This is the Osbournes’ – or is it The Osbournes’? – house in London’s glittering Malibu. Which is down the road from Beverley Hills a bit, take a right.
It is what they call in the business not very nice. It it wasn’t for the beach, we would say it was built by a Mr Barratt or a Mr Wimpey in 1983. 1984 if we’re being generous. It has bricks, it has windows, it has more bricks, it has more windows, it looks like it has UPVC and it looks like a shithole.
Take a look inside, and you’ll see that the/The Osbournes’ taste seems to have given leave of its senses and landed somewhere in the middle of a Big Fat Gypsy mobile home. With all the ruffled chiffon Mac can make (see overleaf).
Which is kinda crazy-strange, seeing as yours truly, madly, deeply have been to the/The Osbournes’ house in Just Outside of London’s glittering London and it is rather lovely. It’s the one where Ozzy had his little mishap on a lawnmower. It is so lovely, in fact, we felt moved to tell Sharon whilst we hob-nobbed over a hob-nob and talked about, well, knobs.