I’m blissed out on sunshine. Not, alas, in a strappy-sundress-lying-down-in-the-park sort of way. Rather in a quick-get-those-stories-out-of-the-files-and-flog-them-to-the-red-tops sort of way. Yes, summer sun means stock nonsense for PR people. Bikini diets gain column inches: Stacey Solomon lives on spinach (British Greens Growers’ Association) Roxanne Pallett stuffs in the mushrooms (BMGA) you get the drift.
If only I could find a celeb who’d pretend to diet with brassicas, I’d have an unholy trio of media hits and happy clients in Louth, Peterborough and all points east. Next on the list are the ice-cream shortage stories, designed to rally a sales rush around our client’s imitation Chok-a-Bloks (as copycat products go, how sad is that?).
Daddy was talking about ice cream when he took me to lunch at his club last week. “I haven’t had my lips on a good mivvi for years,” he bellowed. Not surprisingly, this startled some of the members, who were perhaps less au fait with the history of British lollies, and after lunch one of the old buffers discreetly passed him a couple of “useful addresses near Piccadilly, old chap”.
This misunderstanding prompted me to muse on my own lack of a love life (only temporary, form an orderly queue, no reps) and Domino’s spin this week that booming Valentine’s Day sales meant lovestruck couples were enjoying their wares on the big day. Nonsense. I can assure you that 14 February is the prime time for sad singletons to justify eating a whole pizza on their own (with a family-size side of coleslaw and jumbo garlic bread for added comfort).
If only there was a loyalty card, I’d have enough points by now for a free copy of Fifty Shades of Grey.