Imagine it. You meet someone and though you both know it’s wrong – Romeo and Juliet-style – you cannot help yourselves. There is a passion. Something neither of you can ignore.
And though you both have partners and this shouldn’t be happening, you give into that moment of temptation. You make love. You kiss. And afterwards, though you feel the guilt, you lie together and talk. Maybe share intimacies you feel you can’t share with anyone else.
Then, you get yourself a kick-ass agent and you have talks about selling that story for a quarter of a million pounds.
Now, what would you call a person who did that?
Someone who knows someone who probably works for Max Clifford, that beacon of whoreing, told someone who once did a journalism course, ‘Vanessa (that’s her up there: classy innit in its Juicy Couture. Yes, in 2010!) is still deciding what to do.’ Take the money! Open the box! ‘John Terry has been in contact with her and has been begging her not to do a media deal.’
So, is she going to be a whore or a blackmailer? Or is she going to do the decent thing and maybe just apologise, get a job, meet someone nice, settle down and have children? The world waits with baited, minty-fresh breath.