Please take me to an asylum. I have just seen an unspeakable horror.
Imagine walking into work at your offices which were designed by an architect who tried to reinvent the colour blue so it would fit in with his “design language”. You casually slide the cuff of your Ermenegildo Zegna suit up so you can check the time on your Baume Et Mercier timepiece (not watch). You are the head designer for Bentley and have just finished having breakfast with the organiser of The Americas Cup.
You buzz for some espresso which is brought in by your Swedish-Japanese PA and part-time lover. The office is silent and the even glow from the drinks cabinet gives off a faint hue of blue from the Bombay Sapphire you’d left out after a design meeting with a man who makes the best holsters in Europe, and who will now be adding his expertise to leather finishes on Bentleys. Your brushed aluminium Mac awakens as the feathered steps of Britt Mayota (for that his her name) whisper over the expensive carpet. You open your e-mail:
"I converted that 17th Century stable into a darts/jacuzzi room."
Espresso gushes all over your personalised stationary and screen. In the North East, unbeknownst to you Manchester City’s Stephen Ireland has applied his council estate dreamer “yeah-I-could-design-fuckin’-ace-trainers-me-yeah” design philosophy to his 3rd tier celebrity gameshow hostess/topless waitress/glamtart’s birthday present. “My Jess deserves something different. That’s different like, like her…like” he no doubt thought as he briefed some Peckham based “conversion/MMA betting shop no doubt using Barbie’s Corvette as a departure point.
I am absolutely agahast. I love football with every corner of my soul, but they are a ridiculous bunch. My man, Paul Scholes, (who lives a private life “up on the moors”) broke Stephen Ireland and his club Manchester (f*****g) City’s hearts with a last second goal. No wonder they all go on holiday to Dubai, the most vacuous, soulless sham of a place since Xanadu.
I would honestly dock his wages and send him on some sort of ….ah fuck it. John Terry’s going to have a KFC-stained orgy with your girl all over that gift at some stage.
-Gavin Williams
The men who work at Bentley have degrees from the Sorbonne.
An unutterable horror stalked the chav's manor.
That'll be useful in Machester, you daft bint.
That colour's called Stripper Lips red.
"And that's called a gear knob". Titter. Stevey shows her how a car works. And she'd just figured out the tubes. Bless.
"I paid extra for that cosmic glitter effect, like." Hope he spelt her initials correctly.
Man City have won fuck all for 34 years.
Off to training in my trainers in my V8 trainer.
Images Courtesy of AutoTrader UK.
Tags: chavs, cocktails, derby, football, girlfriend, kfc, Man City, Manchester fucking City, MCFC, Paul Scholes, stephen ireland
