Can't Buy Me Love When I'm 64
'Give me '100 mil or I will make your life hell!' 'No chance!'
by Maggie from London
Darling Lulu,
Yes, chance. A very good chance. Heather
Mills wants cash, lots of it and is apparently willing
to go to extreme lengths to obtain it. Nothing new
there.
Newspapers are taking sides against nasty Paul or
fantasist Heather, and it's not just the tabloids who
are doing back flips and backslaps ' every paper is
chock-full of the acrimonious and salacious sensations;
choking, wine glass stem stabbing, breast
possessiveness, frothing with rage, drunken, stoned,
vomit covered and that's just for starters.
No accusations of hideous hair dye as yet.
To be honest, Paul was never my favourite Beatle. Try to
sing, silently please, the first bars of Eleanor Rigby
free of an involuntary gag reflex.
And on the other side we have ketchup bottle chucking
with same bottle barely missing Sir Paul, but mucking up
an expensive carpet and a pristine wall. Specialist
cleaning experts had to be called in and the precious
carpet replaced.
How truly tragic. Smashed chairs,
broken ornaments, (Christmas ornaments?), rudeness,
withholding sex. Dear me, dear me. Two solipsists
slugging it out.
All these poisonous, prejudicial allegations are
pointless really as the information leaked on both sides
will have no bearing on the case and now they both want
all to be made available to their waiting public in
court.
A legal source has informed the tabloids:
'She wants to lay bare everything that happened in the
marriage and make sure everyone hears her side of the
marriage.' Hmmm, we've seen her laid bare and we've
heard most of it ' with the exception of the 'dynamite'
(her words) recordings of Sir Paul in his raging
moments. Can't wait.
So - there will be no more Sir Paul 'bringing me
breakfast in bed every morning, no matter how he feels.
And I do the dinner, so we've got that agreement. It's
thoughtfulness,' from Heather's recently published book,
the ironically titled Life Balance. No matter how
hungover from excessive daily alcohol/spliff
imbibing/inhaling; what a trouper that Sir Paul. In the
leaked court papers Sir Paul refused to allow Ms Mills
to 'get out of bed in the morning even though she would
wake up early and wish to use the time for essential
physiotherapy for her leg and to attend to emails and
administrative tasks before the staff arrived or their
child woke up.'
Back to the book: 'As a working wife and mother I have learnt that setting the alarm 30 minutes earlier each morning can make all the difference. It allows me a little bit of personal space before the day begins.' Darling, where's the staff? I feel confusion coming on.
This is the very same Heather Mills who has been on her
hands and knees - mountaineering up the steep stairs of
private jets following Sir Paul like a faithful
Labrador, dragging herself nightly to the lavatory in
another wing of their house when Sir P refused to allow
an antique bedpan to share the bedroom with them,
crawling out of the family home whilst hauling her
wheelchair, crutches, suitcases and leg when she left
for ever. Some would say 'good exercise'.
This is the very same Heather Mills who has been taking
on the identity of a journalist of the same name'going
to meetings with TV executives in her attempt to get on
telly. Clearly those porn pics in print weren't
sufficient.
This is the very same Heather Mills who has been
accusing Sir P of beating deceased wife, Linda Eastman.
Wouldn't those two 'Pass the spliff Love' have been too
stoned to get involved in physical violence? Jane Asher
' posh/actress, Linda Eastman ' nouveau riche/groupie,
Heather Mills ' porn star/highly paid escort; possibly a
pattern emerging here? Best not to even try to imagine
the next Lady McCartney.
Baby Beatrice? Beatrice? Who's Beatrice? Sir P has
withdrawn security protection for his child when Heather
takes her out and about. If this potential Easterners'
episode concerns the custody of the child, as has been
suggested, neither narcissist deserves to parent her.
But wait. There is always hope. There are always more of
the ego-driven out there. There is always Madonna. Time
to post little Bea's photo on the web while Madonna is
still sibling shopping. 'Guy! Look! She looks just like
me! Ring the lawyer! Now!'
The latest is that 8-month pregnant Stella McCartney had
to be dissuaded, ie., restrained from attacking Heather'
so then violence does run in the family? Clearly Ms
Mills was being provocative; she was wearing a pair of
Stella's designer boots. Sir P is begging Heather to
seek psychiatric help. No transparent motivation here.
Heather has naturally refused. A source close to them
has stated: 'Paul has been in the public eye for nearly
five decades and these are the very worst things that
have ever been said about him.'
Sir P has announced plans for yet another
world tour ostensibly to 'get over Heather', dedicating
the potentially grossing '60M to Linda and by the by,
recoup court costs. Surely we wouldn't want his '850M to
dip below would we? Heather plans to sue three British
newspapers for destroying her reputation. Look for
Heather's face to represent new charities after the
divorce. Helping the homeless and victims of domestic
violence.
A civilised divorce? Not a chance; more like fur flying
from furious ferrets in a sack. At this point, Kate Moss
has jumped into the fray. She's willing to go to court
to refute Heather's crawling claims having seen Heather
'jumping around like a f****** gazelle'. Now there's a
reliable source if there ever was one.
You truly couldn't make this stuff up.
TTFN
Maggie xx
About the
Author:
Maggie is from Manhattan, where she was a painter, then designer of clothing,
objects, textiles, interiors while writing for various publications and her own webzine.
She is permanently based in London, the city of irony,
from where she writes regularly to her gal pal Lulu in
New York.
You can read her amusing tales about London's daily life, people, current events, politics, fashion and culture at her website www.lettersfromlondon.com.
Read more of Maggie's stories to her gal pal Lulu at Letters from London
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