Wagging for position
When the term WAGs (wives and girlfriends) of
high-profile England football team players was coined and moved into popular
usage to extend to the female partners of high-profile sportsmen, I do not
think it had any encomium quality apart from being dismissive and probably derisive,
but it had some currency in the gossip columns if that was your fare and where
you got your news, in the tabloids.
To the snooty, a WAG’s profile
depended on the fortunes of her spouse, though many are typically good mothers,
generally independent women, good at keeping their men grounded and focused,
some even have careers that predate any association with their men of celebrity,
they make news and money on their own account, and they should be commended, as
exemplary people.
Wagging societal status
However, recently, the high court has
witnessed the libel trial that has taken Wagatha Christie into
folklore, Coleen Rooney the wife of Wayne Rooney, one-time the captain of the
England team and a with a very successful playing career that has moved into less laudable
coaching, suspected someone was selling personal information to the papers from
her Instagram account, so, she laid a trap of posting false stories exposed to
certain individuals to see which one would end up in the tabloids. She revealed
that Rebekah Vardy, the wife of Jamie Vardy, a prolific goal-scorer and England
team player was the one.
It takes no guessing that the
detective work by Coleen Rooney was given the moniker of one of the most famous
murder mystery writers of the 20th Century Agatha Christie, WAG conveniently
attaches to it as tabloid journalism is wont to ululate and grab our attention.
For publicly pointing the finger at her, Rebekah Vardy has taken Coleen Rooney
to court, and we had a feast of revelations, even as this case should never
have gone to court if wiser heads had prevailed.
These ladies, awash with money and
influence, though it would be profligate of one to add class have presented an
interesting characterisation of being not only upwardly mobile but that people
with a typically working-class upbringing can visit the courts on matters of
reputational damage that used to be the preserve of the gentrified signifies
how much English society has changed.
Wagging a sausage
Obviously, there are swipes, muggings,
drive-by shootings, and collateral damage, like gangland warfare, not literally,
but herein is the corrosiveness of gossip, there is someone not involved that
gets hurt in more ways than necessary. As we learnt with no substantiation to
the veracity of the claim that Rebekah Vardy had alleged to someone that Peter
Andre, a one-time chart-topping musician who is the stable of musicals and reality
television shows, wields a manhood that could be described as a chipolata.
A chipolata is a kind of sausage, and
we can leave the rest to the imagination. Peter Andre would appear to be a man hard,
wrong choice of word, anyway, the allegation would suggest Rebekah Vardy has
met Peter Andre in a state of the Emperor’s New Clothes to have examined the
goods and come away unimpressed.
A situation the hard, wrong
choice of word again, the apparently wronged man cannot seem to recall, and
since this revelation was made in court and published for public amusement, he is
considering going to court to restore his reputation to ensure than endowed is
qualified with well, and never alluded to on matters of his appendage. [The
Independent: Peter Andre ‘considering legal action’ over Rebekah Vardy’s
chipolata jibe about his manhood]
Don’t wag this tail
In my view, this would be totally ill-advised,
nothing good comes out of it, it is one thing for someone to describe your
private parts to court, it is totally another for the courts to be persuaded to
examine your goods for the purposes of the verification according to the
description given for length, girth, colour, distinctive characteristics and
whatnot, it is not an identity card.
Besides, this apparent chipolata
functions majestically, it does not shoot blanks, he has 4 beautiful children
who probably would not want this part of their father’s natural endowments
exposed to the spectacle of an unseemly legal charade. The associated members
of Michael Jackson, Rolf
Harris, and Max Clifford
came up in their sexual abuse trials, for which the latter two went to jail,
and no matter how you imagined it, what came to sight was not pretty.
Much as any man except if in the sex
industry with something to talk about would not want to have his entities on
display or as a subject of public commentary, I am unsure that court action would
quieten the sniggers, snide comments, or jibes. It is the kind of thing you
should allow to die, suffocated of public spectacle, except if Rebekah Vardy
decides she has no heart for another court battle and totally recants the allegation
possibly with the added statement that she has never met Peter Andre to be that
acquainted with him.
I have no interest in knowing what
Peter Andre measures, which might go for a lot of us. Personally, I would
have sought a means to view a slight in jest and move on with my life, for if I
had means, opportunity, and clout, it would not be expended into proving,
curvature, cut, or colour, I am not as invested in my phallic appendage as to put
it on show. Peter Andre might be hard done by, but he is not hard-pressed to
prove anything – let it go.
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