Oh George! I know Amal’s stunningly gorgeous designer wardrobe is costing a fortune as she saves the world, while dressed up to the 9s. (To be fair to Amal, who actually does some good, I don’t save anyone, in fact I deliberately tread on spiders, while dressed up to the 3s. So shoot me now, Buddha!)
And I realise that English house prices may have left you a bit short. House prices in this country are so crazy that if you ever watch a film with your mates (and it doesn’t matter if the movie is about sharks or zombies or has the raciest sex scenes ever) you WILL spend the whole time saying “OMG! How the hell can she afford that?” as yet another 20-something who works in a coffee shop wafts around her beautiful Primrose Hill apartment. You probably find yourself, George – while gorgeous Amal, dressed up to the 10s, is doing her filing whilst wearing a designer tutu and fluffy pink mules – calling the local council to try and get your house put in a lower Council Tax band to save those pennies.
But can you really not even afford ONE nice new shirt? All I ever see you in – while lovely Amal is dressed up to the 11s, painstakingly dusting the Elgin Marbles – is an old Casamigos T-shirt! ALL THE TIME! I know it’s not the same one, as you appear to have them in a range of hues. And I know it’s your company and you want to promote it. But sometimes less is more.
You know what George, I’m even willing to buy you a nice smart stripy shirt so you’ve got something new to wear. I know you’re busy thinking up new ways to prank Matt Damon (seriously, please stop sending him into space, it’s taking all of NASA’s budget to keep bringing that fucker home). And Amal – beautifully dressed up the the 12s – is starting a campaign as we speak to save a Lollipop Lady outside a school somewhere in Oxfordshire. So let me pop to the shops for you.
You can pay me in your tequila! Just a small bottle though, as last time I drank tequila it was the 90s – and you were restarting ladies’ hearts, having accidentally stopped them with your incredible bedside manner, in “ER”.
While I ended up lying on a wine bar couch somewhere in Notting Hill, wailing “save yourself, leave me now, let me die here!”
I’m fine now though!
Right, now I NEED to check out Amal’s engagement ring, to make sure it’s got a giant diamond in the centre and not a Nespresso pod.