Victoria Beckham & Other Wags
WITH the serious business of kicking a ball in the sun out of the way, some of England’s footballers unwound by kicking a football on a beach.
On Monday, the Sun looked on as “England’s football flops…chatted up girls and guzzled champagne” on the Costa del Sol.
This was a sly kick in the metatarsals for the legions of Sun readers who had stuck little plastic crosses of St George flags on their ears and supported England through thin and thinner.
While Rio Ferdinand and the lads were behaving like male Wags, Tuesday brought a sighting of Wayne Rooney.
Wayne was sitting on a table at a café in the South of France. And Coleen McLoughlin was standing on a boat. She was wearing a yellow bikini. And she had a protruding tummy.
“Could Wayne be starting a team of his own?” asked the Mail. We studied Coleen’s belly. And we remembered the partying in Germany. And we wondered if maybe, just maybe, Coleen was less pregnant than she was bloated. Had Coleen retained water, or champagne, as it is known among the Wags?
While we pondered that, on Wednesday we saw yet another England footballer on holiday. Ashley Cole was posing with his fiancée Cheryl Tweedy. Cheryl and her footballer were promoting an advert for the National Lottery’s new game.
For a mere £1, punters had the chance to win up to £500,000.
Just imagine what you could do with all that money. You can buy a watch, a ring or a football season’s worth of fake bake. You could even secure your own booth at Garibaldi’s bar and spit roast in downtown Baden-Baden.
On Thursday we one again saw Wayne. Wayne looked to be on the verge of tears. Why? We never did get to find out.
And while we wondered if Wayne had the baby blues, or had heard the news that Cristiano Ronaldo was staying at Manchester United, Victoria Beckham popped up to remind footballers and their wives and lovers that she is alive and in charge.
Vicky has written a book. It was called The Extra Half An Inch. And the Mirror had some extracts.
“The problem is with skinny jeans is if you wear them with flat shoes, like flip-flops or trainers, you end up looking like a golf club,” said she. We nodded our lollipop heads in agreement.
“I hate those silly lacy bras with all those bits poking out beneath your top,” said Her Poshness. “You end up looking like you have four breasts.” Posh has two breasts, although rumours persist that she has had more.
More observations will surely surface in her book. It’s a study in how to look like Posh. And will be required reading for Wags footballers who aspire to the profession…
Posted: 16th, July 2006 | In: Broadsheets Comment | TrackBack | Permalink
