So everyone is in agreement that we are all chuffed for Wills and Kate, yes? We are all happy they are happy and ipso facto everyone is in high spirits for the lovely couple. Well, maybe not Kate with her sweaty brow and head down a toilet, and maybe not them two Aussie berks that are now hated by the British public for daring to dupe our beloved future leaders and mock a pregnant woman (trust me, you aren’t ever getting through customs over here now). But seriously, am I the only one that is, after only three days, ready to tell every gossip columnist, every generic blog (hey there Telegraph, Grazia, Glamour) that I don’t CARE if they name the sprog Elizabeth, Edward or some other forgettable name. I would rather, if I had to, read the Enquirer or some other trashy mag full of obvious lies and at least have a laugh with potential names such Princess Consuela Banana Hammock, or Duke Igor the Numpty rather than this drivel (fingers crossed the Duke and Duchess do actually commit a Geldof and give us all a laugh). Also, thanks to the Metro, I had the life scared out of me when confronted by these criminal e-fits of what the third in line to the throne will look like:
Apparently, if a boy, he will be destined to sport a receding hairline aged FOUR.
Now, I know this may be considered blasphemy against the worshippers of K-Middie, but as the Rolling Stones did sing, ‘Like a new-born baby it just happens every day’. And I don’t think I for one can take another nine months of speculation over this. Maybe everyone should just calm down, stop camping outside the hospital for that ‘all important’ first photo of a pregnant Kate and just let the poor woman get through her first trimester in peace. And Kanye, I am including you in this!