busker

Tabloids Getting It Right

As does the ever-readable Chip G over the Simpson/Lachey split.

I'm an inveterate scrutiniser of the supermarché tabloids, much to the blushes of my girls who are torn between distancing themselves and staying close enough to load the trolley with make-up fripperies on dad's dollar.

There was a patch when the late and lissome Princess Di adorned the covers - grisly pics of the Paris prang, as I recall - and Safeway blocked the view with cardboard lest we Bainbridge delicati swooned with horror when we should be efficiently forking out the readies for our purchases.

Just the thing to get me going. With a "By Jove, what's all this about, then?" and a "I say - poor show!", I'd pluck the offending rag from behind the tasteful covering and give it a good old gaze, everyone else furtively craning for a good old peer.

OK for me to do it - what with being a vulgar Brit, she was *my* princess so it was allowed. Of course, it was never anything effectively stomach-churning; I just thought the whole cover-up was a bit precious and playing the tabloids game.

But back to Nick and Jess: I get all my inside info' from the younger girl who'd shared the intriguing tidbit that the bosomy J had started life crooning sweetly in the choir, soon needing to be moved from the front row lest she inflame the faithful with her provocative good looks.

She and Nick appeared on some Oprah-style chat show where Nick was describing his first glimpse of his belovèd.

There he was - designer stubble and chiseled good looks - Miss Jessica beside him, all cleavage and simpering smile and a veritable napkin of a skirt showing legs up to the wazoo.

Apparently, Mr Lachey spotted this vision across the room and thought, "Hullo - she looks a bit of all-right ... nice rack."

The look on his lady's face ... "nice *rack*?

"Uh oh," I muttered, "shouldn't she have known this before, what sort of bloke she's tangling with?" Besides, she *does* sport a rather fanciable 'balcon', as the French have it, so why the prissy darted glance?

"Dad - she sings in the choir - she's not like that."

Memo to self to have a "word" with my darling about the whole complicated subject of birds, bees and choristers.

As for re-arranging the line-up, much easier and more effective, surely, to give Miss Simpson a solo now and then? That'd kill any lust from the pews stone dead.

Speaking of the bogus Oprah, hadn't she vowed to resurrect her Hermès humiliation when her show returned in September? Turning up after the Paris store had closed and taking offence at not having the red carpet rolled out?

I'd say that was the consummate confirmation that the shop still retained some class and discernment. On hearing the news, I immediately fired off a grateful email to the PR department with an online purchase of a brace of scarves and one of their impeccably tasteful handbags as a surprise prezzie for Mrs Busker.

Stop Press: No sooner do I pen the Lachey-Simpson piece than I stroll out to Safeway where what else greets me than Star mag's front page announcement of Jessica being pregnant and a possible Nick-retrieval.

I don't think so: the chorister is snapped in some hideous green creation guaranteed to dispel all and any thought of rack groping.