JAN MOIR: WAG wars? I’m guilty of loving every acrylic taloned twist of the spat between Coleen Rooney and Rebekah Vardy
Super sleuth Coleen Rooney set a Scouse trap to uncover the rodent leaking information from her private Instagram account. After her three fake stories duly appeared in print, she concluded that the culprit was fellow WAG Rebekah Vardy, or someone with access to her Instagram account. Gotcha!
Stop it. I know. There are so many more serious matters to concern ourselves with.
Eco-terrorists causing havoc on the streets of London, the UK teetering on the brink, John Bercow’s nanny getting a £490 taxpayer-funded washing machine and — let’s press pause on that spin cycle for one moment. We all know the Speaker has a lot of size X-Small dirty laundry to process but even still. For that amount of money, I hope the machine steam-presses his jabots in a way we would all find gratifying.
Meanwhile, hurrah for Coleen and the WAGs who have a knack of cheering up the nation at moments of national crisis, just when we need them most.
Super sleuth Coleen Rooney (right) set a Scouse trap to uncover the person leaking information from her private Instagram account – eventually concluding it was fellow WAG Rebekah Vardy (left)
JAN MOIR: What kind of a woman is Rebekah Vardy? When she married footballer Jamie Vardy in 2016 (pictured together), his parents were so horrified by their prospective daughter-in-law, they refused to attend the wedding
I like to think of plucky Coleen, puffing on a herbal Meerschaum under her Burberry-print deerstalker, clicking away at her iPad with her French manicured nails, whittling down the Cluedo wag suspects until only one was left.
Mrs Vardy denies that she is guilty of anything and took time off from her holiday in Dubai — things must be serious! — to clear her name. To this end she said she was going to hire forensic experts to prove her innocence, whomsoever they might be.
Oh my goodness, this is just like Velma and Roxie in Chicago; it is The Shawshank Redemption all over again, only with better clothes and a demand for deliverance and freedom that is only slightly less noble. ‘I liked you a lot Coleen and I am so upset that you have chosen to do this, especially when I am heavily pregnant,’ complained Mrs Vardy. Perhaps she is right, perhaps she is wronged, but I have long noted that it is a tendency of those who feel guilty to try to elicit sympathy in the first instance.
What kind of a woman is Rebekah Vardy? When she married footballer Jamie Vardy in 2016, his parents were so horrified by their prospective daughter-in-law, they refused to attend the wedding. Married once before, she left her first husband after a fling in a hotel with the singer Peter Andre — whom she described as being equipped with ‘a miniature chipolata’. She seems like a nice girl, doesn’t she?
Coleen has been stoic in the face of her husband Wayne Rooney’s multiple infidelities, including a fling with a middle-aged prostitute who wore rubber catsuits and was known locally as the Auld Slapper.
JAN MOIR: Coleen has been stoic in the face of her husband Wayne Rooney’s multiple infidelities (the two are pictured together), including a fling with a middle-aged prostitute
Chipolatas. Sleuthing. Creaking rubber. If someone doesn’t turn this drama into a film or a ten-part television series soon, they are missing the opportunity of the century. Perhaps even an opera!
Wagatha Christie has all the elements of a blockbuster, every detail down pat. The fake stories Coleen came up with were so deliciously WAGgish, from the fake visit to the fake baby gender Mexican clinic to her possible appearance on Strictly Come Dancing.
Perhaps Coleen let herself down with the mundane Storm Lorenzo fake news that her home had been flooded. For any Tami, Nik or Harriet in Cheshire can get a damp basement any day of the week. How I wish I lived in WAGland like Coleen and Rebekah! The land of the eternal tan and the acrylic talon, where milk and honey are neither sustenance nor luxury but shades of blonde on a highlights chart.
In this spangled landscape of big hair and ever bigger boobage, there is little to task the tiny mind, and life goals do not extend beyond surrounding themselves with fashionable luxuries.
Most WAGs commit fully to the life of the lotus eater (gluten-free, no carbs, love it). They shop for Cartier bracelets, succumb to all manner of beautifying tweakments and take a holiday between holidays quite often, like Rebekah, in Dubai — the international capital of WAGdom.
Coleen Rooney posted the results of her investigation on her Instagram account (pictured)
Then every now and again a spear of truth punctures their pleasuredome of delights — and all hell breaks loose.
Coleen is now seen as a heroine, and all credit to her. As Dolly Parton once sang, it’s hard to be a diamond in a rhinestone world.
Yet in her epic quest for the truth, she somehow overlooked the duplicitous behaviour of her own husband.
It is no secret that Wayne Rooney has been known to play away on multiple occasions. There were call-girls when she was pregnant with their first child and two years ago he was caught drink-driving another woman’s car while Coleen (pregnant again) was at home.
Then, more recently, he was pictured near a hotel lift with the deadliest of all creatures — a ‘mystery brunette.’
It is interesting that Coleen Rooney feels Rebekah Vardy’s putative behaviour is more worthy of examination than her own husband’s tomcatting tendencies.
WAG-on-WAG crimes have their own complex loyalty systems but I fear this case is less about a lust to uncover the truth and more about the need to control the narrative.
Bangs gavel. Next!
Can anyone carry off culottes?
