way you handle this whole thing.

You don’t issue photos of yourself checking into the Priory clutching a diamante cross and holding a snakeskin bound Smythson edition of the Twelve Steps. You don’t suggest you tripped over your dog at 4am in a London park which resulted in your trousers somewhere round your Versace socks (Kevin - cough - Spacey). And you don’t sell a repentant ‘My Drugs Shame’ interview to The Sun and then promptly go out and blow all the cash on Poppers. Instead, you just say with camp brilliance, ‘Sorry for boring everyone’. And for that Georgina, we’d forgive you anything…