Gstaad
This is the worst news I’ve had since the surrender at Stalingrad. The Spectator’s deputy editor has become engaged to a former adviser to my favourite minister, Iain Duncan Smith. But how can this be when the deputy editor is already engaged to me? If true, what does it make her — words fail me — a bigatrothed? All I know is that I’m flying to London in order to investigate. If the worst comes to the worst I am going to hit my rival so hard he’s going to have to look up to tie his shoelaces. Enough said.
I could also sue, but it ain’t my style. Although I’ve heard rumours that my rival is a habitual user of body wax, I will not get personal. The deputy editor’s actions probably have much to do with my ageing looks, something that I cannot help or do anything about unless I go under the knife, or use Botox, but I’d rather be a cuckold than look like Lily Safra.
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