The Duchess of Cambridge wore culottes this week and no, for once she wasn’t playing in a hockey match.
She looked lovely in them — or as lovely as anyone can, pinned between two rolls of fabric like a limp peg doll going through a broiling carwash. I mean, is anything more unflattering?
The Duchess of Cambridge, in her role as patron of the Natural History Museum, visits the Angela Marmont Centre for UK Biodiversity at the museum in London this week
Culottes are up there with the male monokini, Ugg boots, camouflage print, Crocs, grey tracksuit bottoms, fringed shawls and shorteralls. Shorteralls? Cut-off denim dungarees, I am afraid to say. Please don’t Google search — it will hurt your fashion-friendly eyes.
Kate can wear culottes, Keira Knightley maybe. I’m giving 6ft supermodel Karlie Kloss and willowy actress Phoebe Waller-Bridge the benefit of the doubt.
But even Holly Willoughby would struggle, while for most women they remain a gym nightmare.
Sandi Toksvig, Miranda Hart, me, you, her, Lady Justice Hale, Mrs Normal — just say no.
My heart breaks for ‘groper’ Jamie
I am deeply upset about the case of student Jamie Griffiths. The ‘shy and awkward’ 19-year-old Durham student faces jail after he touched a teenager in an attempt to befriend her.
He had Googled ‘how to make a friend’ and came into contact with the 17-year-old during two attempts to engage her in conversation.
He touched her arm and then her waist — and in this post #MeToo era, that was enough to convict him.
Jamie Griffiths, 19, faces jail after he touched a teenager in an attempt to befriend her
The ‘victim’ burst into tears during the second encounter and went to police with her mother, claiming Griffiths ‘would have touched her breast had she not moved away’.
With the best will in the world, and all respect to the court and the judge, how could she have possibly known that? HOW? HOW?
The anonymous miss claimed her school work suffered as a result of the contact, leaving her unable to sit her mock exams and apply to Oxford University. God forbid that she ever suffers from genuine trauma.
Griffiths, who lives with his parents, denied two charges of sexual assault, claiming he was ‘shy, anxious and awkward’. The court believed the girl’s version of events rather than his — but what was his crime?
Griffiths, 19, (outside Manchester Magistrates’ Court) said he had ‘clumsily’ approached the girl in an attempt ‘to make a friend but the words didn’t come out’
Is this what the tentative fumblings of lovestruck kids have come to, those clumsy stirrings of affection between young people that are now criminalised to such a grotesque extent?
It breaks my heart.
Not least of all because this guilty verdict will follow this young man around for the rest of his life, while the woman he touched on the waist fades back into the shadow of legal obscurity.
Honestly, Fergie’s face tweaks give us all a lift
How marvellous to read Fergie’s pensées on her face-lift.
‘It’s like garden trellising for sweet peas,’ she said in the Mail yesterday. ‘You insert the threads under the skin with a fine needle and they hold everything up. Before I had it done, I thought: “Oh, this is going to be painful” — but it wasn’t bad.’
Can we pause to note there is a variety of sweet pea called the Red Flake? And move swiftly on.
As well as having treatments on her face, the duchess (pictured) has had regenerative stem cell therapy on her feet, which had been ‘ruined’ by years of horse-riding
I am totally down with the Duchess of York on garden-based face-lifts for the elderly. Many of us could benefit from some potato-chitting, or a bit of light work with the pruner and the dibber.
But whatever Sarah has done or not done, absolutely well done for encouraging young people to stay out of the sun — especially redheads such as her.
‘The tan I have is out of a bottle,’ she said. Just like my gin, she might have added, in defence of us all.
As well as having treatments on her face, the duchess has had regenerative stem cell therapy on her feet, which had been ‘ruined’ by years of horse-riding.
Yes, ma’am. Fine. But my question is this. What about the poor horse?
Angelina’s adrift on Starship Luvvie
Angelina Jolie has suggested aspiring actresses should consider a different career — because the pressures of showbusiness have become ‘so hard’. Indeed they have! It’s getting to the stage where any darling starlet doesn’t know where her next million-pound deal is coming from.
Angelina said all this in a sparkly gown on a red carpet to launch her new film. So it’s still going OK for her. And if the whole business is so ghastly, why did she drag half of her kids to pose alongside her on the red carpet? I loathe seeing children so casually weaponised in this way.
Meanwhile, what is truly frightening about Angelina’s type of fame is just how far from reality she has travelled. Long ago she climbed aboard a spaceship called Starship Luvvie and didn’t stop until she reached Plane Silly Billy.
Oh hurrah, Boots has launched a selection of vegan Christmas sandwiches. That’s my festive season sorted.
Top of the list is the double negative of the drear Vegan No Salmon and No Cream Cheese sandwich.
It’s just strips of smoked carrot with a non-dairy effluence smeared on top.
I first came across vegan salmon (aka carrot) at my dear friend Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop festival and noted that sometimes it is hard to understand the vegan psyche.
What lies beneath their need to be cushioned from the blow of their lifestyle choice by indulging their eats with meat and fish-friendly terms?
It is rather like carnivores ordering a parsnip-shaped steak, if you get my drift.
What is the point of the artifice? If the No Salmon treat were billed as a carrot and marge sandwich, would any vegan buy it? I suspect not.
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