Murdoch merger
Garbo and Jer. A perfect match: the most ruthless dealmaker on the planet meets elderly, hairless billionaire. The wedding party was a quiet boutique affair, VIP arrivals unsullied by boorish paparazzi or the customary weird, obese civilians keening to glimpse someone “off the telly”. For, while the dim tabloid oxen waited in the freezing cold outside a decoy party in Mayfair, the real celebrations got underway in Hertfordshire, inside an exquisite bamboo and polymer mega-yurt designed by Dame Zaha Hadid, next to a private hospital. The bride and groom started proceedings with, respectively, a first dance to Roxy Music’s Love is the Drug and a massive cortisone injection. Party highlight: “Biggie” Yentob’s twerk-off with Tracey Emin. Yet another Tory win. There was a live set from the Boomtown Rats, which clearly triggered Huntface and Govey’s youthful punk memories – both pissed, inexpertly pogo-ing in an imaginary moshpit, then “gobbing” at hapless Liddle-alike B Geldof! Disgusting. We cheered as G4S roughnecks bundled them out. Happily, by then the happy couple had left for their honeymoon cruise on Garbo’s yacht, The Continent.
***
Sexual labour
Lunch with Corbs at a grim vegan canteen filled with twiggy misanthropes. So his kind of place. Poor old bugger’s taken a knee in the balls from Harriet and her Lab Fem Harmy Army for mumbling something about how we might legalise prostitution? Wish they’d cut him some slack. He’s a decent bloke trying to do the right thing. I still remember that awkward encounter he had with a “Nordic model” in Soho a few years ago …
***
Project fear
Piggy wants me to back his prime-ministerial campaign to scare people out of wanting the mayor of London to be prime minister instead. Quandary: they’re both mates of mine. Solution: I’ll tweet that Bo-Job’s “just a gurgling thatched loaf with his todger up a French milkmaid”. Then deeply regret it the next day, and delete.
Tiddly BOSH, mes amis!
