Dear Victoria…
Having just driven an hour to the inordinately large shopping centre only to find queues of cars even to get into the car park (it’s bank holiday here) whilst simultaneously fighting the urge to open the window and shout ‘get out of the feckin’ way, I only want to go to the bloody cinema!!’ and then having had to run through torrential rain from the farthest space possible from said shopping centre, and then having sat through The Simpson’s Movie (don’t ask) in my sopping wet clothes and then having driven an hour back too, I would, with your permission, like to have a small mental breakdown in the shape of a little school holiday prayer:
Dear God… oh, hang on, I’m not sure I believe in God. Who else will answer the prayers of a non-believer with highlights and a bit of a thing for shoes? Oh I know…
Dear Victoria Beckham
It’s the sixth week of the holidays, Vic, just another five to go.
I’ve smiled and played and entertained, my reserves are getting low
I’ve played football in the garden, always the goalie or ref,
Watched The Suite Life of Zac and Cody and Kerrang ’til I’ve gone deaf
I’ve listened to endless versions of ‘Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay’
And I’ve always clapped and sung along in an appreciative way
So PLEASE could I go to a really nice spa, have my roots done (they’re looking a sight),
Have a facial, a manicure, massage and swim and then somewhere to go for a night?
A party’d be great, (hell, you’re well connected – somewhere glitzy and glamorous, no offer rejected)
Or dinner a deux, just me and the Hubby
With Moet or Lanson, or anything bubbly
I’m not one for moaning, I try and stay chipper
But what I would give for one night and a sitter
I’d really be grateful, ecstatic no less
Oh and Posh, could you manage to buy me this dress?
That dress is gorgeous BTW…do they stock it in Dunnes Stores/…*smiles wistfully*